Life Goes On - Short Stories and Such [ORDIS}

[Kolintha]

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What this thread is for:

- Short stories about the contemporary lives of people in your nation.
- Historical vignettes.
- FT!Ordis tidbits, as well as other AU settings (e.g alternate histories)

[Transoxthraxia]

Sunday, May 27th, 2018.
The zho Khaulia-Gau Estates,
Eastern Milzas Provisional Province

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The Eastern Milzas Range was one of the few regions of the country that was unaffected by the internecine civil war. The rolling hills, steep river valleys, and general inaccessibility, especially to mechanized units, made it prohibitively difficult for either the Revisionist or Republican troops to base any sort of large-scale operations in the area. This was a mixed blessing for the victorious Revisionists, because the area remained prosperous and undamaged, but also lacked either the pro-Revisionist patriotism of the loyal provinces or the destruction and economic depression of the Republican provinces. Even dedicated party-line Revisionists were, at the very least, quietly happy about the area's lack of action due to the fact that many of their country houses were located in the incredibly scenic province.

One of the most notable country homes in the area was the estate of the zho Khaulia-Gau families, whose wealth dates back to the Warlord Era and whose patriarch, Aitoras zho Khaulia-Gau, now presided as the Vaspiramastyniaus, controller of the Council of Five Hundred and effectively the second most powerful politician in the nation. The estate itself was originally a citadel built by the Ghau Clan, a group of Xaxonites that enjoyed practical independence under the Second Empire before they were thoroughly Transoxthraxianized in the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries. Despite the fact that the many of the buildings had been rebuilt over the years, it was clear that the original purpose of the estate had been to keep unwanted guests out. Where a stone wall had once stood, an equally impressive wrought iron fence now wrapped the perimeter of the compound, which was flanked by well-kept hedges on both sides. The buildings of the compound, numbering four in total, included the Main House, the Guest House, the Service & Guard Compound, and a garage whose second floor doubled as a bedroom for the occasional children that came to visit from distant branches of the family. The entire estate was settled on a relatively small, natural indent on an otherwise incredibly steep river valley, meaning that the buildings were somewhat close together despite the large amount of them.

The various buildings on the estate were connected by beautiful stone pathways, and modest, well-kept gardens seemed to be packed into whatever space there was left over. The only way in and out of the estate was through the main drive, where a wrought iron gate, connected with the rest of the fencing, was guarded at all hours by a security checkpoint. The main drive did not lead to the main house, but instead to the garage, where pathways instead lead one to the main building. The buildings were done up in a traditional Transoxthraxian Rustic design, with faux-cobbled stone bases and wooden paneling placed on top of insulated walling.

In total, the amount of service staff associated with the estate was thirty six, including ten security staff, though only four full-time, and eighteen janitors and groundskeepers; The other eight were indoors service and wait staff. However, the compound could accommodate up to sixty people in total. It was here, at the estate, in which Asergoniz, her brother and his family, as well as Aitoras and his family, were residing for the weekend. Since they had come up on the Friday, there had been a lot of relaxation and having fun. The Asergoniz twins, two nine year old boys, seemed to get along with Aitoras' daughter, only a year their elder, and Aitoras' son seemed to be attached at the hip to the twins' elder sister, the pair of them fifteen. As dinner had been served and the final course gone by, the children were sent to bed and Klyuatra's brother Iohnas dismissed. As the doors to the long, beautifully-decorated dining hall closed loudly behind Iohnas, there was, for just a moment, silence between the pair of political magnates.

"So what now?" asked Aitoras. He sat at the head of the table, slouched in a relaxed manner, his right elbow propped up against the chair's armrest, holding his chin in his hand. The Vaspiramastyniaus was nearly a decade Asergoniz's elder, but he hardly showed it. His jet black hair, shaved on both sides and slicked back on the top, gave him a youthful impression. His facial hair was neatly-kept, with a similarly-coloured lampshade moustache on his upper lip. Cunning, green eyes gave off a near-continuously fiery disposition, even when the politician was calm. His complexion was darker than Asergoniz's, not so much to be mistaken as a Native Valeyan, but enough that it betrayed his Xaxonite origin. "The first ten directives have been published and are in the process of being implemented. What of Ahvax?"

"What of her?" The Didact of the nation responded. Contrary to Aitoras, Klyuatra's pale skin showed off her almond-shaped blue eyes, which seemed impossible to read. The young politician who had managed to accomplish so much in so little time met Aitoras' gaze. They both knew that Ahvax's insurgency weakened the reputation of the newly-established Revisionist state in many people's eyes, especially their newfound friends in Ahrenrok. "She's a minor thorn in our side, but the Black Guard will smoke her out. The mountain passes have melted and we can start patrolling in the Western Milzas proper now." The small-framed stateswoman plucked a fruit from one of the plates that had been laid out after dinner, and took a bite of it. Chewing carefully, she became visibly pensive, before her expression hardened again. Looking Aitoras straight in the eye, she asked, "How is the Minimist majority in the Council? Happy?"

It was unusual for the Didact to as Aitoras a question like such. Aitoras thought for just a moment as to the motivation behind the question, but instead chose to be frank. "It's slim, but they're happy. More busy trying to keep the Maximists down than really focusing on your leadership though. Why?"

Asergoniz's answer was instant; she had anticipated his curiousity. "The first ten directives won't be the last. And I want to make sure that if I decree some more, that I won't be suddenly removed from office by those who have forgotten my worth to this nation." Silence once again filled the room, suffocating it. Neither of them, despite being populist politicians, were particularly garrulous on a personal level. As Aitoras opened his mouth to ask another question, a distant bang echoed throughout the hall. Both Aitoras and Klyuatra turned their heads towards the source, the open southerly windows. "Did you hear that?" He asked instead. Both of them had been in Szkaulias when the Republicans were on the city's doorstep; neither of them were strangers to gunfire. The pair of them rushed towards the windows just in time to notice the scene unfolding on the main drive.

Four pitch-black military trucks with the Six-Figured Star painted on their bed's canvas were lined up just outside the gate, seemed to be waiting for the gate to open. Two figures clad in all black stood behind the security gate, pulling a limp body out of the checkpoint. It was clear who they were - The Black Guard.

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[Achesia]

Amongst the Crystal Waters... Trouble

The ear-piercing screech quieted the crowd for a long moment as the dual Ai-10 multi-role fighters flew low to the airstrip before pulling up and out over the ocean, their bright orange turbofans glistened off into the distance. But as soon as the rumbles of the jet fighters subsided, so to did the growing fervor of the crowd erupt again as the Achklandish military jet’s charge taxied across the small airports runway to the detest of those who gathered there on the picket line. The white Endo E195 marked with the Achklandish violet and red flag on it’s tail turned towards the awaiting crowd as its engines whined and moaned before the power was struck from them all together. Ground crews rushed to bring the executive Achklandish aircraft to rest while the jeering crowds of gathered Achklanders shouted their antipathy for its arrival.

Between them she could see the thin green line of Achklandish Army soldiers armed with black riot helmets and glass shields, backs towards her plane in silent distance from any feelings they might have towards the issues that plagued this nation. Their form of professionalism was so foreign to The Youth, that she almost hated their lack of empathy for these people. Their glass shields the more visible of the two barriers they carried with them, the second of which being their phycological barrier towards their fellow human.

Murders
Occupiers
Achklanders go home
Yamatain pigs
Free Mongwau

All the banners, signs, face paint, and slurs they carried with them that day were all justified in the mind of Aimi Takahashi, better known as the Youth of the Haikade of Achkland. She had sung many songs similar to the words these demonstrators were saying, ballads of peace, resistance to violence, and homage to the disestablishment. Ironic now she looked on at this sentiment from her plush leather chair and sleek white government jet as a visiting head of state to Mongwau Autonomous Island. The young faces in the crowd be it Achklander, Yamatain, or native all wanted the same thing… peace and freedom. Surely the famous young singer and actress “9ine” was the best person on the Haikade to come and diffuse the violent situation on the small island of Mongwau. As the plane jolted forward and then rested at the stop Aimi was sure of her own ability.

Mongwau was an island that few beyond the university students and the native populace knew about. It was one of hundreds of autonomous regions within Achkland set aside for native Valeyans since the establishment of Achkland as an independent nation. More recently however it has become known for more troubling events such as acid attacks on female Yamatain students, stabbings on campus, and the most alarming bombing of the Mongwau Native Studies University student union building. It was the unsurprising product of years of built up tension between the Achklander and Yamatain migrants to the peaceful sub-tropical island and the natives who found too much success in marketing their small tourist/college destination. The creature within their community now growled at the encroachment of the bigger beast of Achklandish culture, and its territory would soon find it’s mark with youth of this foreign blight. While the crowd assembled at the small Mongwau Airport was made up of many natives, some of the people whom they considered foreigners joined them in solidarity, perhaps much to their surprise and distaste.

What interest the Haikade has in such a small part of their humble nation, was to prevent the boiling over of anger and resentment amongst all the native minorities of Achkland. Terrorism and violence from these groups is ever the topic of discussion amongst the body of eight whom make up the head of state of Achkland. If Aimi had to listen to The Soldier proceed on one of his lengthy discussions about counter insurgency and the military tools available to them, she might just hurl during session, weapons of war being talked about so freely a huge distaste. Many of its members were all too ready to deal with this situation quietly and with force. Herself and The Mother however insisted that a dialog with the Mongwau people could be reached. Thus, this small minority of thinking among the ruling body of the nation was given a small chance to make this right before a much heavier handed solution had to be found. With a small military contingent already present on the island, Aimi would surely have her work as diplomat cut out for her as the people might see her as the veil of the Haikade’s true militaristic intentions for them.

“Madam Youth, we have arrived at Mongwau Airport, the local time is two-o-clock.” The Air Force commander piloting the plane came over the speakers of the cabin. Aimi’s own security detail was already on their feet, communicating with those forward deployed on the ground preparing for The Youth’s entrance. Behind her she could hear the press corps being released ahead of her, setting the stage to make this attempt at peace a national headline. Aimi was certainly not previously a politician, coming from the ranks of A-pop’s rising stars and thrust via popularity amongst her demographic to be one of the ruling members of the nation. But if politicians and popstars had anything in common it was the fact they loved to be seen making an entrance, so Aimi doubly so.

“I am ready to go down.” Aimi stood up into the aisle of the plane, waiting for the security detail to open the cabin door.

“We are still currently securing the area ma’am, we can not let you out at this time.” A stiff Yamatain man in black suit fluttered his palm before her as he also carried a conversation on with his headset.

Aimi’s very vocal facial expressions were the ire of the Haikadian Special Service, much more characterized and contrary than the rest of the older Haikade members. Her codename “Burning Star” almost gave a hint as to her outlook as a fiery head of state who knew she was much more than just a Haikade member, she was an Achklandish icon.

“Excuse me, firstly do not wave your hand at me…” Aimi mockingly fluttered her own dainty hand around at her chief of security. “… and secondly you have a whole divisions worth of soldiers out there, if you haven’t been ready for my arrival, then that’s on you.” Her eyes tossed him aside like no muscle could as colorful and trendy dress fluttered along the aisle while shoving past him. What she did not see however was his own eye roll as he flexibly accounted for her cavalier exit from the plane.

“The fire rises.” He said into his earpiece, Aimi knew once again she had gotten her way.

Without more of a struggle, her staff and detail opened up the cabin door, the rise in the crowds fervor erupting even more as they saw the stairway being moved up and The Youth emerging. It was a bright day so Aimi shielded her eyes to the sun as she took the first step out of the plane. It felt nice and cool here, compared to the warmer southern areas of the Achklandish mainland. With a big smile like she was coming on the stage for the first performance of the night, Aimi waved to the crowd who showed her no fanfare. While she knew the situation was tough in Mongwau, she did not expect as much anger in the crowd as she found at the top of those stairs. Looking down upon them it almost sank her heart and ego to see the jeering mass of slurs, spit, and vitriol that stood before her. But if she ever wished to succeed in her posting on the Haikade and the many opportunities that followed that, she knew she must endure. Surely the people of Mongwau would endure with her as they come to see it is peace that is their best friend. Peace with their fellow islanders, peace with the Haikade, and peace within Achkland.

Aimi ventured down the steps, continuing to wave as if these protestors that yelled hate at her and shoved against the shields of the Achklandish soldiers were her adoring fans. It was a much tougher crowd being a politician, but given her almost universal likeability as a A-pop star she had little trouble deducing that as a diplomat she would see the same success.

Reaching the ground Aimi skipped the standard salute to her military honor guard once again, something The Soldier scolded her for in closed sessions of the Haikade, but militarism was a very negative subject for youth in Achkland. The corps of reporters that had either flown in with her or were local to the island met her there and began to flash their cameras, an all too alluring sight and sound for Aimi that she immediately was attracted to. Publicity was her specialty on the Haikade, and if there was anything the rest of the members of the Haikade came to her to ask, it was how to deal with their new-found life in the spotlight.

While her security attempted to push back the reporters and give The Youth space to walk, Aimi began to hear their questions, though it was only minutes since she had arrived.

“Madam youth, what is the situation here in Mongwau?” One of the reporters she recognized from Fawnnora asked while holding a silver microphone over the shoulder of one of Aimi’s security agents.
Aimi smiled, she was quite a lovely girl and her black hair even as it blowed in the island wind was perfectly placed from any camera angle whether she sang for a music video or spoke to the press.
“The situation here is, that we need to respect each other. Something I’ve been hard at work reminding the rest of the Haikade.” Aimi’s voice was singsong even when she was not singing, its feminine tones and pitches always perfect for each word. “Hate is artificial. We can overcome it. I am confident being here we can show each other that there can be peace for all of us. Which I know in our hearts we all desire.” Aimi so fittingly covered her own left breast with her palm as she smiled, oblivious to all but the god called aperture.

“ACHKLANDER WHORE!” The shrill scream lifted her senses and just as qucikly dropped them to the pit of her stomach. From behind it seems the security net for The Youth’s visit was not tight enough, the dark-haired star caught a glimpse of a Mongwauan man charging towards her from behind, machete in hand.

CRACK

Almost as soon as she caught a glimpse of him in full tilt and violence did she then see him dead upon the tarmac. Just beyond a green digital clad Achklandish soldier held his smoking battle rifle high, charging towards the scene where The Youth stood frozen before the would-be attacker.

Unfortunately for Aimi the god called aperture often catches us in the times we are most vulnerable as well. But unlike being caught in compromising positions or at indecent times by the paparazzi, standing before the bloody body of a minority man where you just seconds ago talked about peace in your country has a different visceral affect across media. So too did the image of Aimi being carried off like a sports ball by her security detail back up the stairs to the white plane, the diplomatic mission Aimi so lauded failed after only ten steps from her aircraft.

As she was carried between her security agents, she could see the scene devolving around her, the crowd that was previously only half-assed shoving at the line of soldiers was now in full riot, fists, batons, rocks, signs, teeth were now being used in this war of anger. Cries and screams as soldiers beat down choice targets, and protestors banded together to take on the formation of green were all Aimi could hear as the engines of her white plane began to whine once more. Below the last thing she saw just before being pulled into the hull of the plane is a large chunk of pavement being hurled towards her, but falling ever so short into the skull of a reporter. Not even the fellow members of the press stopped to help their bloodied comrade while trying to save themselves from the chaos. Yet as Aimi was shoved back into her leather plush chair in the cabin of her VIP plane, she could not help but cry. The fire was rising, but it was not hers, yet she had caused this blaze.

She was surely a blazing star, the bringer of death.

[Achesia]

"Hark how the bells,
Sweet silver bells,
All seem to say,
Throw cares away

Christmas is here,
Bringing good cheer,
To young and old,
Meek and the bold.

Ding dong ding dong
That is their song
With joyful ring
All caroling.

One seems to hear
Words of good cheer
From everywhere
Filling the air."

As the choir sang she waited for the right moment, the moment to slip out unnoticed from the crowd of churchgoers congregated on the pews of the massive tabernacle in central Deltai. Kumiko Baumgarten had been called away from her family gathering for this so it better be good, though the prospect of taking a break from the drama, sound, and fury of such gathering was not awful. The job of a big-time reporter was never over if her mentors were to be believed. If she wanted to be the Michiko Schwanhild of her time she needed to find more to sacrifice on the alter of good press, including sacrificing time with relatives whose only conversational topic with her is when she was going to find a man. Sometimes when she looked into her grandmother’s eyes she thought she could see even the hopes that Kumiko would find a women so long as she got married and maybe adopted a few children. A feat that her other siblings had not failed to accomplish and bring honor to the family name.

Kumiko shifted in her seat, the hard-wooden pews were not to her ass’ liking. She never attended a Christian church except once with her friend in college, her family was Kando after all. While the low hums and high pitches of the rhythmic children’s choir grabbed her, she soon needed to break away. Nervously checking her watch every so often to see if the time had arrived to meet her contact. The jingling of silver bells by children neatly arranged on the stage spooked her somewhat as she watched from the crowd. There was something uneasy in her about all of this, something that didn’t feel right about why her contact called her here in the middle of a church on Christmas eve.

The frantic phone call she received from him as her nieces and nephews fought loudly over a video game put her reporting instincts into action, an ill tone deserving and ill turn. She had thought long and hard about leaving this one alone, the proverbial unturned. But if she did that then why be a reporter at all? This could be the biggest break in her career, she just had to have it handed to her by someone who sounded deranged.

The choir picked up their volume for the vamp, and that was her time to slip off to the side. Sliding down the hard wood pew she only had to squeeze past an older couple in red knit sweaters.

“Sorry.” She smiled and bowed her head as she squeezed between their unjudging knees and the pew in front of them. The older grey-haired Vandish woman scowled, looking around Kumiko impatiently.

She did her best not to click her heels too much on the stone floor as the red exit sign loomed before her and to not trip in the dark aisles of the church before reaching the side wall, hoping few others saw her leave. What she was hiding from she did not know, but sometimes one gets a feeling that a lead on a story might be more than a headline to some.

Checking to make sure the service door would not alarm if she opened it, she pressed in and closed it shut nice and quiet. The service corridor of the tabernacle was warm, and just barely had more light than the sanctuary she just left. She wondered if he would be here in time, or if he changed his mind in fear of those he worked for. On the phone he seemed uneasy, the sort to just bail on her leaving her with nothing to give to the editor. Kumiko would not live that down again if it was the case.

But for what he spoke of, it was worth the try. Corruption at the highest levels looked great in bold typeface, but before she could get too excited, she reminded herself that political insiders singing stories of corruption was nothing abnormal. Sure there were leaks here and there, Achklandish government officials known to be public whistle blowers, but there was always a motive behind it and Kumkio couldn’t figure this one out as she trotted down the service corridor for dozens of meters.

Finally as she turned a corner, conspicuously sitting on a trolley with his head in his hands was the contact.

“Hey.” She approached him, despite the fact she was not trying to be very quiet he didn’t seem to notice her nearing. Yet as she announced herself he shot to his feet, his eyes wide and face moist. “Whoa, hey its… just me.” Kumiko stood back a few paces, holding the strap of her satchel.

The contact breathed a fluttering breath as he turned around and ran his head over his head, his hair uncouth.

“Oh.” He nodded up and down an unusual amount of times.

Oh? Kumiko felt uneasy.

“So I came, like you said, Kumiko Baumgarten, Achkland Morning Di….” She stopped short as the man who looked to have been wearing his suit for multiple days sat back down on the trolley and cupped his hands over his face. “What is it you have? You look like someone who has seen some things.” She reached in her bag and pulled out a pen and notepad.

The man laughed, she could see him a bit clearer now as she came a step closer. He was about her age in his late-20s, handsome profile of a well-to-do man of means. Most likely a Yamtain boy from a rich family who found his way to the Representative’s office by daddy’s business contact.

“What have I seen,,,” He tsked and gave her a wide eyed smile. “Too much, enough to know my days are numbered.”

She took note that he was definitely as deranged as he sounded on the phone.

“Seems a bit dramatic.” She tried to be calm in hopes he would match her. “Representatives take bribes, bang their secretary’s, launder money all the time.”

“It’s more than that.” He looked at her, his eyes told the story of a thousand horrors his dreams had been filled with.

Kumiko nodded soberly. “What then.”

He held his head between his hands, his eyes darting back and forth.

She wrote on her pad: Drugs?

“I can hear them singing.” He sobbed as he rocked back and forth like a child.

Kumiko took a small step back, she didn’t feel safe here with him a mad man who was on his last thread of sanity. Clearly he was just crazy, political insiders sometimes had the wildest parties, perhaps too wild and explicit.

“Yeah, it’s a beautiful concert.” Kumiko turned to go the opposite direction, the sound of children’s voices filled the whole of the church to the rafters.

“NO.” He blurted as he looked towards her. She was not sure if he disagreed to her leaving or her statement.

“You don’t look well… go get some rest, or enjoy the concert...” She turned her back and began to walk towards the churchgoers again, where there was safety in the crowd of strangers.

“NO!” He grabbed her arm, his palm notably sweaty. Kumkio had half a mind to scream then, the man’s face illuminated to her. His eyes were bloodshot and skin pale, but his features looked almost normal. He had the stress lines most in political aides did, but nothing to say this man came from the loony bin full time.
She stopped and turned, yanking her arm from his grasp.

“What then?” Her expression and tone annoyed.

“The Kagehaikade.” He swallowed.

“Kage….Haikade?” She was interested, jotting in her notes again.

“Yes.” He nodded, she understood him now… at least he felt. “The ones who truly run our government, the ones who are in control. They manipulate everything from behind the scenes, the Diet… the military… the people!” He rambled, still the presence of insanity on his breath that Kumiko could not get over.

As she scribbled in her notes, she nodded affirmation to him. “Sure, there is always conspiracies that big business or some bank that runs the show behind the scenes. What makes this different?..... er?” Kumiko realized she had not asked the man his name yet, all she knew of him is that he worked with Representative Kotone Tsubasa.

“No… it’s not like that, this is bigger, more sinister.” The tone turned from crazed to an even more uneasy whisper.

“What is it like then? What’s your proof?”

His hands shaking and grasping within his coat pocket, producing a small USB stick.
“It’s all on here, the Representatives correspondence, travel records.” A small bit of hope was in his eyes that Kumkio could do this, something she could not decipher, especially as to why he decided to give up this information.

“Who are these people, why are you doing this?” She took the stick in her palm.

There was nothing but silence for a long moment, the man reluctant to answer the questions as his yes darted from her to the hall behind her.

“No.” He whispered again with unease.

“What?” She got that feeling of danger again, that something was not quite right.

“No… no.” He turned, walking away from her briskly. Kumiko did not have the inclination to follow, instead grasping the USB and her notes hoping that the records he provided her made more sense that his babbling about a Kagehaikade or some grand conspiracy. Surely this was nothing more than a case of a few business men buying some votes of Diet members, getting rough when they feel the need to cover up the plot. Her contact soon disappeared around a corner, his footsteps drowned out by the singing of choir tunes by the children within the church a far more relaxing sound than the thoughts of a troubled man. Kumiko had what she wanted, she could analyze it back at her family’s home that evening after prayer.

She turned to leave, walking back down the dark corridor towards the sanctuary she had disappeared from. But in transitioning from tense interaction to relaxing walk, she met another blocking her path. Face to face with her was a man, dressed similarly to her contact but much more Vandish looking with his square jaw and brown hair. He had a dark omen to him that Kumiko made a mental note of, the situation she found herself in growing more uneasy than she had been willing to take on when Kumiko took that phone call just hours ago.

“Oh. Sorry I probably shouldn’t be in this corridor, I got lost trying to go out and have a smoke.” Kumiko’s smile fermented as he stood over her straight faced, not showing any willingness to move. “Excuse me.” She made to squeeze past him, but his hand grabbed her shoulder to stop her.
“Excuse me!” She now exclaimed. Her mouth was prepared to protest more but her mind silenced it when she saw the gun. The man shoved her against the cold concrete wall, his eyes still emotionless and expression sober.
Short-winded she sank to the floor, looking up at the man as her whole body turned numb from fear.

“A…aree you… Kagehaikade?” Her lips blubbered staring down the long cylinder that jutted off the barrel of his semi-automatic.

“I just sing.” The statement so matter-of-fact, followed by the twang of brass hitting the concrete floor and her body slumping over.

His exhale was long and strained, the product of extended discontent. Depositing his handgun back into his coat the man leaned over the burnt in expression of fear and awe still painted on the woman’s face. There was little time to linger over this one, just a moment to spare and make it look clean. Grasping her hand, he peeled each of her dead fingers apart to obtain the thumb drive, looking it over just a second before pocketing it. Taking her notepad he crumpled it and pocketed it as well. Anything with words he put on his person, nothing could be left behind.

Now all that was left was a dead reporter in the corridor of a church. She did not look very religious to him, out of place in a hall full of songs of the season. Perhaps Ms. Kumiko needed a god that night, but the god of this house clearly did not have a moment to spare, and the god of her choosing was the wrong one.

He took her blouse in his hands and ripped it randomly, same with her skirt. This needed to look messy, not like a professional did this. Ms. Kumiko Baumgarten died at the hands of a thug is what the headline needed to read. Certainly it was not the one she was after, and most likely it would be glossed over just like all the other murders in the nation’s biggest city were. The more horribly mundane the better he thought as he took out her purse from her bag and dumped its contents onto the floor. Grabbing a few bills and important looking plastic cards he decided his job was complete just as if he were an artist, the horror painted on her face telling the story of a women shot for the contents of her purse while she struggled for life. As he stood he did all but sign it as his own piece.

He “hmmed” in irony, they always tell you to just give the robber what they want. Unfortunately you cannot give up from your mind things you hear.

It was time to leave, a short walk towards the exit was ahead of him. But before then, he needed to see how the other loose end was coming along.

Turning the corner, there Mr. Naoki the senior assistant to representative Kotone Tsubasa, lay with a tie around his neck and blue tone to his face. Above him stood a co-worker, her expression just a sober as his looking down at the business she had handled.

“Clean.” He nodded at the senior aide who looked more at peace now that he was not conscious to the horrors that perused him.

“As you told me brother.” She smiled, but he disapproved of her demeanor with a glance of his own. Her face turned back to soberness just as quickly as the thought of her first clean kill brightened her.

“Come, we must remove Mr. Naoki from here. A dead senior Diet aide and a dead reporter in the same corridor is not clean.” Shaking his head to reiterate the fact that this needed to look like it was two separate incidents. Diet aides and those close to the political circles often have wild drug and sex crazed parties, one or two ending up strangled was not out of the norm, but being in a church while doing all of the above was. They would take his body a few blocks down outside a highly frequented topless bar known for its depravity and indecent incidents.

They would take his body a few blocks down the street and leave his body in the alley behind a frequented topless bar known for its drugs, booze, and accidental overdoses. As their car peeled away they left the scene of Ms. Kumiko’s death behind them. It was a story they wrote together, a song of sorts that foretold of whispers and what silenced them. This chorus would continue as long as those who whispered continued to try and tell their song to others. This undying process would repeat itself until more and more mundane headlines of murders and bloodshed filled the news outlets of Achkland.