The Occupation of Arván (IC | TWI ONLY | CLOSED)

[Noronica]

The Occupation of Arván
OOC

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This is a closed RP, if you want to join, please do so by posting on the OOC above.

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Republic of Arván

Background
Factbook on Arván
Noronnican Military Intelligence Report

Tensions between the Overlordship of Noronica and the Republic of Arván have grown increasingly after Arván's independence before the Civil War. Now, the President of Arván has let the nation spiral into problem after problem which has left the country to it's knees. Due to his paranoia, especially after two assassination attempts, he has increased military spending and has tightened his grip on the people, leaving them to suffer under his and the various cartels' rule. Many towns in Arván are now controlled by organised crime, and the human trafficking problem has become a vast market in Arván.

Noronnican Military Intelligence's foreign branch; FAR, has had operatives in the peninsula since 2002. They have uncovered years of atrocities and cruelty towards the people of Arván, and have uncovered the true extent of the government's corruption.

In a news post on the 19th December, Noronnican Media Corporation revealed it's worry towards the small nation who have appeared disdainful towards the Noronnican government.

On 20th December, 15 Arvanan MiG 23's entered Noronnican Airspace.

Early-Warning Building
Base Shark, Noronica
15:45

Reginald Heart did not like his job.

The pay was good, the uniform got him just that bit more attention, and his parents were proud. The only problem was the stress and the boredom. Working in an Early-Warning office meant that you were an office worker on steroids. Staring at a computer screen all day with a red phone next to you, ready to call about any suspicious aircraft entering Noronnican Airspace. Only problem was, he never got to call. Sure there were practises, but he was never the one to spot the problem, his coworker Sam however, he was always the one to call the team. Reginald figured that it was just the favouritism in the office.

At the moment, Reginald was the one on-duty, while Sam was talking to a few of his female colleagues. He could hear Sam's pretentious voice from a mile away,
"Oh of course I was in the air force! Why do you think they sent me here? I must have enough prestige to warrant an award from the Overlord by now."
Pretentious prick, Reginald whispered under his breath.

Grasping his fingers through his porcelain white mug, he took a sip from it, savouring the taste of coffee as it worked its magic on his brain. Sighing, he gazed around for his senior officer, hoping to be able to call for a recess. Just when he was sticking his hand up, something on his monitor caught his eye. Shēngang International flight to Nolon City, fine, Nolon City to Ipland City International, fine, fifteen dots flying towards Glasregian ocean territory? Adrenaline starting to pump into his stomach, Reginald picked up his red phone calling the Nolon City Airport and Port Sinare Airport,
"Good Afternoon, this is Reginald Heart from NAF Early Warning base. We have picked up fifteen unidentified aircraft flying towards the Glasregian region, we assume that these are yours?"
The resounding reply was a definite "No" which sent Reginald's internal alarm sounding, putting the phone down, he abruptly stood from his chair,
"Fifteen unidentified, East Coast, Glasregia - inbound!"
he began hearing clicks around him as he sat back down again and picked his phone back up, this time dialling the Base Shark Early-Warning Squadron,
"Good Afternoon sir, this is the controller, I have a track of interest in the system for you, Nyssic-Nyssic 01. It's in the East Coast, currently heading south-west at 35,000 feet."
"We can see it on our radar."
"Rodger, that's understood. Quick reaction alert to - standby - this is A01, acknowledge."
"A01"
"A01 - quick reaction alerts - scramble, scramble, scramble!"

Early-Warning Squadron
Base Shark, Noronica
15:55

A shrill ring filled the base as ten pilots sprinted through the corridors, putting whatever they were doing down in light-speed. they were trained for this, they knew their jobs better than anyone.

Anthony caught up with his colleagues who were currently running towards their respective Tūjiù Vulture aircraft. His co-pilot, Gary, was there waiting for him, red faced and alert. The intercom blared,
"Scramble, scramble! Early warning vultures, scramble!"
Vaulting into his aircraft, he locked himself in and awaited Gary's approval. Once gaining it, the cockpit closed and the engines fired, jolting them forward into the night.

---

Anthony looked through the view in the Vulture, he radioed his squadron;
"See anything?"
"Negative."
"Rodger that."

Anthony looked through the empty sunset sky, feeling his muscles tense as he readied himself for any contacts. He saw other aircraft around him all searching the same space. Feeling ready to burst, his radio came to life,
"Contact! Fifteen targets on the radar! Knight - initiate interrogation!"
"Rodger that leader!"
Anthony and Gary flew the Vulture towards the targets. Getting closer, he began to panic internally,
"Targets are MiG 23's!"
Flying closer, he initiated his practised call,
"Knight 0 3 4 to unidentified craft, please respond."
Anthony hoped dearly for a response and yet none came. He called yet again,
"Knight 0 3 4 to unidentified craft, please respond immediately."

Yet again, silence. Anthony began the necessary procedures and attempted to call from all frequencies, just in case the aircraft could not read his messages. He tried one final time,
"Knight 0 3 4 to unidentified craft, please respond."
Gaining no response, he called his squadron,
"Knight to squadron, no response, I repeat, no response."
"Copy that Knight, leader to squadron, fire flares."
The Vultures began their show of force by firing multiple flares in quick succession. This did not deter the MiG's and soon Anthony made the final call,
"Knight 0 3 4 to unidentified craft, I'm instructed by His Overlord's Government of the Overlordship of Noronica, to warn you that if you do not respond immediately to my orders, you will be shot down."
The MiG's turned towards the coast, outwards into safe territory. Starting to feel calmer, he told his squadron about the development, but then he got another radio call,
"Leader to squadron, the MiG's are heading towards the Sessux Isle."

The Vultures followed them until they were above Sessux Isle. Anthony gave them a few more minutes before calling Base Shark,
"Hello, the MiG's have not responded, call the Prime Minister. Code 192!"

---

Prime Minister's Office
Nolon City, Noronica
16:31

PM Gerald Night was at his desk, reading through various emails when his landline began to ring. Annoyed at the sudden intrusion, he picked his phone up and put it to his ear tentatively,
"Hello?"
"Sir, this is the Early Warning Base at Base Shark, we have 15 MiG 23 fighter jets who are currently circling the Sessux Isle."
"Have we given the warning?"
"Yes sir. What is your response?"
Gerald felt a sudden rush of worry flash through him as his mind whirred,
"Sir?"
"We wait, see what they want."
"But sir -"
"No, I cannot make that decision thus far, ask the squadron to identify them."
Gerald waited with baited breath,
"Arván sir."
Gerald cursed and ran his fingers through his greying hair. Those bastards were at it again, but instead of leaving, they were persisting. Ready to speak again, the caller shouted through the receiver,
"Sir! Confirmed hits on one of the Vultures, one of ours has had to eject."
"Engage them!"

Gerald spent the rest of the night waiting for the news report.

[Norstham]

KNS Tranquillity, Argean Sea

“What’re we likely to run into here? Thought Lee. He was sat in front of his radar screen, tasked with identifying any unknown aircraft that came within a certain distance of the ship. He wasn’t up to it today, he had been plagued with a cold the last few days. He went back to semi-daydreaming, he had always been baffled by the fact that that the Tranquillity Class Frigate could launch a fighter, despite being many times smaller than even medium sized aircraft carriers. This was his dream job, to serve on board one of the most sophisticated ships ever to grace the sea, Lee felt honoured to be trusted to perform such an important job on this vessel. Suddenly, he jolted back to reality as a dot appeared on his screen, it wasn’t displaying a call sign, this was real, this was what he’d been training for. He immediately flagged it up to the officer responsible for contacting these aircraft.

“Identify yourself,” the radio crackled. No response.

“Identify yourself, or I may be forced to take action against you,” again, no response.

The officer continued transmitting this message, after instructing someone to contact the captain. This was a serious situation. Lee had noticed the aircraft’s direction. It was flying straight at the Tranquillity.

“This is the Captain,” came through on the phone.
“Captain we have a serious problem, an unresponsive aircraft, flying in our direction. This is a serious threat. Permission to engage?”
“Permission to engage.”
On the outside of the ship, it would appear it was under no threat what so ever. But then with little warning, a column of orange erupted from one of the VLS cells, accompanied by a roar and a missile emerging. The missile shot away the direction of the aircraft, the whole process of engaging the aircraft had taken mere seconds.

“Target engaged,” crackled through to the Captain.


Prime Minister’s residence, Northam, Norstham

Word had come through to Jeremy Abbing just minutes earlier that an aircraft, reported to be a MiG 23, was engaged of the coast of Noronica. He considered for a moment, and then spoke, “Get me the Noronican Prime Minister, this is urgent.” Everyone in the room could detect the concern in his voice.

[Noronica]

Gerald Night smiled grimly as he fixed his tie steadily in place. He glanced at himself in the mirror carefully, checking for any discrepancies. He would be the first Prime Minister after the Civil War to have to deal with a conflict. He despised that fact as he had hoped his term would be served calmly and in an orderly fashion. Straightening his jacket and making sure that he looked the part, he exited his room to meet a sea of his colleagues. Shouts or questions filled the room as he swiftly walked towards his guards who held the door open for him. Walking outside into the rain, he was yet again met by a barrage of thunderous camera flashes. Cries of confusion and pointed questions were thrown at him as his driver lead him towards the car. Stepping inside the car, he motioned for the driver to take him away. As soon as they were far away from the mob, Gerald broke down into a fit of hysterical sobs.

Gerald stepped into the government building with a firm and steady pace. He had told himself that he would face the others with dignity. What he was most afraid of was the Overlord's reaction. The Overlord was a calm and well-mannered man with no hint of malice, and yet this was the same man who ordered the execution of a whole city of soldiers. When the Overlord was angry, it was best to stay clear. Unfortunately for Gerald, he was forced to be in a meeting with the man.
Approaching the doors, he swiftly entered the room.

In the centre of the room lay an overly-polished table with neatly stacked papers at each chair. Filling these chairs were people who were either bickering or sitting in fear. The event had certainly shocked them all, but it was necessary to maintain order. A chair had been dragged out for Gerald to sit at rather haphazardly. He sat and the room became gradually quieter.

"Well, it appears as though our worst nightmares has just occurred. Noronica may have to go to war."
If the room was quiet, it was now utterly silent. Ministers and generals looked at each other, some in horror, some in reluctant excitement. Immediately, the noise level rose again. A loud cough intruded everyone's panic. Gerald looked across to the other side of the table where Overlord Tytus Alexander sat. The man had a very calm face on which disturbed Gerald. Everyone watched as Tytus stood,
"This has gone too far. Arván must not be allowed to get away with this callous act. I congratulate your response one the matter Gerald, but I ask one simple favour. If such an event happens again, we do not need hesitation, they are not allowed in our sovereign territory - not you. Do not fail me again."
Gerald's face went white as a sheet, but he smiled calmly and gestured to Victoria Heisen, the Executive Director of Noronnican Military Intelligence,
"What can you tell us?"
Victoria's face contorted into a smile that didn't quite reach the rest of her face. Pulling her papers up, she began to speak,
"As most of you know, Noronica has been operating in the Republic of Arván for a while now. This has lead to us finding out about multiple threats to Noronica. I encourage you to read this document."
Victoria slid these documents to everyone. Gerald picked his up and as he read it, his eye widened. He had known about most of the problems facing Arván, but he hadn't realised that it had gotten this bad. Human trafficking, mobilisation of the military, arms dealing, drugs, international crime organisations, the resurgence of the Noronnican Nationalist Party. Gerald was shocked also by some of the images of human depravity which Victoria handed out,
"The government of Arván has held anti-Noronnican views for a while now and this is the first time that they have actioned upon that hatred. We also have reports of multiple more human rights abuses, including the killings of civilians. As the document reads, the NMI suggests the military intervention of Noronica."

The room erupted. People were shouting, some in agreement, some against. Gerald himself was about to stand when a loud booming voice cut into the noise,
"Silence! What are we - schoolchildren?! I ask you to behave yourselves!" Overlord Tytus looked damn-near murderous at this point. "I agree with this statement. It has been proven, time and time again that the Arvanan governmental system is not working. The president is near a dictator at this point and the government is a cesspool of corruption. I believe that we need to enact article 90."
Nods were seen all around the room. Gerald stood up,
"I will speak to the government about this and see their views on this. Victoria, I believe it prudent that the public should know at least some of this document send some of it to the Noronnican Media Corporation."
Everyone was ready to leave when a General stood,
"I believe that we should take this further. I suggest an occupation." The man was named General Montague Belcourt. He was old but still commanded fear and loyalty around his figure. It was no surprise that he was close to the Overlord.
"Arván is unable to command itself properly. I suggest we take back what was ours as Arván needs a strong and competent leader."

It was at that point that a man burst through the doors. He pointed to the phone nearest Gerald and spoke tiredly,
"The Norsan Prime Minister for you sir!"

[Polar Svalbard]

Hector leaned back and took a swallow of his beer, a now favorite of his at the bar he had become a patron at during his five years here. It was a pale lager named Serpent's Tongue. He picked up his fork and continued eating his alfredo, quite creamy, made just how he liked it. He watched the news as others came in from work in order to enjoy some dinner, many greeted him and passed on friendly banter as they passed him. His face had a smudge from his work as a contractor, he had just come in from working on a counter top in house towards the outskirts of Alimenter.

That is though just his cover. SMI-4 operative Timothy Manta has lived under the name Hector Manuel for the past five years, having "moved" from Polar Svalbard in order to get into the booming contractor market here. While he kept some contact with the other few operatives in Arvan, it was kept to a minimum, everyone had their assignments. While he felt at home in the bar his true safety came from his M-1911A2 which resided in its holster, guns were "mandatory" in Arvan with the rapid rise of crime in the last decade.

The bartender came over, a young woman aged 23 who had been the bartender here for the past 4 years as a way to pay for college. She smiled and said in her light but husky voice, "Gotta slow down there Hector. Was today's job not so good?" As she said that she slid him another lager.

Hector caught the gently slid lager and passed her his fresh out one and chuckled, "No, the lady was nice and even gave me a beer afterwards. Just was alot more work than I had originally thought as it was quite difficult for us to maneuver the counter top through the maze of a house she had." He took another bite of his alfredo, twirling it up on his fork before putting it in his mouth.

The dude next to him laughed, "You're telling me, we had to dig up a septic tank and someone had let a tree grow a bit too close to it. We had to dig through so many roots. It's great the way unexpected things can make a job that much harder, but hey, at least we're paid by the hour." Hector smiled and nodded. "You see what's on the news?"

Hector nodded, "Yeah. You think this will escalate into war? I don't even know if as a resident I can be drafted."

The man shook his head slowly, "I don't know what this world is coming to. I'm sure it will turn into war, I don't understand why the President would so something so foolish. We should be seeking help not attacking, the country's rotting from the inside out. Heck we're practically governing ourselves in this city apart from the national government. Sad that the local government is that much better."

Hector just sighed, "Well all we can do is enjoy our food and wait to see what happens. Hey, I never got your name. I'm Hector, pleasure to meet you."

The man laughed and shook Hector's hand, "Daniel Cortés, the pleasure is all mine."

[Ostehaar]

"Crowbar to Black Hole, I saw your message," Mehnard spoke to the receiver with confidence and calm, as if he was reporting the recent weather update. "I will go on as we planned and return to you with the new information when I can." He paused for a moment and looked outside the car window, watching ordinary people cross an unimportant street in an unimportant suburb of this entire unimportant land. He pressed the 'on' switch again to finish his transmission, "see you on the flip-side, my fair lady."

A single firm nod to the driver, and the doors unlocked. Mehnard stepped outside the black Ford and glanced around, breathing in the cool December air of St. Recont. From the back seat he pulled a large bag and a blue barn coat, similar to the ones used by municipal electricians or mechanics around Arvan. "Does it look right?" He asked quietly as he approached the driver's open side window. The driver nodded. "Alright," Mehnard said, "I'll see you later." The old Ford's engine produced a low hum, and the car moved away down the street.

Mehnard turned around and walked casually into a nearby alley, his bag hanging from one of his shoulders and held by one hand so it wouldn't swing around all the time. He walked further into the alley, vanishing from the sight of people on the street between the shadows. He looked around to see if anyone was following him, and then knelt down and dropped his bag near him. He pulled out an iron bar and knocked once on top of a sewer utility hole cover. He brought his face even closer to the heavy cover and called down the word 'Crowbar'.

The metal cover screeched as someone from down the hole opened it to an upright position. "Nice to see you, man," the guy from down the hole said with a friendly smile. "It's been a while."

"Indeed," Mehnard replied. "Quick, let me get the stuff down there." The guy assisted Mehnard as he climbed down to the underground passage, taking his bag with him.

"Is this the Barcode?" The other guy asked, trying to take a look inside the bag.

Mehnard hummed a positive response and took the bag. "So where is the spot?"

The guy gestured down the passage way towards what seemed like a large array of electric switchboards and panels. "That's the lower section of the main electrical distribution chamber, used by many municipal services. As you said, it has direct links to a power cable running further down this route, and eventually it connects to one of the main local backup servers of the city hall... which is also used by government offices right above ground not far from here. The link works," the guy added, "I checked it myself."

A grin gradually spread on Mehnard's face, almost releasing a short laugh. "That's just incredible. It's exactly what the informant told us, and here we are!" He raised both of his hands to the sides, as if he was praising the moment.

"It's amazing that this place isn't really guarded by anyone, you know?" The guy said, looking at Mehnard.

Mehnard glanced back at him as he started to walk towards the electrical distribution chamber. "That's actually not that surprising," he explained. "First of all, the technology we're using for this is pretty advanced and isn't well-known so I wouldn't expect people in Arvan to be aware of this threat. Add to that the fact that the military is probably on its toes right now with respect to everything going on above ground... I don't think they can spare the men for a silly job such as guarding a place like this."

As they reached the chamber, Mehnard opened his bag and pulled out a basketball-size electronic device which reminded the other guy of an old kind of bomb or the inside of a desktop computer. The Oster operative opened the circuit board and attached the device to some of the electric cables in it. It took about ten minutes to complete the installation and initial configuration of the device.

"That's about it," Mehnard announced unceremoniously. He gestured towards the way back to where they came from. "Shall we?"

Several kilometers from there, at a rented apartment in St. Recont where agent Black Hole - or simply Jehn - sat waiting, a green beacon went on in one of her monitors.

"Yes!" She hissed. Hopefully, the Oster intelligence could now access file servers and message servers of the Arvan government. "Thank you Crowbar," she uttered as she prepared to send the news back home to Ostehaar.

[Athara Magarat]

Khimti Khola

Kirat-Sunuwar Village in rural Arván

16:40



"Nan Siyal!" The old man bowed to the outsiders with the Sunuwar word for welcome greetings. The Arvanan soldiers just grunted in reply. "What brings you here, sirs?"

"We are doing a thorough inspection of your house." The commander of the squad, a sergeant by rank, said in a booming voice.

"Yes sir, of course. We have nothing to hide, we are poor farmers after all." The old man bowed again and led the army men into the small house made of mud. Like every other Sunuwar house in the village, this one was also painted white and brown and had the designs of traditional Khas-Kirati houses which were hard to find nowadays elsewhere in the Isles; even in Athara Magarat where the tribes had originated from.

The old man ordered his nineteen-years-old granddaughter, "Lit the candles for the guests.". The commander of the squad immediately raised his voice. "What are you saying secretly in your filthy tongues?" The old man apologized and repeated his sentence in the language the soldiers understood and assured them that they were not trying to hide anything. The sergeant grunted. "We will see to that."

For half and hour the soldiers searched every nook and corner of the small mud-made house. A private reported to the sergeant, "Nothing suspicious, sir. All clear. We should go and check other houses."

"Shut up, I didn't ask for your advice."

"Yes sir!" The young soldier stood at attention even though he did not like the style of the sergeant who was ranting about how the new recruits were inexperienced in these sorts of things and how the village was infested with rebels and drug dealers. If even I am getting angry at this bastard, then what must these innocent villagers be feeling.

"Bring everyone outside!" The sergeant order both the old man as well as his soldiers.

There were only three members in the family: the old man, his teenage granddaughter and his eleven-years-old grandson. An another soldier, a lance corporal, whispered something into the sergeant's ears as they eyed the girl. The sergeant smirked and nodded to the lance corporal.

"On your knees!" the lance corporal commanded to the terrified trio. They quietly obeyed him. He went next to the girl and felt her smooth black hair. "Alright, say aloud how many drug dealers you have slept with for money."

The old man was petrified upon hearing this question as was his granddaughter whereas the grandson was simply terrified. The lance corporal shouted, "Are you disobeying me, you little bitch? Answer me, how many drug dealers you have slept with for cash?"

"...No...None sir." The girl said in a small voice. "I haven't done anything impure and immodest."

"Then how many of them you have flirted with? Surely you must know their faces and names."

"None...I haven't met any drug trafficker in my life, sir."

The lance corporal shouted at the girl's face. ""You know what, bitch? Your face says that you are a lying whore." To the sergeant he asked, "Sir, permission to take this girl for questioning? I say we load her in the truck and take her to the HQ."

Questioning, my ass! You just want a comfort woman, you sick bastard! The private standing next to the sergeant thought hoping that the sergeant would disregard such obnoxious requests. But the commander had different ideas. "Do what you want. Spill out some relevant information from her."

The lance corporal caught the girl by her waist, lifted her and carried her in his shoulder. He ordered a soldier to hold the girl's legs as they marched out. The girl and her family cried and begged the soldiers not to take her away. She was struggling as hard as she could but she could not do anything against two strong army men carrying her away.

"Please sirs, she is the only help we have in the household." The old man was on bowing again and again to the soldiers. "I am old and I can do nothing. My wife passed away from diseases, my son also died. My daughter-in-law is working hard in some foreign land to earn our living. My granddaughter has to look after her little brother. Please have pity upon us! We are nothing but innocent farmers. We swear to the almighty gods that we have nothing to do with the rebels or the drug dealers."

"Don't worry old man. She will be looking after her brother. Take this little boy as well." The sergeant ordered. "Better to take him in before he grows up to join a rebellion. He might even be useful for some quirky fools who aren't satisfied by women." And thus two more soldiers, holding the wailing boy by his arms, carried him away as well.

The old man was now beating the ground with his closed fists. He demanded the soldiers to take him away as well. He asked them why they were doing this. The other soldiers paid no attention to him, but the sergeant reached to the old man. "You ask why we are doing this? It's because your race, the Khas-Kirati race, is a race of demons just like the ancient Bhumhalese used to say. You trash call yourself among the greatest empire and civilization of the Isles but you are nothing but destroyers of cultures. We had peace before you bastards came here. Your shitty ancestors raped, killed and enslaved our people. They destroyed our culture and cities. This is nothing compared to that! We are doing a great service to humanity by removing trash like you demons from earth. We are taking away what your barbarian ancestors took away from us."

"But my family did nothing. My grandchildren did nothing wrong. It was done by Khas-Kiratis hundreds of years ago, not by-"

"Exactly! If you have anyone to blame, then blame your barbarian ancestors for making life hell for you. Your greatest mistake in your life was to be born into a race of demons."

Aren't we the same? Are we any different than demons? The private watching the atrocities thought. But like always he said nothing. As he left along with his squad, he felt pity for the old man who had no one with him now, who was still wailing. He felt pity for the girl as to who knows what might happen to her. He knew that even the little boy was not safe from sexual molestation. But like always, he did not show that pity and continued with his life as the soldiers reached the road and hauled the girl and her brother into the packed army truck.

[Noronica]

Pierre looked around the room he was in. He had estimated about twenty times already, 3 metres by 3 metres. The walls consisted of damaged brick and rotting plaster while the floors were almost grey with dust. How had it come to this? He had been a butcher making a modest earning in a village butcher's shop near Alban, trying to pay for his elderly grandmother and his two children, when he had been kidnapped a month ago. He witnessed the killing of his grandmother who was "too old for work" while his two children were packed away in a van and taken to God knows where. He, however, was forced to witness the burning of his butcher's while he was dragged towards another van which had most of the village's working men inside. They were told that they were working for the cartels now and if they refused, they would be slaughtered in front of their respective relatives. Call that threat what you will, but he was still scared shitless.

He had prayed to God that he would be rescued, but he had given up after the third beating. His back was bloodied and raw, while his legs always had an awkward bend to them. Pierre was now hoping for death as he was forced to work on a drugs plantation with no pay and crap food to boot. Just give him a nice bed and he would have given this place a five-star rating.

Watching a spider climb down the wall, he heard a sharp bang as the door near fell off its hinges. An obviously-Arvanan soldier stepped towards him with a silenced pistol aimed at his face. After a quick search of Pierre, the man nodded and began to speak,
"Come with me" was all the man said and he fled through the door. Pierre, beginning to feel excited, climbed to his feet and began to run towards the man, ignoring the pain in his body.

Finally! Pierre had waited for this moment for two months. He needed to be free. He thanked the man continuously as they passed through different doors. Pierre wanted to say so much, express his emotions, he had not had the chance to for ages. He wanted to tell the world of his plight, hoping that someone would listen to him. His mind turned crazed as he imagined the possibilities that freedom would grant him.

After running through a few corridors, the man stopped at a door and spoke through his radio,
"That's the last one, where are you?" A few scrambled words passed through the receiver and the soldier nodded, opening a few more doors before the two reached the outside.

Two military trucks were parked haphazardly towards the cartel's farm. The soldiers had rounded up the men and had obviously disposed of the cartel members as there were a few bodies lying around. Pierre, wanting to talk to people, ran to the men and began initiating conversation. As a collective, the group held a friendly buzz as everyone hugged each other.

Two soldiers approached the men,
"Alright, listen up. We need you to get in the trucks - quickly now!"
Pierre and the men were drunk with giddiness as they all climbed into the trucks. They were free at last! He could smell home.
The soldiers locked up the back gate which allowed the men to see what was going on, but they were secure from falling out.

One of the soldiers from before got in Pierre's truck and smiled back,
"Well guys, time to go home!"
A cheer rang out as everyone began to relax in their seats. Pierre heard the handbrake be pulled and felt the truck begin to reverse. He waited for the tell-tale engine sound but was surprised when nothing came.

Looking towards the soldier, he noticed the man jump out the vehicle as it started speeding up, after a moment, Pierre could hear a beeping noise. Everyone started to hear it. Beep. Everyone was confused and began to panic. Beep. Pierre tried to climb out but failed. Beep. They all knew what was happening now. Beep.

Everyone tried to get out of the vehicle in time, but they all failed. The truck had exploded.

[Jahe Davmwoem]

Two old men, one well groomed with short hair, and one with long greasy hair with a similarly unkempt beard walked down the streets of St. Recont. Both wore Uniforms of Blue, decorated with tassels, medals, and patches. These told proudly of their experience. Both had served their twenty year terms as Imperial Guards, split between ceremonial duty in the capital, training new Imperial Guards, and serving on the front lines. Both were veterans of the Cornelis Revolution that toppled the past socialist dictatorship, and both had served in the Imperial civil war. The short haired one stayed in the forces after his twenty years, specializing in mainstream tactics, logistics, and drilling. The long haired one had an extra patch on his shoulder, a tiger and a mountain. He had been a Colonel in the Mountain Legion, an elite strike force within the Imperial Guards. They specialize in sniping, scouting, and engineering, as well as striking fear with guerrilla tactics.

The two men disagreed with each other on almost everything. The short haired one supported the new confederation, was liberal, and viewed it to be the moral obligation of the military to lessen causalities in war.

The long haired one was a nationalist who had served as a body guard to Pondes, and he cursed himself for not being with him the day he was shot. He knew if he were there, Pondes would still be in power. Jahe needed him, for he stopped the foreign powers from stepping all over the homeland. He only hoped Kluvers lived up to his promises of making the Confederation superior through the collective, or however he worded it. And he was open to any tactic to increase his glory and shorten a war.

So in basis, these two men would never associate with each other, unless it was for a united cause for power, glory, and wealth, which was why the third person, a woman, was there. Beautiful in her silken dress, with long brown hair and deep blue eyes, she had gotten the two men together. It was complicated why. Basically the government and the mob, who she was with, decided to cooperate together to rob Arvan as much as they could before it fell. If that were to happen, these two men were needed, to severely prolong this fall.

They all walked into a building they had been told to go to. Richly decorated, the fat cats in the Arvan government were clearly all over this building.

They came up to a desk. The woman spoke up "We are the visitors and representatives from Jahe Davmwoem. We were told there would be a meeting for us here."

[Polar Svalbard]

Hector (Agent Timothy Manta) played on his console, an FPS, while not great he was decent at it. It was an enjoyable past time for him, while many enjoy their Television or Movies he enjoyed a good video game. After a few games he set down the controller and turned off the console turning the TV to the news which had a breaking news report on the war that was forming between Arvan and Noronica. While watching he made himself some pasta and continued to watch and eat on the couch, after awhile bringing out his laptop.

Filing reports on people that he encountered in the day, he thought back to Daniel Cortes. Thinking about it he thought that the face was familiar, he hadn't connected it in the moment as he was having a good time and he categorized so many on a daily basis but now that he was thinking about it he recognized him from somewhere. Typing in the name three entries popped up. Looking at the faces the one that he met at the bar stopped him for a second. Daniel Cortez was second in command to one of the smaller Cartels in Arvan. The Panther Cartel mainly dealt in the sex slave trade, with pushing drugs on the side. The fact that the second in command of that Cartel was at that bar worried Hector.

After a few more moments the calmness of the night was broken by the staccato of machine gun fire. It ripped through the wall on the North side of his house. At that Hector dropped to the floor and drew his sidearm. After a few moments of sustained fire which ripped through the walls the machine gunner stopped. At that Hector ran to the Guest Bedroom. Opening the closet he pulled out Kevlar, an assault rifle, ammo and a few grenades. He hit the button that would send to SMI the fact that he was under fire, found out, and needed to move. He pulled down the metal sheets on the windows, closed and barracaded the door and waited.

After a few moments he heard people's footsteps, he heard them checking room by room and finally someone trying to open the door, the shot out the lock and tried kicking in the door but the door would not budge. More than likely they had either sprained or even broken their ankle through that fact. More shots went into the door before they were able to get it open and at that a grenade went sailing through the now open door into the hallway. Exploding it killed the four there instantly, the fragmentation not able to go through the reinforced walls of the safe room. Hector at that got up and walked to the door, peering down the hallway. Upon one of the cartel members turning the corner three rounds exited Hector's gun sailing into the man. A few moments later with no one coming through Hector decided to press on, checking each room he found no others and upon going outside the technical had left, probably with those still alive.

Hector over the next ten minutes packed everything he needed into his truck, shredded and destroyed what needed to be destroyed and set fire to the house before leaving. Shit in the SMI building was about to go down with the fact that at least one agent was compromised.

[Athara Magarat]

The National Assembly of Athara Magarat

New Libang

Forty heads gathered around in the secret meeting room. They took count of each and everyone. The two notable absentees were Majipa and White Tiger, both of whom were members nominated by other members of the National Assembly (who were usually chosen by the Hang or the Prime Minister in rarer cases). They rarely attended the meetings which might be even boring to them as they were men of action. Right now the two of them were involved in some shady operation in San Javier which is best not to be talked about.

"I hate that man!" Toran Pun slammed his fist into the round table immediately after the briefing ended. "Just when we all voted for military intervention in Arván! We even had the approval of the House of Representatives. Bastard must enjoy trying to ruin our every plan."

"He must be having the same thoughts," the leader of the National Assembly, Prime Minister Pramit Thapa Magar said. "We must be thankful that he was not angry with us this time which means..."

Most of the people present in the meeting already caught gist of what it meant. "He is also considering military intervention," Raji Gurung, the mayor of New Libang and a Deputy Prime Minister gave a wicked smile as she spoke for everyone thinking the same thing.

"Yes, that man is much more sly than all of us combined. Even though we usually think and plan the opposite of him, in this case we are on the same boat. Let's call whatever he is doing as Plan A. Even he knows that Plan A will fail. He is going such lengths for Plan A to keep his image as a benevolent ruler which we know he is not because such species do not exist." The Prime Minister, as usual was the one to speak the most. "He made up the so-called Zone of Peace which so far only Covonant and Keomora have recognized. He thinks that going for direct military intervention will ruin Athara Magarat's image in the international area, which is not a bade thinking at all. After this Plan A of his fails, we all go for Plan B - liberation of ethnic Khas-Kirati minority!"

The members of the National Assembly continued listening and nodded at their leader's plans. The Prime Minister showed to them the map of the Isles. "A military presence in Akar or Thakali Island or Thasang or whatever we call it, this new incident in Arván, rising soft power from our national products, membership of many influential alliances, the operations in Santa Ana where no one has a hint of our activities and a juicy coming up event in Juverna. All that we need so that the daughter of the Khas-Kirat Empire: Athara Magarat the Rhino of Mesder can not be stopped from charging ahead by the Atnaian Children of Baln (not saying that to our Atish minority) as in our adopted father or anyone else."

---

The Presidential Palace

St. Recont, Arván

The Hang of Athara Magarat looked at the President of Arván. Purna Sura Paija had just arrived on the flight from Termon, the capital of Shanowinn where he had gone to attend the funeral of the later Ahern. Without taking any pleasant rest, he had called for a meeting with his counterpart. The foreign officials of Arván had been quick to act and had sent the word to their President. A few hours later, Raoul Sartin arrived in person at the meeting room and until that time the officials kept on apologizing for the delay which was annoying but like any other leader, the Hang put up a smiling face.

I am always the one to tell you what is important for our nation.

We have come here changing our whole schedule, lad. If this shit..

It will be better if you shut your vermin mouth, Third Leader. Relax as usual, my Hang. Solve this by diplomacy and reasoning.

"How rare of the president of Athara Magarat to visit our nation!" exclaimed Sartin.

"Diplomacy has always been the key source of maintaining power for militarily small nation like ours." The Hang kept his smile. "Like the other members of the CU, we try to make ourselves a diplomatic powerhouse. Our soft power has been so far influential in the Mesder Sea. We are here to take it beyond the confines of Mesder Sea."

After the handshake and some chit-chat like each other's well-being and the Hang's journey, the two national leaders got down to business. At the Hang's signal, the junior officers from Athara Magarati delegation started handing the copy of demands written in English and French to the President of Arván and other Arvánan officials present.

These are the demands presented by the Democratic Republic of Athara Magarat to the Republic of Arván regarding the recent reoprts on international media regarding the latter state.

1> The Republic of Arván should not increase its military expenditure for at least five years.

2> The Republic of Arván must apologize for the atrocities committed against the Sunuwar ethnic minority and recognize them as equal citizens of Arván.

3> The Republic of Arván must allow special inspectors from the League and the Cooperative Union as well as other intergovernmental organizations for the observation and inspection of cases regarding serious human rights abuses committed by both the state as well as the non-state parties involved.

4> The Republic of Arván must apologize to the Semi-Democratic Overlordship of Noroncia for the attack of their military base and compensate for the damage they received.

5> The current government of the Republic of Arván must either bring democratic reforms or step down and allow a democratic government chosen by the people of Arván.

In return:

1> The Democratic Republic of Athara Magarat and the Cooperative Union as well as other nations will set up a special committee for development of the Republic of Arván. The nations will help Arván in developmental projects and provide soft loans.

2> The Democratic Republic of Athara Magarat and other nations will help the government of the Republic of Arván to eliminate drug cartels and terrorist groups from Arvánan soil.

3> The Democratic Republic of Athara Magarat will consider the Republic of Arván a major trade partner in the Argean Sea. As such, Arvánan products will be transported to places as far away as South Mesder states and Kajvu Sea nations through the sea trade routes used by Athara Magarat. Other nations will follow suit and start trading with Arván in large quantities. This will sufficiently help the Arvánan economy to be boosted and further develop the nation.

Sign Here
X__________________

"I hope that we can clear ourselves and reach to an understanding," the Hang kept using his fake smile as he allowed the Arvánan side to go through the demands. "As you can definitely see, there will be major consequences if you do not agree to these requests from one independent state to another independent state. Rumors are abound that the whole world will come together to against Arván using their military might. Arván alone cannot face them alone. To prevent such a dark scenario, it is advisable to put your signatures in the bottom of the papers we have provided."

[Noronica]

President Raoul Sartin had never been so insulted in his life. Never, had someone had the audacity to dare question the Arvanan ways. He looked downwards at his hands which had started to shake noticeably and his head began to pound harshly. He needed a drink of some sort, before this got out of hand - but he feared that it was too late. He pushed his glasses further up his nose and tried to calm himself. His psychiatrist had told him to take several breaths and focus on something other than the aggression. Who the hell does this little shit believe he is? His people were the ones who obliterated my motherland. They sympathise with those Noronnican fuckers! His inferior kind will never be welcome here.
His head had gone to war as Raoul fought to calm himself, but alas, he never was very proficient in keeping his mouth shut,

"How...how dare you. We allow you private audience, we allow you food, hospitality, care; and you come up to me, a sovereign ruler with a list of demands? How fucking dare you! This is just like when the Khas Kiratis were here, demanding that we give them our women to enslave, to give you our men to fight, to give you our land to shit on! I will not cease to demands from an inferior vermin like you! You are a tactless person with little intellect, and I hope that you leave this place at once."

An official attempted to defuse the situation, "Sir, we could-"
"At once! Get out you Magarati filth!"
The officials were standing now, trying to calm the president down. The final act of the president was to spit in the Hang's face.

---

Ger Montague Belcourt swirled his glass of whiskey, savouring the taste in his mouth as he sat in front of a fireplace. His hair was near greying as his brown hair fought to stay on his head. Alas, age catches up with us all. He glanced at a newspaper which gave the recent coverage over Arván. A small smile grew on his mouth as he imagined himself already on Arván, the Overlord naming him Governor of Arván. His imagination ran wild as he sat listening to the flickering flames.

Doors opened and footsteps could be heard approaching Belcourt. Turning his head slightly, he noticed his confidant, Myles Carles. The man broke into a grin, something rarely seen these days,
"The troops are close to full mobilisation sir. Overlord Tytus expects you to join him in the war cabinet as the war progresses."
"Of course he does, tell him that I am honoured to do so and I will join him in Nolon City shortly."
As Myles walked swiftly out of the door, Belcourt grinned, teeth glistening from the fire.

[Polar Svalbard]

The modified Boeing 747 flew into Arvan airspace, bringing passengers to Ostehaar it was a regularly scheduled flight and at that moment the pilots contacted the air traffic controllers in Arvan switching control over to them for their continued route.
"Good morning Flight 7037-102, welcome to Arvan. We'll try to get you to your next switch-over as quickly and easily as possible."
After about five minutes the co-pilot hit a button and nodded to the pilot.

In the Cargo hold underneath the passengers a red light kicked on in the open area in front of the cargo. The five SMI-2 agents stood up from their seats picking up their gear. They each checked the others' parachutes and gear, each wearing an air mask over their face. The only way to tell them apart was their name tags, Jakub Beránek, Awad al-Tamer, Geng Yong, Geoffrey Renson, Mikkel Bru. After a moment the back door to the cargo hold started to go down and flaps pulled out to the side. The plane decelerated slightly but the pilots compensated for it.

When the light turned green the agents jumped out of the plane, angling right down so as to be as fast as possible. Rapidly accelerating downwards the ground came extremely quickly. At 1000m they decelerated by angling parallel to the ground in a spread eagle pose, each quite far away from one another so as to minimize radar recognizing them. At 250m they opened their parachutes and quickly descended in the early morning light. They were only spread out within a klick of the landing zone, ditching their parachutes and setting them ablaze. After a few minutes the five met up at the drop off point. Each held in their hands their assault rifle and the sun glinted off their body armor and masks. No insignia was on them, their faces couldn't be seen. They were the ghouls in the night, the reaper of men, and the nightmare of every terrorist.

From here they started to move to Agent Timothy Manta's house, the hunt started here, it was time to find Timothy and kill his pursuers.

[Athara Magarat]

The Presidential Palace

St. Recont, Arván


The Hang and the entire Athara Magarati delegation stood up and now it was obvious to everyone that his smile was a fake one. "Athara Magarat tried to talk here in civil manners but you showed everyone present who the real barbarian is."

Sartin was still cursing Khas-Kirati "race" as demons and fliths. The Hang finally turned serious. "Arván will regret this meeting everyday starting tomorrow. Farewell!" The Hang and the Athara Magarati delegation gave a mock bow gesture to their Arvánan counterparts and left for the flight back home.

---

Flight to New Libang

My Hang, that was a serious insult to you and the nation.

That was expected. That man and his nation are a hater of the glorious Khas-Kirat legacy that our ancestors worked so hard to build. That fool does not know how hard our ancestors worked to come together rather than stay as tribes fighting among themselves for useless squabbles. Fools like them do not know how hard our ancestors worked to rise from mountain tribes to a dominating empire. You should have said more than just standing there are warning him they will regret it-

"Enough!" The Hang silenced the voices of the past leaders of Athara Magarat talking in his head. "This has been the plan all the while. That fool played right into our trap. He may call me a filth descended from a barbarian but the incident shown the whole world who the true barbarians are: the Arvánans. As soon as I land at the airport, this will have become an international headlines by then. And as a last resort, Athara Magarat which has always been a beacon of goodwill will resort to our often underestimated military power. We will show the whole world that descendants of Khas-Kirat Empire are not to be taken lightly."

Rest well, young one. We have much more to do than worry about some insult of Khas-Kirat Empire. We also have that memorial for Juverna terror attack victims to attend.

"I know that, now quit bothering me." The Hang yawned. "You people are much of annoyance than advice. The hell do you think I became a Hang without qualifications. Specially you, Third Leader. Stop spouting such long nonsense. Even god or devil might be tired of listening to you talking in vulgar manner. How the heck did you even become the Third Leader of Athara Magarat..."

A moment later, the Hang was snoring and in deep sleep with dreams and plans for Arván.

[Noronica]

"We are the visitors and representatives from Jahe Davmwoem. We were told there would be a meeting for us here."

Arván's Foreign Secretary puffed as he jogged up to the two men. He checked his watch and cursed quietly as he realised how late he was. Painting on a fake smile, he grabbed hold of one of the representatives and shook it vigorously. Moving on to the next one, he began to speak,
"You cannot begin to understand how thankful we are for your visit. As I am sure that you know, our nation has become a target for international conflict." He stopped to allow himself to calm down before gesturing towards his office,
"Please, join me in my office, we have much to discuss."

Entering his rather bleak-looking office, he switched on the light and sat at his desk which had recently been cleaned. He gestured to the two seats,
"Please, sit, would you two gentlemen like anything to drink?"

[Jahe Davmwoem]

"We are the visitors and representatives from Jahe Davmwoem. We were told there would be a meeting for us here."

Arván's Foreign Secretary puffed as he jogged up to the two men. He checked his watch and cursed quietly as he realised how late he was. Painting on a fake smile, he grabbed hold of one of the representatives and shook it vigorously. Moving on to the next one, he began to speak,
"You cannot begin to understand how thankful we are for your visit. As I am sure that you know, our nation has become a target for international conflict." He stopped to allow himself to calm down before gesturing towards his office,
"Please, join me in my office, we have much to discuss."

Entering his rather bleak-looking office, he switched on the light and sat at his desk which had recently been cleaned. He gestured to the two seats,
"Please, sit, would you two gentlemen like anything to drink?"

"No thank you sir..." the short haired one began to say.

"Speak for yourself, damned liberal" The long haired colonel interrupted, earning him an evil eye from the short haired one, while the woman smiled awkwardly inn the corner of the room she was standing in. "I will take a glass of whatever the strongest alcohol there is that you have to offer."

The short haired one continued, ignoring the awkward outburst from the colonel, not much more was to be expected from him. "I apologize, it appears we forgot to introduce ourselves. I am Lieutenant Hekkelman, and the gentleman sitting to my right is Colonel Coninenbelt." He fought very hard not to be sarcastic when introducing the Colonel as a gentleman, hoping that he succeeded.

[Helvetea]

At an isolated mountain Airport in the Centre of Arvan, an Antonov-12 was parked on the runway, several cases of Cargo being loaded by Native workers. The Airport was easily defendable, a sheer cliff at the end of the runway and the only entry point through a canyon road.

The Paramilitaries using said Airport had defended the cliff edge with machine gun nests and mortars, and the canyon Entrance with RPGs and more Machine Guns. The Paramilitary Group, though unnamed, was being used to ferry Arms from foreign suppliers to Helvetean Arms Dealers. Two fo them, a stetson-wearing man and a cloaked man, were conversing near the entrance, while other mercs relaxed nearby.

[Noronica]

"A pleasure to meet you gentlemen, and Miss...? Colonel Coninenbelt, I will have some whiskey brought up. Does some Glenlivet sound good?"
With a nod of acceptance, the Foreign Secretary pressed a button on his intercom,
"Good Afternoon Isabelle, may I have some of the Glenlivet brought up here?"
Releasing the button, he relaxed into his chair,
"Ah! Pardon my manners, I am Arván's Foreign Secretary Patrick Chéron. We have matters to discuss I believe?"

[Jahe Davmwoem]

"A pleasure to meet you gentlemen, and Miss...? Colonel Coninenbelt, I will have some whiskey brought up. Does some Glenlivet sound good?"
With a nod of acceptance, the Foreign Secretary pressed a button on his intercom,
"Good Afternoon Isabelle, may I have some of the Glenlivet brought up here?"
Releasing the button, he relaxed into his chair,
"Ah! Pardon my manners, I am Arván's Foreign Secretary Patrick Chéron. We have matters to discuss I believe?"

Lieutenant Hekkelman replied "Yes, it appears to us that in your... current situation, you could probably make use of some military experts. Training, supplies, the whole works. And we can give that to you."

The Colonel jumped in, after downing his glass. "And if that fails somehow, I already have what you may call a doomsday plan, resistance, how to set up the government in exile. All that we need from you in this generous offer is too cooperate."

The woman spoke "I am a Representative of the Jahenian mob. They simply want to be dominant in the market. Human trafficking, drugs, the whole underground. I know your government is in it. Our country just got out of a war, Mr. Cheron. Nobody would notice if a small portion of the surplus were to go missing. The mob could secure this for you. That with these two men's expertise, you would be in very good shape. Also remember while our citizen speaker approved of this plan, we are not here on behalf of the government of Jahe Davmwoem. I am here on behalf of the mob, and these two are here on a private enterprise. They are officially retired from the military. So, what say you?"

[Atnaia]

"Shut the fucking door, you're letting the heat out."

The sliding steel door of the warehouse rattled shut with the sound of clinking chains and rusty wheels. The thin man stomped in in heavy boots, sending splatters of mud across the ground. He coughed, dropped the green butt of a marijuana cigarette on the floor and stamped it out. He sniffed the air.

"Jesus, it smells like shit in here," he said.

"Jessie's been burning shit in the furnace," the muscle-bound guy with the shaved head who sat at the table near the door. "Fucker forgot to check tags and wound up throwing in a bunch of synthetics. Might as well have been burning plastic water bottles."

The thin man retched. "Stupid dickhead. How are the guests?"

The muscle-bound guy shrugged, a movement like a mountain rising and falling. "Check on 'em yourself."

The thin man sniffed, threw the muscly guy the bird and crossed the loading dock to a plywood wall with a bright red door inset in the center. He pulled out a set of keys from his pocket and unlocked it, proceeding down the dimly lit hallway beyond. It was a makeshift, half-temporary interior of exposed drywall and pressed wood, with numbered doors every dozen feet or so. At each one, he stopped, slid a small panel aside, and glanced in. The whole time, he went through a list on his phone, noting each guests status with one of three letters.

1 - U
2 - U
3 - C
4 - U
5 - R

U for unconscious.
C for conscious.
R for recovering from injury.

Rounding a corner, he did the same for another hall. There were 15 guests in total in the place, although the warehouse could house twice that on a good day, and if they doubled up rooms they could fit sixty. Of course, Gould didn't like it when they doubled up the rooms. If the guests were conscious, they would get to talking, which was a good way for someone to wind up hurt in a way that would damage their resale value. Went doubly true for young ones, who often developed delusions of grandeur on how this sort of thing worked.

What most of them didn't realize was that what waited them on the far side was, usually, pretty damn nice. About two out of every three would get nabbed by some rich dickhead who would spoil the shit out of them in exchange for the occasional aid in a particularly complex kink. Almost none were bound for hard labour or something, if people wanted that there were more legal ways of doing it. Frankly, with prostitution being legalized, there were even more legal ways of doing the things that Silver Branch facilitated. Of course, that just meant that Armanov had gotten creative in his business strategies, and began filling the more obscure niches that the standard agencies didn't cover. The young. The old. The strange. They tried to avoid kids though. Teenagers got you a slap on the wrist if you got picked up by LISA, maybe a little bit in prison, where you could enjoy a decent few years if you kept your mouth shut. Then you got to go back to the Club a conquering hero, maybe have a few leaves tattooed on you. Kids, on the other hand, that got you locked up for good. Or shot. Or, worst of all, sent off to camp for a summer, which was like being shot but slower. LISA was amoral, not immoral.

Hell, thought Gould, same could be said of the whole Atnaian schtick.

Gould was only part Atnaian, although hell if he could tell you which part it was. Silver Branch Club prided itself on being an equal opportunity employer: if you were willing to work, and work hard, you could find a family there. If you fucked with the club, though...

At the end of the hall, he came to the last door. He slid open the panel and glanced in. He frowned. Glancing down the hall, he shouted to the room where they sorted through the guests belongings. It also happened to be the furnace room.

"Yo, Jessie, where the hell is number 15?"

A guy with high cheekbones and a tattoo of a wolf on his cheek poked his head out. "Should be in her room, boss."

"Come here a minute," Gould said. "Bring the thing."

Jessie came over. He was shirtless and sweaty, a perpetual state of affairs for the highly tattooed man. He held a pistol in one hand. Gould, meanwhile, went through his keys, and carefully unlocked the last door. He held his fingers up.

Three.

Two.

One.

And opened the door.

As soon as he did, the girl who had been huddled below it, just out of sight from the sliding panel, leapt up and dug nails with flaking polish into Gould's cheek. He reared back, blood spurting from his face, and caught her thin wrists. She shook, trying to claw at him again, her naked body twisting against him. He stared at her calmly, the wise gashes in his face weeping.

"Woah there, sweetheart," he said calmly, pushing his weight against her and driving her into the small room of her cell. "Woah there. If you don't stop thrashing, I'm going to break your arm. And I really don't want to do that."

He didn't know whether it was the threat, the gun in Jessie's hand behind him that had levelled at her, or some combination. But her movements slowed. Instead, she horked back and spit in his face, then said something in French. Gould sighed,

"Je ne parle pas Francais, mon cheri," he said. "Parle vous Atais? Anglais?"

She spit again. Gould ignored it. He moved around her, still holding her wrists, like a dancer leading his partner. With the toe of his boot, he pressed into the back of her knee, driving her softly down onto the floor. Ever so gently.

"I don't want to hurt you," he said softly. "I really don't. But I will if you keep throwing this little tantrum."

"What do you want me to do, boss?" Jessie asked. Gould transferred both the girl's wrists into his left hand and held up the forefinger on his right, indicating to Jessie to wait a moment.

"We got you in a club, yes? You were high as a kite," Gould continued speaking to the girl. She was sobbing. "What do you take? Heroin? King Kong?"

She shook. Gould shrugged. "I can get you some," he said. She didn't respond. He sighed, looked at Jessie and nodded. "Shoot her."

Jessie nodded and pulled the trigger. The muzzle kicked and the shot hit home, into the girl's upper chest, just above her breast. The tranq dart stuck there for a moment, and the girl's movements slowed. Her eyes rolled back, and she drifted downwards. Gould caught her before she could drop, lifting her like a child and carrying her to the cot on the far side of the cell. He laid her down, covered her with a blanket, and looked at Jessie.

"Where the fuck are her clothes, asshole," Gould asked.

"We ran out of scrubs!" Jessie said. "We thought we'd be out of Arvan by now!"

Gould wiped the blood from his face and met Jessie out of the cell, making sure to bring the tranq dart with him. No sharp objects in the cells.

"Doc out getting more?" Gould asked.

Jessie shrugged, then nodded.

"Fuck," Gould swore. "I need him to stitch my face."

He turned to leave, wiping blood on his sleeve, then remembered. "Oh, right," he said. "Jessie, you stupid asshole, check the fucking tags before you burn their clothes. If it is any sort of plastic blend, and I cannot be more clear about this, do. Not. Burn. It. Understand? You don't have enough brain cells to spare."

Jessie glanced down at the ground dejectedly. Gould sighed and patted him on the shoulder.

"You're a real dickhead," Gould said, then walked off.

[Shanowinn]

Royal Owinn Naval Base Carrighinnis
Carrighinnis, Shanowinn

Petty Officer Murtagh opened the hatch and stepped out onto one of the Owinn Ahern's Ship River Goddess' exterior decks. He'd already eaten, and had an hour before going back to work. Murtagh leaned against the railing, and pulled out a cigar. He prepared and lit it, letting the first puffs rise into the grey sky over RON Carrighinnis. The rain had stopped, and although it wasn't bright and sunny he still thought there was a certain beauty across the strait where he could see old timey houses. The hatch opened behind Murtagh and so he diverted his attention where he saw Petty Officer Vaughn just putting on his cap.

"Ah Murtagh, hello; mind if I join you?"

"No need to ask, of course. You heard what's going to happen?"

"Aye aye, it's going to get a little bit busier in a few days or so I suppose, once we're underway. Say, it's not quite like you to smoke one in the day...celebrating something?" Vaughn began grinning, "...did you go out with Maddie? Oh why didn't you say anything!"

"Ah fuck off with that!" Murtagh facepalmed, "no, it's just that we're going to sea!"

"Ha, right then. Yeah, popping off to Arván--prolly a sea of shit--you know my da'inlaw said that he was there long ago and it was like a beach resort but now it sounds like the whole place is fucked!" Murtagh hung and shook his head at the thought of what he'd heard about Arván. How can a beautiful place turn ugly? he thought. He took a draw from his cigar, and spoke.

"Yeah well hopefully we can do some good over there. You know where my finger is resting when the quarters are beat, I'll blow any of them out of the sky if they try flying at us."

[Polar Svalbard]

The five sat on a hill overlooking the neighborhood that Agent Timothy Manta's house resided in. Two were laying their motionless with the early dawn sun glinting off the tops of their heavy precision rifles. The other three looked over the map in the sand that their leader, Jakub Beránek had drawn.

Using the stick Jakub pointed out two locations within a kilometer radius of the house. "Our man is at one of these locations, he'll be dug in and it'll be our job to get him out, hopefully these gobshites haven't found him. First we'll check the house and make sure everything that is sensitive is destroyed, if anyone gets close first is a warning shot, second is shoot to kill. Anyone rolls up with weapons drawn, shoot to kill. Got it?'

The two nodded, Jakub looked towards the two on recon, "Got it?" The two looked back, "Got it sir." Jakub nodded, "Alright, we roll out now. Luckily the cops here give absolutely zero shits, and if any come they'll back off when the first to respond are killed. Let's hoof it."

The five rose from where they were, the spectres of the night, wolves out to hunt their prey. Their black SOIS stood out in the light, but the lack of faces on them, other than the one with a skull painted on, gave any who were unfortunate enough to be out at that time enough reason to stay inside. They kept off the streets, moving from alleyway to alleyway, hopping fences and going through backyards. As they reached the wreckage of the house two of them broke off to keep watch while the other three searched the house for any sensitive materials that may not have been destroyed.

Jakub pointed to one side of the house and then the other, "Awad, over there. Mikkel, over there. I'll take the panic room and area over there."

As they searched they found nothing that needed to be destroyed, although as they were about to head out one of the sentries, Geoffrey yelled out, "Sir! Technical on the way, machine gun mounted on back! Firing!" At that he squeezed off a couple bursts of rounds at the truck approaching. In that split second the first round pierced the windshield hitting the cab of the truck to the side of the driver, as did the second. The third impacted the driver's left eye, tmbling through his brain and sending a spray of bodily material into the cab of the truck and on the men behind him. The second burst caught the gunner in the hip as the truck careened into a gulley at a much faster speed since the driver's dead foot dropped on the gas.

As the hood hit the side of the ditch at 75 mph the machine gunner was flung into the dirt and gave a sickening crunch as the bones in his body shattered. The one inside who was unbuckled was sent flying through the window and also gave a sickening crunch, which was enunciated as the top of the truck slammed onto his pulverized body, and caving in the skulls of those still upright. Geoffrey turned to Jakub, "Sir! Target Eliminated."

Jakub nodded and gave a thumbs up, "Alright, we're moving on. Time to get our friend out of the hole he's dug."

[Corindia]

Somani-Madrinas Fruit Plantation, Northern Arván

---

Sr. Carlos Madrinas was quietly sitting at his desk in the study of his 18th century Mediterranean-style villa looking over the previous quarter's expense reports. What used to be an exercise in business acumen had become a rather dark endeavor in the last few years as more and more workers began to be kidnapped or killed by the cartels, and the ledgers reflected it. Hiring good workers wasn't easy, and the vetting and training process was expensive and time consuming. Fourteen people had been taken last month, more than the previous three months combined. Things were definitely getting worse in Arván.

Previously the government and cartels had left the Corindi-run plantations alone, essentially allowing them to function as autonomous corporate islands in a sea of desperation, but just as the Arvanan government had become more aggressive abroad, particularly in regards to their Noronican neighbors, they had become more aggressive domestically and were seeking more taxes from the plantation and its neighbors.

The Cartels were worse. They had demanded protection money and even stock options from the Somani-Madrinas Plantation and other nearby Corindi farms, some even going so far as to demand representatives on the board or oversight over who was allowed to work and live on the properties. Juan Caramelo, owner of FresCorindi was considering moving operations completely after growing in Arván for two-hundred years. It was absolutely unheard of. Carlos Madrinas knew that the rest of Arván was like this, but the plantations used to be different! His father had run the operation like a sovereign ruler and had taught him to do the same, and the cracks in that reality had quickly spread and become unbearable. How dare these hooligans strong-arm him!

He had bought into private security with the other owners, but it was failing. Members were dying, deserting and shirking their posts, and Carlos suspected many were on the cartels' dollar as well. The owners were considering turning to Corindia for assistance. They were Corindi citizens after all, and they paid their Corindi taxes. Some of the owners even had family members in Carmo. Still, this was an undesirable option. Corindi involvement would mean scrutiny, and scrutiny would mean less profit. His fists clenched.

Carlos Madrinas was broken out of his fugue by his secretary bursting in.

"Sir! There was an explosion at the FresCorindi headquarters! Caramelo is dead!"

[Vemta]

Number 209
The Consul's Residence

Secretary of International Relations and Diplomacy Camille Mack was staring quietly at Consul Dante Calicta who was seated behind his desk and holding a black phone which had the crest of the High Priestesses. The latter was speaking with High Priestess Mia Ravar, one of the five holy virgins who comprised the highest state functionaries of Vemta. She was appointed by the holy sisters as the person in charge of national defense. While Consul Calicta seemed relaxed, nodding occasionally, she could sense that her boss was just as much worried as she was. Just days earlier, the Council of the Republic voted to endorse the deployment of Vemtasi forces to assist the Noronnicans, albeit only to aid in medical operations and assist in humanitarian relief efforts in the area.

The government had been increasingly worried with the state of affairs in Arvan. And given their proximity with each other, Vemta has long feared that rogue elements from the country might eventually wreak havoc in the Argean, finding their way even to Vemtasi shores.

Just as Consul Calicta was about to say goodbye to the High Priestess, Secretary of Defense Hazel Jordan entered into the room. She nodded at Secretary Mack before taking the other empty chair which was right beside where Secretary Mack was seated.

"I can't believe we're doing this, and just as we are about to celebrate the Feast of the Holy Family."

"Well, we are ready." Joran whispered to Mack.

Calicta hung up the phone, sighed and then stood up, buttoning his suit. "We're clear to go. They agree that Vemta should help Noronica with this."

"Do you mean,," Secretary Mack hesitated a bit "sending our troops in?"

"Yes, though hopefully it will not come to the point that they'll have to actually fight. We're already risking But as we have agreed yesterday, that is certainly an option. Right now, I just want us to reiterate our support of the Noronnican government, and that we will be sending forces to assist in medical and humanitarian operations."

He paused and walked in front of his desk, stopping right next to Secretary Jordan. "And I like the vagueness of that, humanitarian operations."

Jordan nodded, "it gives us just the right amount of flexibility. It will also temper the fears of the public, at least for now that is."

Mack tried to manage a smile. "I'll go tell the Noronnicans then"

[Athara Magarat]

Kagbeni Town

Athara Magarati Military Base in Akar and/or Thakali Island

Lieutenant Colonel Siddhartha Thane Pun had been observing the development activities and and war reconstruction efforts taking place in Akar. Like it was before the short war, the island of Akar and/or Thakali Island was back to its former status as a trading place. The Athara Magarati and Keomoran soldiers were there to help the Akari and Thakali civilians in the reconstruction and development efforts. Roads and other infrastructures such as hospitals, schools, libraries, etc were being built together by Athara Magarat, Keomora and CU member nations; while the number of tourists was increasing to this little island. Athara Magarat government officials were talking of establishing a joint Athara Magarat-Kemora-Akar and Thakali Island industrial estate in the island starting with a factory for creating smartphones developed by Athara Magarati smartphone developers. It was not only Athara Magarat and Keomora, companies from CU member states and beyond were trying to tapped into the little island full of many possibilities.

An officer informed him that his Keomoran counterpart has requested a meeting with him. That was rare. The top Keomoran military officer in the island was usually supervising his junior officers to do this and that for the civilians and the projects and did not even seem to have time for anything else. The lieutenant colonel replied that he would arrange his schedule quickly. Angering the Keomorans in such a volatile region was not a good thing, specially after people on all sides were just forgetting the war.

At the fixed schedule for meeting, Lieutenant Colonel Thane allowed his Keomoran counterpart to meet him at his quarters: the run-of-the-mill office he had at the moment. The two men greeted each other with handshakes. The top Keomoran military officer on the island quickly got to his business for visiting the Athara Magarati military base.

"I had this reports that a military transport from Athara Magarat arrived yesterday here with soldiers. I can still see that plane here. I even hear that more military transports are inbound." The Keomoran officer spoke. "What is the meaning of this? I thought our governments had a deal that we would not increase our military strength. Not a number more in fact."

So this is the problem? Thane quickly relaxed his mind and smiled, "My boys and girls from the paratrooper Magpies Battalion are leaving this island. They will be replaced by folks from the Rats Battalion. I assure you that whatever is happening just simply a change of guards. Nothing else, not surely an increase in military numbers. I thought I wrote that letter to you last night. Maybe I was drunk or something."

"You were drunk?"

"Christmas is coming and we also had this little drinking yesterday for my boys and girls who are now leaving this island. Except for me. Darned government officials say that I have become the face of Athara Magarati military presence or something and are keeping me here. So it was for my boys and girls who would be leaving me behind. Now, I have to work alongside a senior commander from Rats Battalion. Let's hope that he is as fun as you."

"I am hoping that as well. And why are your boys and girls leaving now?" The Keomoran officer questioned.

"The Hang and the Foreign Ministry are babbling about human rights abuses and atrocities against another Khas-Kirati minority." Thane paused for a while. That was the same excuse Athara Magarat had used for going to war against Keomora in this island. "However unlike here where Akaris and Thakalis were and are equally powerful, there the Sunuwars are being treated like punching bags by the Arvanans; they say. I dunno the political situation but my boys and girls will surely be the first Athara Magarati soldiers to drop in enemy territory there as well. Right now they are either packing up or saying goodbye to Akari and Thakali civilians whom they have been close to or giving guidelines to the folks from Rats Battalion."

"How about we give a farewell to them as well? We have earned each other's respect, haven't we?" The Keomoran officer smiled.

"Sounds good to me. See the effects of peace. Three or four months ago we would have been conspiring to kill each other and now we are like best buddies. I hope that the thing in Arvan will end soon as well." Thane started spouting philosophy.

"We hope for that as well. In the end, we are not so different from one another no matter which nation we belong to." The Keomoran officer said solemnly before standing up. "Now, pardon me. I gotta tell my people about your situation and the farewell thing."

The two military officers from two different nations shook hands and bade farewell to each other.

[Noronica]

Lieutenant Hekkelman replied "Yes, it appears to us that in your... current situation, you could probably make use of some military experts. Training, supplies, the whole works. And we can give that to you."

The Colonel jumped in, after downing his glass. "And if that fails somehow, I already have what you may call a doomsday plan, resistance, how to set up the government in exile. All that we need from you in this generous offer is too cooperate."

The woman spoke "I am a Representative of the Jahenian mob. They simply want to be dominant in the market. Human trafficking, drugs, the whole underground. I know your government is in it. Our country just got out of a war, Mr. Cheron. Nobody would notice if a small portion of the surplus were to go missing. The mob could secure this for you. That with these two men's expertise, you would be in very good shape. Also remember while our citizen speaker approved of this plan, we are not here on behalf of the government of Jahe Davmwoem. I am here on behalf of the mob, and these two are here on a private enterprise. They are officially retired from the military. So, what say you?"

Patrick rubbed his chin, observing the three. His country was in desperate need as his President was doing jack shit to help it. Taking Arván into a war with a much larger and more powerful country that had powerful allies was definitely not on the script. He thought hard on their offer. What if it was some sort of binding deal, what if they were representing the government and they wanted a huge share in Arván? He loved his country, and he didn't want any foreigners messing with internal politics. Sighing, Patrick heard a knock on the door,

"Sir? May I-" It was Isabelle with the whiskey. Smiling, Patrick nodded and she put the drinks on the table, looking around the room with a blank face. Putting his glass down, Patrick noticed a note under the glass, smiling, he slipped it into his sleeve. He was glad that he had installed an agent to be here and observe - he would need extra eyes and ears in these coming weeks. When she turned and left, he took a sip of his whiskey, swirled it around in his tongue, and began speaking again.

"It is no secret that Arván is in a... 'predicament'. Forgive me for being slightly apprehensive about this, our nation is filled with unsavoury characters, but I think you coming here at our time of need is certainly commendable. Now, we will need military support if what the rumours about Noronnican mobilisation are true, and we will also need help training our soldiers. Also, unlike my President, I am somewhat of a pessimist when it comes to whether we will 'win' this war. So I appreciate the doomsday plans as they will ensure that we do not go down without a fight. Just make sure that the President doesn't know about this as he will likely be...ah...'apprehensive' about plans to lose the war." Taking another sip of his glass, his expression turned to slight stress as he realised that he would need to respond to the truths the Mob woman spoke of, "Yes, it is a sad thing about our reliance on these practices to keep Arván afloat, but money is money, and what is a few farmers compared to the thousands already here. If this deal does go through, I will be glad to accommodate you." Patrick moved ever so slightly forward to rest his arms on his desk,

"Now, this deal cannot go through immediately, as I am sure that you are aware. I am sure that you are tired from this trip, so I have arranged rooms for you three in the private government residence. If you would like to follow Isabelle, she will show you to your rooms so that I and a few of my advisors can look over this deal." When Isabelle came in and the three had their backs turned to him, he quickly checked Isabelle's note which was written in French as a cautionary measure,

All three are perfectly fine. I checked up on all of them, they all seem to be what they say they are, especially the woman as there is next to nothing on her - guess that comes with being a representative for the mob.

Patrick smiled and spoke to the three, "Is this arrangement satisfactory?"