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I have become death, the destroyer of worlds (CLOSED IC)

A staging-point for declarations of war and other major diplomatic events. [In character]
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New Aeyariss
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I have become death, the destroyer of worlds (CLOSED IC)

Postby New Aeyariss » Sat Mar 24, 2018 10:30 am

OOC: This thread is CLOSED. If you want to join, TG ME!
OOC THREAD







**** 241634GOLFMAR18: Kesslerstaadt

The neons of the city state, usually of red and pink color symbolizing moral decay this city found itself in, shined like Christmas lights as they contrasted with the dark tropical sky. Kesslerstaadt - also colloquially called "New Sodom" by those less eager to agree with deeds citizens of said urban agglomeration committed on daily basis - was, without joking, most loose city in the world, where all sort of sexual restraints disappeared long ago. When a cult that was forced to flee from Europe back in the early modern ages, took it's seat here and preserved to this day, with roughly half of the population still involved in it's vile practices. Having enormous amount of influence in politics and culture, the cult worshiped an idol known as Balcom, whom they claimed gave humans enlightenment in the garden of Eden, believing that God of Abraham is "the evil and lesser god" to the one whom they worshiped. To celebrate their deity, the cultists built almost one kilometer tall skyscraper, housing officers, supermarkets, hotels, brothels and the cult's temples, styled after the tower of Babel from Biblical tales. On the top of almost kilometer tall tower, strange rituals often involving abusive acts were performed to celebrate the minor avatar of Balesh (as the cult borrowed a lot from local Hinduism also ) - the Lukayesh, the avatar of the angel of the sun. When the tower was forced to be demolished following infamous 2016 terrorist attacks by Commoner Royal Guard - the cult built a lesser one, which still served it's purpose.

On the top over five hundred meters recently built skyscrapper was an apartment inhabited by a certain multi-billionare, which became his retreat after the entire world pronounced him dead. His name was Amihan Russell, formerly owning an enormous bank known as Russel Financial, giving enormous loans to multiple large companies and thus, building a powerful network of his own. One of his doings was also Amihan Foundation for Development of Freedom, Democracy and Progress (AFDFDP) which financed an enormous amount left wing, and socially progressive movements across the world. Very few people known that this man was once high ranked chief of Asignese Kahaliman network, creating proxies for the Bayan all over Southern Furukuran sea; and personally great fan of Erin Terten's ideology and worshiper of his "Holy Truth". But Kahaliman was now no more; left of his web of contacts he forged during his service, Amihan Russel went to create his own underground power, to realize the dream the banker had since his childhood.

Not always did the multi-billionare know abundance of wealth. He was born in now unresistant country, devoured by a civil war forgotten long ago. Once, as a child, he knew pain when his entire family was slaughtered on his eyes by a militia of a rival ethnic group. That act put him upon long road of hatred towards everything traditional; for nationalities and religions. Deep desire to unify the entire Earth under him was forged in his heart. Like Nietzchean overman, he was going to break the useless bonds of tradition and cast his own morality in place of the destroyed traditional societies; and when emerging forces of the globalization have defeated the reaction, the world will finally know peace and prosperity.

The chance to realize his dreams came to him in his adult life. When he ascended to his wealth, working as a manager for another important businessman at the height of the cold war, he was recruited to be a part of a secret alliance formed between most influential people in Communist Intelligence Services and various multi-billionaires. Purpose of this hidden union was, originally, to prevent nuclear war by influencing governments on both sides. But Russel had other vision - one where the only war to prevent global catastrophe of a new war would be to remove from the face of the Earth things that allowed wars - religion, nationalism or any other form of conflicting identity. Such removal was to be accomplished by a forceful conquest. Now, when as Alvin Toffler predicted, globalization was weakening the institution of nation state, new subjects of international relations were emerging. Those subjects - corporations, religious groups, terrorists or international criminals - had little desire to conform to traditional nation-state system that dominated the world in XIX century. They lacked, however, someone with influence enough to unite them - that was, before Russel had shown up.

Russel sighed as he entered the room, looking around on the assembled members. His co-conspirators were influential people from all over the world; but most of them did not care about grand ideas. Profit was the only thing those greedy faces were thinking about - and profit they shall get, but not before doing the work Amihan assigned them.

"Brothers!" sounded his majestic and full of confidence voice "Sisters! Today we meet here again to continue with our grand plan! The emerging world economy is finally giving us a chance to accomplish the dream we have all shared throughout all those decades when our alliance was formed to prevent the nuclear holocaust from taking place! Since that time, we have known that only way to stop mankind's spiral down towards destruction was to put a sold boot beneath legs of the nationalist and populists! History had proven just how lethal those feelings are, when millions of bodies filled the trenches of World War I. Today however, as a reaction to all the positive developments - such emergence of a global human rights system, increase of democracy around the world or creation of more responsible forms of economic development that ensure social justice and refuse to harm our mother Earth - there is a reaction! Look at the world - countless wars, endless bloodshed, all in the name of nation or religion! But we - the few enlighted souls that have resources to do it - are here to stop it! Shall we, then refuse to make mistakes Redshield made, and finally start implementation of our plan!?"

"Yes! Towards a more stable world!" shouted chorus of voices from both sides of the table they were sitting near. "Hyenas" though in his head Amihan "you follow me only because you can earn something from that..."

"Redshield tried to kill me and he failed" shouted Amihan as his voice became even more charismatic "He tried making deals with Kojiro - and look what has happened to him! He is now bitting the sand, his excuse for a brother captured by Inyurstan Intelligence! Thanks to him, various intelligence agencies from reactionary countries refusing to align themselves with inevitable human progress can now boast of discovery of what they call "greatest criminal organization to have ever existed!" - but they have not came even close to beating us! As such, I present you the man who will carry out our next move - Bhagawn Chandradev Upadhya, founder of International Shiva Consciousness Society! "

The doors opened to reveal a short Hindu man, dressed just in a simple orange robe. His head was decorated with a large orange turban from under which white marks and a red dot emerged. His face was round and decorated with a long, gray beard. In his hand was a staff decorated with two, big, white horns like those of a ram. Around his neck was a bracelet shaped like a large, silver naga.

"Pranam!" he said with a calm, totally emotionless voice "I am Bhandradev Upadhya, Supreme Lord of all things and Avatar of Nandi! Shiva has sent me to prepare the entire world for his coming by unifying all true religions under his banner! He told me to inspire brave kshatrias of the world and drive out the scourge of monotheist religions from the land of Bharatiya and all his brothers! And our liberation shall begin on island of Bangka!"

"Bangka!" shouted Michael Freeman, one of Russel's business associates, visibly surprised by the proposition. His words were spoken with disdain, as the buisnessman seen the Guru merely as a tool meant to control people using religion "What are we searching on pis-poor shithole in the middle of Ocean!"

"Mind your tongue!" shouted the Guru with an enormous anger in his voice. Evidently "detachment" was only the face he made for the public.

"No, he is right, you raghead!" came another fierce reply, this time for Walter Siemens - a long time mercenary and former colonel of Self Defense Forces of a certain small, tropical nation. Siemens, unlike the banker - utterly detested the guru. With mockery in his voice, the soldier of fortune continued "Feel free to discern meaning of those visions when you smoke your drugs, but do so after you leave this meeting! Do you have an idea of what Kojiro will do when we make a move inside what he considers his sphere of influence! He will bring wrath of the entire Kaigun against us, and you won't defend that island with few old Pattons and drug-smoking fanatics who think they are new Arjuns and Bhimas!"

"You..." shouted the Guru, drawing an enormous knife from behind his robe "I will flay you al..."

"ENOUGH!" shouted Russel, observing as everyone became stunned following his command "Swami Upadhya is a respected friend of mine! One more insult and and I will gut you all out! Are we clear?"

The tensions visibly decreased, Russel went on to describe next parts of his plan:

"If you are not willing to listen to him, you will listen to me!" voice of the billionare was now visibly raised, full of flowing passion "We chose Bangka for a reason. That island used to be a colony long ago, and a dislike for christian faith remains there since those times. With Nifonese companies moving to exploit the island's rich natural resources - ones we would like to be ours, I would add - tensions between local population and the Christians are at record high. Thus, is where you enter in, Siemens. "

A short silence fell.

"You will be responsible for carrying out a false flag attack in biggest Hindu temple. I will leave this entire matter to you, but you will have to maximize losses and make sure that entire fault will be falling on some kind of Christian group. Do so, and I will pay you one hundred million outright."

"And honorable swami" Siemens said the last two words with enough venom in his voice to shame the most poisonous of snakes "Won't have anything against his followers dying?"

"Only fools think that they can kill the soul!" Walter sighed as the Guru returned to his "preacher mode", once again assuming face of a holy man "Those hindus will have a lot of their bad karma destroyed for participation in such a holy act. As a Swami, I need to be detached from all worldly affairs, including their matters. My concern is merely with what is above."

"And I guess ten Mercedeses you have fell from the sky, right!" sighed Walter, unable to further listen to the swami's words. He at least did not try to hide the fact that he was a killer under higher ideas. Hypocrisy of the Hindu holy man disgusted him.

"Once the attack has been carried out, and island's Kyogokist converts blamed, our media will spread the word. Subsequently, our Swami's followers from International Shiva Consciousness Foundation who have installed themselves upon highest echelons of Bangka Defense Forces will carry out a military coup to depose the government of Wira Setiawan Sasmita. Once he is punished for refusal to cooperate with us. Then, we will take final steps to secure the island's natural resources for our cause."

"Just a question" asked Walter "what will you do when Koijro comes knocking at the doorstep?"

"Oh I know he will!" smiled Russel "his success in dismantling Redshield's empire emboldened him. I am counting on him coming. With the population in anti-Christian frenzy, his forces will be seen as invaders, not as liberators. If he succeeds in taking the island - and he most likely will - he will be stuck on it with a long stabilization operation, as we will fund the resistance. Furthermore, we can use the operation to provoke a bigger conflict between Hindus and Abrahamics; revive Hindu fanaticism that will be beneficial for our cause. While Kojiro will waste his funds on lengthy stabilization operations, we will provoke new conflicts - and soon overextend Nifonese empire, making it fall into the trap of debt, which we will then use to take control of it. Any more questions?"

"I will start looking for proper mercenaries to carry out the attack. Meanwile make sure that you Godman" Siemens looked at Swami Upadhya with disdain in his eyes "Will do a good job. I do not want to clean after him afterwards..."

"And you just got yourself ten more reincarnations, heathen." replied equally angrily the Guru, before all of them went to their directions, to unleash one of greatest crisises Southern Furukuran Sea seen in decades...
Last edited by New Aeyariss on Sat Mar 24, 2018 11:51 am, edited 1 time in total.
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Guadalupador
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Postby Guadalupador » Sat Mar 24, 2018 5:43 pm

Image

Theme Music for a City-State

2334 Hours: The Principality of Simendosa

Two-hundred-thirty kilometers to the south-east of Kesslerstaadt the Principality of Simendosa's glow permeated throughout the surrounding ocean: A city always open for business. The island, once home to but a few hundred Dorian settlers, escaping religious intolerance in Seitran-controlled Guadalupador, had discovered the island back in 1471 was now a bustling and super-dense metropolis of 9 million people. Simendosa is one of the premier financial hubs in the region and a notable tax haven for thousands of corporations and individuals. The burgeoning city-state was ruled by Prince Andosh III alongside a one-party Parliamentary government run by the Simendosa Royalist Party. According to international critics Simendosa was quickly devolving into a police-state, however to the Dorians of Simendosa as long as they made money traded and surpassed Kesslerstaadt in every possible and concievable way, who *really* needed political freedoms anyway? The Dorians of Simendosa weren't like their "homelander" siblings back in the motherland of Guadalupador, more practical thinking than idealists they had no qualms with trading and doing business with states that the Federal Union of Guadalupador were opposed to, so long as the other party respected them, their language, their cultural institutions, and especially their religion.

Simendosan Relations with Kesslerstaadt had never really been warm, both city-states competed for influence in the regions they shared since the time both states were founded. On more than a few occasions open hostilities had broken out between the two city-states over the course of their shared history. Whether it was religion, competition for resources, land, culture, influence, it really seemed that Kesslerstaadt and Simendosa were always destined to clash with each other.
It's a widely held belief among the Simendosans that Kesslerstaadt propagated the Simendosan Emergency of 1983 in which Communists seized control of the Simendosan government for a period of three months before being thrown out with assistance from Guadalupador. With the advent of the Simendosa Royalist Party's dominance in politics, a pivot toward antagonism toward Kesslerstaadt, both open and covert, is a seemingly popular option to help the city-state's transformation into a one-party state.
The past few months had seen a significant rise in tensions between the two states as the Simendosan Navy staged a series of military exercises out in the ocean near the proximity of Kesslerstaadt's territorial waters and proposing to open up further, friendlier, relations with the Nifonese. Now the Simendosan Government was planning its next move to undermine its eternal rival.

Prime Minister of Simendosa Galisqa Seedran was still in her office after the rest of her workers left for the night studiously reading over a series of reports by the Simendosan Navy Special Service on a rumor that Amihan Russel had returned. Russel had seemingly been the de-facto ruler of Kesslerstaadt for years before supposedly dying in an explosion several months prior. Seedran's eyes narrowed as she continued reading, she wasn't much of a fan of heresay so she took out her pen and wrote on the report in the Yama'ksh alphabetical script: Increase efforts of surveillance. Follow up possible lead immediately. With the final stroke of her pen she closed the report and put it in a box of outgoing directives for next morning. She packed up her supplies and left her office accompanied by her executive guard. As the elevator descended she dialed a number on her smartphone. The dial tone went on for a few seconds before someone on the other end picked up.
"Your Majesty." Seedran quietly said. The voice on the other end sounded slightly irritated. "Apologies for waking you, however there's something of utmost importance that we need to speak about tomorrow morning if possible." The voice on the phone mumbled something. "Excellent, see you at nine o'clock tomorrow good night Your Majesty."


0900 Hours: The Next Day, Simendosa Royal Palace

Prince Andosh III sipped his tea as the PM paced around the table he was sitting at. Annoyed, the Prince told her to stop and finally tell him what was so important. Galisqa finally stopped and placed a series of folders on the table in front of the Prince. "Okay, finally." Andosh grumbled as he opened the first folder. "....he's alive?"

"We have reason to believe so, Your Majesty." The PM said.

"How? I thought he was killed by that Redshield fellow in an explosion. Didn't Special Service confirm that?"

"Well, it's just a lead at this point, actually."

The Prince looked up from the folder even more annoyed than when Seedran was pacing around him. "So you don't even know if he's alive then? This is just, what? Speculation?"

"Well I implore you to continue reading, Your Majesty. A recent meeting was undoubtedly held in Kesslerstaadt with all the old Russell elites meeting together once more. Special Service can confirm that a few faces we know entered a newly build skyscraper in downtown Kesslerstaadt. Walter Siemens... Michael Freeman are among the flock that entered the building. Now the catch is that many of these individuals wouldn't be caught dead with one another unless with Russell himself, and we can correlate this possible lead with Russell Financing's continued existence and increased activities up to this point as a strong lead that Amihan Russell is still among the living." Seedran explained to the Prince of Simendosa.

"Who's the guy in the turban?" The Prince blurted out, noticing a small, blurry picture of a man in an orange robe and turban entering the building.

"Navy Special Service thinks its a man named Bhagawn Upadhya. He leads some religious community or society in the region. They worship the Hindu Goddess Shiva. We don't know why he's there."

"Try to find out then..." Andosh said before taking another sip of his tea.

"Is that a directive, Your Majesty?"

Andosh lightly nodded mid-sip.

"We'll get right on it, Your Majesty." Prime Minister Galisqa Seedran said, picking everything back up and leaving the Prince to his own devices once more.



1700 Hours: Kesslerstaadt

Away from the bright neon skyscrapers of inner Kesslerstaadt was a whole different world; within one of the poorest and most dangerous neighborhoods of Kesslerstaadt the Simendosan Navy Special Service had operated an intelligence safe house. The neighborhood was like one of Cuscatlan's many favelas, being run by a drug trafficking ring that went unopposed by Kesslerstaadt's police, paid off with unmarked currency, and acted as the largest humint gathering asset that Simendosa had in Kesslerstaadt. The group of Simendosan Navy Spooks gathered around a polytone decoder as a message came in from home:
FOLLOW UP RUSSELL LEAD IMMEDIATELY.
PM AND NAVY SPECSERVCOM APPROVED OPERATION.
GATHER INFO ON "INTERNATIONAL SHIVA CONSCIOUSNESS SOCIETY WITHIN KESSLERSTAADT.
GATHER INFO ON BHAGAWN CHANDRADEV UPADHYA.
GODS BE WITH YOU.

With the message received and decoded the spooks went to work utilizing their eyes and ears of the local drug traffickers and dealers to gather even more information to confirm Russell's continued existence and what plans he may have up his sleeve....
Last edited by Guadalupador on Tue Mar 27, 2018 12:50 pm, edited 1 time in total.
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Erythrean Thebes
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Capitalist Paradise

Postby Erythrean Thebes » Sun Mar 25, 2018 8:37 am

17:00, Inner Kesslerstaadt
Lord Shiva Nocturnal Illuminator Temple


“Thank you for coming,” he said with the soft-spoken tenderness of his great humanity, a gentle smile pulling at his lips and warm brown eyes of humility silently thanking the man and woman, stopping to nod their respects for the temple priest with big wide toothy smiles. Like clockwork his wrinkled face turned to appreciate the next of the departing worshippers, one after another in a small queue which filed out the double front doors, “have a good night, thank you.” With his hands wrapped confidently one atop the other on the handle of his spindly straw broom he exuded a great meekness from his short and tiny stature, nevertheless reserving the dignity of his authority by composure and eminent peace. He was Gopesh Pemuterani, known also to many of his local neighbors as ‘Gottard’, the caretaker of their neighborhood temple and a spiritual leader of the community. For his fellow Banke expatriates living in their tight community in the inner city of Kesslerstaadt, he did all he could to provide the wisdom and leadership which may sustain the heart of their society and give all Banke, whether they were trendy businessmen or troublesome young boys, a place to come and find themselves and know that they belonged.

“Peace be with you, good night,” he blessed the last of his departing followers and, when he had seen them step off the last of the temple stairs and turn down the snow-stained sidewalk, he rested his broom against the entrance of the temple and by a surprising strength for one of his diminutive size he swung the hulking sacred doors closed, the big brass knockers clacking on the red painted wood and then falling absolutely silent.

His bare footsteps, so very soft and graceful, scarcely reported on the shining floor as he swept across the great room of their little temple; so sophisticated was he, he seemed hardly to move within the depths of his gown as if he hovered by the power of holy energy itself. Lord Shiva, his hands raising up the crescent moon above his royal head, seemed to tastefully avert his eyes from the humble servant plodding around the circumference of the floor, carefully extinguishing each flame with well-practiced acumen. Slowly the chamber faded into the murky state of darkness, the smoke hissing its last gasp and disappearing somewhere in the rafters where the light ceased to shine. At length he licked his bony fingers and having the aide of his other hand the brahmin ordainly put the last of the holy lights to rest; excepting the ghost of the neon lights outdoors all fell black across the temple, all except for a ray of electric light which lay in a dusty slit pouring through the crevice of the inconspicuous back door. Here the priest now turned, expertly navigating his path across the opaque temple floor.

Only the faintest groan as he shut the door behind himself, the knob twisted in his palm so that there would not be even the click of the metal clasp. Perhaps the tension, the brooding concern were apparent within his gnarly features when he turned to see the inconspicuous backroom he often frequented; beneath a crude and harsh hanging lightbulb, the small and haggard landing descended a steep flight of metal steps to the back entrance into the alleyway downstairs.

The gruff metal door swung inward, and there appeared outside in the shaded alley a Banka man garbed in Western dress, armored beneath a sporty leather jacket and sporting a sweatshirt and woolen gloves. He looked to be about his mid-twenties, at the most, with a finely trimmed beard that suggested the fashions of the Kesslerstadt youth. The steam poured out of the fellow’s nostrils and mouth and he nodded gravely, greeting in silence his temporal and spiritual leader.

For a brief moment the two men stood inside together, just barely shielded from the chill within the thin complex walls, little else but the roar of traffic going by to accompany their transaction. The lithe little brahmin slid the cardboard box of merchant candles to the side and revealed the crawlspace inside the concrete, where he clambered himself and fetched a big brown package soft and yet very firm to the touch. Stacking two of these, he turned and handed them to his youthful accomplice with a curt bow. “Namaste,” he spoke quite carefully as he rose again; a huge gulf seemed to exist between the two men by the sound of this word.

A mint-looking sport sedan roared down the sleepy street of Inner Kesslerstadt; someone frequenting some exotic entertainment, no doubt. The young Banka man kept to his path, his head held up high and the conspicuous cargo stowed away within the hidden pouch of his grey sweatshirt. He was headed to meet a client he had served many times; first name Franz, he was an older man not without some means, but living in the poorer part of the city on account of his disturbed mind and somewhat reclusive character. Like any other evening, the suave-looking Banka came to rest at the front door of the precarious apartment complex and with a jab of the finger he rang the alarm for his Germanic client.
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Greater Carloso
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Moralistic Democracy

Postby Greater Carloso » Sun Mar 25, 2018 11:04 am

Karlson's Apartment, Money Flats, Kesslerstaadt Outskirts
Far away from the beating heart of the city, many of Kesslerstaadt's poor and disadvantaged had settled in the peripheral regions of the metropolis. Among them, many were refugees fleeing their homelands from persecution due to their sexual deviancy. Out of the tens of thousands living in poorly built apartment blocks, Gene 'Happy Daddy' Karlson had made his home here. It was hard to believe that this man had once held sway over a countless number of Oceanicans, personally leading his elite Homoguard into violent clashes with conservative demonstrators in the run-up to the election of Stanley Bowden. Karlson himself had fled from Kesslerstaadt two years ago when its kilometre-high skyscraper came crashing down, vowing to enact his revenge on every member of the Santiago Anti-Communist Treaty Organisation for killing so many people. He had set himself up in the conflicted nation of Oceanica, quickly rising in the LGBTQ+ scene as a man of great charisma and natural leadership. Publicly, he preached tolerance and acceptance, calling for constructive dialogue between Oceanica's many diverse communities. Privately, he sought to transform Oceanica into another base for Homo Front to launch its terror operations. Everything was going exactly how he had planned it. That was until Stanley Bowden's got elected. Karlson had made the near-fatal mistake of poking the hornet's nest that was the Nifonese community in Little Kiyosu. His army of protestors, diverse but united in their determination to crush those they believed were responsible for Bowden's rise to power, proved to be no match whatsoever for the sheer ingenuity and zeal with which the Nifonese defended their small community. His plans for a grand final push into Little Kiyosu imploded when the Nifonese assaulted his camp with two armoured bulldozers. Dozens were killed, many more injured, as they were consumed in the licking flames of the Nifonese behemoths. Overnight, his movement had been scattered to the wind and what was left was destroyed with the subsequent intervention by the Carlosian private military company Conquistador Security Consulting Ltd. and their Riysan counterparts. Karlson and his few companions had no choice but to abandon Oceanica and seek refuge in Kesslerstaadt.

From Money Flats, the skyline of Kesslerstaadt appeared only as a string of lights on the horizon. The endless nightlife and sexual deviancy of the inner city was a far cry from the abject poverty and violence that the people in the slums experienced. Since the incident in Oceanica, Karlson could experience nothing but hatred and anger for those who had taken everything away from him not once but twice now. In many ways, however, this environment suited him. In Oceanica, he had learnt how to exploit ethnic and social tensions to grow his number of followers. Troubled youth like Captain Meyer were easily indoctrinated into his movement, seeking to gain acceptance after years of rejection and neglect by his peers. He followed Karlson to Kesslerstaadt after surviving the massacre outside Little Kiyosu. Besides Meyer, every other member of the Homoguard had either quit or was killed. Karlson had gotten up unusually early this morning. After eating his breakfast of rashers and eggs, he sat himself down in front of a grainy television screen and turned over to one of Kesslerstaadt's most popular channels. One of many sex-themed game shows was airing, the contestants performing various heinous deviant acts for hundreds of thousands to watch in return for cash prizes. Such a display was a common sight in the city-state. After all, Kesslerstaadt had existed for decades as a city with no moral boundaries; it was called 'New Sodom' for a reason. Karlson pressed a button on the remote control and changed over to a vegan-themed cooking show, then to a breakfast show where some male strippers were giving a performance. Clearly, there wasn't much of interest on at this hour in the morning. He glanced at his watch to check the time; 06:55. He still had plenty of time to spare before Meyer arrived to discuss the matter of reestablishing the Homoguard.

Nailed into one of the walls in the sitting room was a large cork notice board. Karlson had covered it in pages of scribbled text, maps and photos of various persons of interest. One of the printouts was a picture of Estebán Santander, the Managing Director of Conquistador Security Consulting. The face of the forty-something-year-old man was marked with a crude sniper's crosshairs. Karlson wholly blamed him for the defeat in Oceanica, with any chance of him recuperating after the disastrous Little Kiyosu operation disappearing when Conquistador attacked. Santander, along with the Nifonese, was judged by many in the higher echelons of Kesslerstaadt society to be one of the greatest threats to the city-state's existence, with an entire military force ready to execute his every command. To make matters worse, there was now rumours that he would most likely be elected President of Carloso in 2020. If the city and its way of life wished to survive, this man would have to be dealt with.

The sound of the doorbell, followed by several loud knocks, caught Karlson off guard. "Who is it?" he shouted at the top of his voice. There was silence for a few moments before the reply came, "Mr Karlson! I am a representative from Russel Financial. I have been sent to talk to you." Karlson moved cautiously over to the door and peered through the spyhole; a tall man in a black suit and blue tie was standing outside. He slowly unlocked the door and looked the man in the eyes. "Can I help you?" Karlson asked. The mysterious man pushed right past Karlson, "As a matter of fact, you can Mr Karlson. I understand you have fallen on hard times since the Little Kiyosu incidence but we want to offer you a second chance to redeem yourself. Do you accept our offer?" Karlson closed the door and looked at the stranger with suspicion. He knew who Russel Financial were; they had funded his operation in Oceanica, though he still did not trust them. "I'm listening. What do you have in mind?" The man smiled at Karlson, "At least you warm to us. Perhaps I should introduce myself. My name is Steven Nordholt and I work with the special services subsidiary of Russel Financial. Our company is looking to expand our global operations going into the future and we believe several opportunities have come up recently. More specifically, the island of Bangka. Shall we sit?" Karlson quietly nodded and went to make a pot of tea in the kitchen. After a while, he emerged with a tray of biscuits, mostly stale, and two cups of tea.

"Now." Nordholt began, "How much do you already know about Bangka?" Karlson gave him a confused look and nodded his head, "Not much, I'm afraid." Nordholt chuckled as he sipped his tea, "Very well. Bangka is a small island state, home to a large population of converts to Kyogokist Christianity. It is also the headquarters for the International Shiva Consciousness Foundation, an extremist Hindu cult centred around a man who calls himself Swami Upadhya. Now, ourselves and Mr Upadhya have come to the understanding that an 'upset' in the status quo on Bangka would benefit us both. You see, Bangka is an island rich in natural resources, mostly harvested by Nifonese corporations. Russel has been stopped from expanding into Bangka in the past, so we want things to change." Karlson was listening intently now, "And where do I come in?" Nordholt continued, "Upadya has worked to embed his men at all levels of the military of Bangka. When the order is given, they will execute a coup against the current administration and seize control of all Nifonese assets on the island. We want you to observe and assist in executing this coup. Russel will organise and pay for the transport of you and your men to Bangka, where you will participate in the coup and help Upadya cement his power. We will give you a blank cheque to deal with the Nifonese on the island."

A wide grin extended across Karlson's face, "You have me Nordholt. I like you already. When do we start?" Nordholt was clearly pleased, "Excellent to hear. The operation will be executed shortly but we will contact you when the time comes. In the meantime, I know your Homoguard is not nearly as strong as it once was but Russel will be prepared to assist and fund you and your friend in training a new generation of recruits. I trust you'll gather together what remains of your colleagues from Oceanica. Do we have a deal?" Karlson thought about it for a few moments before extending his hand. He knew this might be his only chance to get revenge against the Nifonese for Little Kiyosu. "It was a pleasure doing business with you Mr Karlson." Nordholt let himself out of the apartment, turning to Karlson for one last time, "I trust we will meet again in the future. Happy a nice day." With that, he was gone. Karlson breathed a short sigh of relief, ecstatic that things were finally beginning to look up for him. In a matter of minutes, he was making calls to every survivor from Oceanica present in Kesslerstaadt, asking them to come to his house immediately for a very important meeting.

Haxton, Ebon, Carloso
The distinctive terraced streets of Haxton had fallen quiet as the faithful flocked to religious services on Palm Sunday. Hundreds of brick houses lined every road, interlaced with commercial parks, churches and green areas. The city stretched for kilometres in every direction, growing rapidly in recent years to house over one million people. Towards Ebon, the skyline was dominated by modern apartment blocks, office towers and other high-rise buildings. The towers of the old nuclear power plant, now long fallen out of use, still stood the test of time, defying years of rain, hail and snow. They had since been overgrown with foliage. In recent years, there had been numerous reports of strange people entering and leaving one of the reactor buildings. Authorities had never bothered to check these claims, even though it was technically illegal for anyone to enter the site. Beyond the cooling towers, the fumes from countless factories in the vast industrial estates of the Ebon Industrial Zone could be seen clearly, fuelling the Carlosian economy with billions worth of goods for export to foreign markets. The centre of Haxton included the original town, home to some of the oldest and most powerful families in the area. This included the powerful Santander family, famous for being the clan of the pre-eminent billionaire, politician and military veteran Estebán Santander. His private residence, a large mansion at the end of the main street, served as a getaway when he wasn't working and living from the colossal Conquistador Security Consulting Ltd. Headquarters in Central Ebon.

Santander sat in a chair on the patio of his back garden, eating a full Carlosian breakfast of sausages, black pudding, rashers and eggs with a hot cup of tea on the side. He read through each of the Sunday morning papers one by one, highlighting any recent developments in international politics worth noting. He paused for a few moments to read an article on remarks made by a certain Swami Upadhya, leader of the International Shiva Consciousness Foundation. Santander knew about this man all too well; both the National Intelligence Service and the intelligence branch of Conquistador had long suspected that Upadhya was the one responsible for supplying firearms and explosives to Homofront cells throughout Musgorocia, including in Carloso. Further investigations had revealed that the Foundation had purchased an old compound located not too far outside Haxton, within striking distance of Santander's own home and his company's international headquarters. His following in Carloso had grown substantially in recent years, particularly among disenfranchised youth who had previously been involved in various other subcultures, including the furry fandom. His advocacy for a more open attitude to sexuality appealed to many members of the LGBTQ+ movement, in a nation which boasted one of the most conservative and religious societies still existent in the West, defying and even reversing the advancement of so-called 'progressive' values. He knew full well that the friendly, tolerant attitude of Upadhya was a mere facade to deceive Westerners into accepting him and his cult. Santander privately promised himself that the day would soon come that he would bring Upadhya's empire crashing down and expose the guru to the world as the monster he truly is.

He would wait, for now.
Last edited by Greater Carloso on Thu Sep 27, 2018 8:18 am, edited 11 times in total.
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New Aeyariss
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Founded: May 12, 2010
Iron Fist Consumerists

Postby New Aeyariss » Wed Mar 28, 2018 3:00 pm

*** Kesslerstaadt

Depths of Kesslerstaadt were literally filled with the Nifonese. Most of them were brought here by the former colonists to work, and they now consisted of 8% of the overall population, mostly centred in big cities. Fuma Majiro himself wondered how this could be as he passed through Nifontown in suburbs of this disgusting copy of Sodom. All around him the local people were busy with their businesses - which were not why Majiro was here. Officially, this middle aged Nifonese man was businessman, visiting the city-state for a deal. Unofficially he was head of Fuma family and chairman of Maejima clan - one of biggest yakuza organizations in Nifhon. Someone who ascended to top of his criminal organization by ruthlessly eliminating all competition, and building his mafia around himself, placing young but talented gangsters in charge of his operations worldwide. Recently the boss struck a deal with Nifonese intelligence - a simple, yet very beneficial one. The Yakuza was to operate operate only outside the territory ruled by Shogun Kojiro, and in return he had a guarantee of untouchability. The deal was just too good for Majiro to accept, and thus his gang made countless deals with the "dragon families" operating among the vast Nifonese diaspora. The assets here in UCK were under control of Yamada family, long time allies of Fuma family and members of Maejima clan. Their boss's name was Yamada Itsuki, man who was in "business" for over 35 years and managed to hold himself on top despite surviving a lot of wars with rival groups. Rare survival of a man in this kind of the job was guaranteed by his ability to plan several steps ahead.

Majiro looked in front of himself while entering a traditional Nifonese house, with tall and falling roof. Though boss Itsuki headed several multi billion dollar enterpreises, both legal and illegal ones - in spirit of ancient Bushido code said criminal refused to be spoiled by his wealth and lived exactly the same way as his noble ancestors did. Entering through wide doors, Fuma gave a smiling look to several to underbosses of Itsuki that bowed to him as he passed. All of them were dressed in cheap tuxedos with Tanto knives near their belts, signifying eternal loyalty to their family and readiness to take their lives. Finally, Majiro entered a big hall with paper walls and white floor where the head of Yamada family awaited him. Head of Fuma clan looked at old man sitting on the floor. Itsuki was a bit fat, but all who understimated him were already bitting the sand. After Itsuki bowed to him, Majiro sat and spoke:

"Itsuki-san" even if the two criminals were long time friends, Nifonese culture was always governed by strict code of conduct that had to be observed. "I am glad to finally see you."

"Majiro-san" the old gangster was calm, but everybody could see he was joyful for seeing him "what do I owe the honor of having you here?"

"Actually" Majiro permitted himself a small grin "That would be the message you mentioned to the Nifonese consul on that ball a week ago. The Tyger sends his regards."

"You... you are working with Tora-sama himself now??" replied Yamada, evidently scared by the name. It was no secret that current head of Tokkeitai was formerly working for a Yakuza, that is until he "repented". But everybody knew how tricky Ryuta Ibuki, as he was named, was. Majiro and Ryuta were friends once, and very often enjoyed working together when it came to defending Nifon's interests - especially that Majiro was very patriotic person. Evidently, however, though the "conversion" did change Ryuta's allegiance, it did not change his nature. The head of Naval Intelligence would have not been able to earn nickname "Kojiro's bloodhound" without extreme ruthlessness he performed his tasks with. To cross him was to invite a sentence worse than death.

"Indeed" Majiro sat down, pouring himself some tea "The Tyger is interested in what, exactly, are our Simendosan friends, the ones who hired you to observe several key figures in the entire city, may be looking for. In such case it would be wise to call them to me..."

"Why?" asked curiously head of Yamada family.

"Because I am their only hope in finding the truth among the web of lies" Fuma stood up as he looked at the neon lights of the city shining outside. They were nothing like the old city of Minamitsuri where he was born - so full of deviancy that it made even him, a hardened criminal, vomit "I do admit that I am not an arakan, Yamada-san. in my life, I have done terrible things. Every day of my life was a fight against my own lusts and nature, always eager to drag me down into the abyss. Difference is that I at least at minimal level fought against it. And despite all the evil I have committed in the past, I feel now that I can use my position for something more than hoarding material gain. Do you know why is difference between me and for example Freeman-san? "

Head of Fuma clan looked into Itsuki's eyes, his two mesmerizing green orbs shining like jades.

"We both stared at the abyss..." he smiled "But when it stared back at us... all those deviants, whore mongers and cultists... they blinked."

"I will call them, then" replied Itsuki, and left to call one of his lieutenants. Literally moments later said yakuza left on a motorbike, heading to inform - through appropriately secure channels - the Simendosan intelligence that something has been found, inviting them to visit the place, though of course appropriately disguised. Majiro had merely to sit.... and wait.
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Greater Carloso
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Founded: Dec 24, 2015
Moralistic Democracy

Postby Greater Carloso » Thu Mar 29, 2018 5:41 pm

Karlson's Apartment, Money Flats, Kesslerstaadt Outskirts
Not many people were willing to brave the streets of the Kesslerstaadt Outskirts at this hour of the evening, fully aware of the possibility of being mugged, raped or killed. What little law enforcement existed in this city had long forgotten about this region of the metropolis. Most of the structures here had existed for forty or more years, built to negligible standards. The occupants knew that few would mourn the dead if one of these concrete coffins went up like a tinderbox. It was what was to be expected in 'New Sodom'; most people were too preoccupied with satisfying their own sexual and material pleasures to care about anything else. The luxuries of running water and electricity were still widely available, albeit through dated and faulty infrastructure. It was mostly left to the locals to make sure that these basic necessities were maintained. The local criminal cartels, who held the monopoly on the narcotics and sex services markets in the area, would sometimes be hired by residents to fix major outages, at a heavy price. Despite all of the dangers, a steady trickle of people cautiously guided themselves through the alleys to reach Karlson's residence. All of these were Oceanicans, members of various groups that had marched on Little Kiyosu and fled after the crackdown by Conquistador on their illegal activity. Whatever groups they had been members of before mattered little now, as they were all united in their determination to wreak vengeance upon the 'Yellow Peril'. When they arrived in Kesslerstaadt, they were surprised to see the large Nifonese presence in the city centre; this was the last place in the world they expected to find them.

Within an hour, Karlson had managed to gather about twenty people inside his flat. Meyer and himself stood at the top of the living room, looking down at everyone else in a similar fashion to how they had observed the initial march on Little Kiyosu a year back. The most physically imposing character in the room was former Black Rising lieutenant Mohammed Abdullahi, standing at six foot eight and with immensely broad shoulders. A mere glimpse of this man was enough to send terror into his opponents on the streets. Allegedly, he had been implicated in a string of brutal murders against Oceanican military veterans. He was joined by three other former members of the organisation. The rest came from various groups that took part in the anti-Nifonese demonstrations, including various LGBTQ+ groups and anarchist organisations. Despite being considered de facto second-in-command, Karlson had only given a quick and limited brief to Meyer on the new developments. However, even from this small amount of information, he could glean that there were much greater powers at play here. He still had his personal reservations about any attempt to organise another campaign against the Nifonese, let alone revive the Homoguard. After the incident in Oceanica, he seriously questioned whether or not this quasi-war with the Nifonese was worth all the bloodshed.

Karlson examined the faces of each person in the room to ensure they were all giving him their fullest attention before he began to speak, "You are all probably wondering why I summoned you here to my house tonight." He looked around at the myriad of confused faces in front of him, "Many of us are in the pits of despair after the incident in Oceanica. Indeed, many of us had loved ones that we were unable to bury because of the sheer brutality of the Nifonese and their accomplices." His voice began to rise slightly now, "It is this determination to avenge our fallen brethren that drives us onwards now. Oceanica is lost, its people now slaves to Kojiro and his criminal regime." Karlson cleared his throat, wagging his finger in the air, Up to now, the defeat in Oceanica seemed to be the death of our movement, it looked like the Yellows had won out in the end. This is no longer the case, for today we have been offered a chance, an unexpected bolt of lightning from the blue which will enable us to strike back at Kojiro in ways he never thought possible." His audience seemed genuinely intrigued, almost invigorated by his tone. Nevertheless, they thirsted for clarity, Abdullahi speaking up with his deep, booming voice, "And how exactly do we expect to do that?"

Karlson pulled a large briefcase from under the coffee table. He opened it up, revealing rows and rows of legally printed Carlosian deroes, and spun it around for everyone to see. A grin formed across Karlson's mouth, "A gift from an anonymous benefactor. I trust this is more money in front of you than you've seen in your entire life?" Abdullahi, clearly dumbstruck, took a stack out and flicked through the notes, "And how much am I looking at here?" Karlson had to think for a few seconds, "Easily two million deroes. The currency has quiet the value on the international markets. We'll have plenty of initial capital to provide for weapons, recruitment, training, accommodation and maybe even some side investments." Abdullahi looked at him strangely for a moment while he put their stack of cash back in the briefcase, Training? Recruitment? What you planning for?"

"The rebirth of the homosexual revolution my friend! Only when we are united under one banner can be successfully lead the assault on Kojiro's lair. Why do you thinking we're in Kesslerstaadt? 'New Sodom' is prime recruiting ground for us!" Karlson was becoming giddy at the thought of wielding power once more. Abdullahi looked at Karlson angrily, "I'm not gay Karlson. I don't want to be part of no homosexual uprising. Hell, in the grand scheme of things, two million deroes isn't even that much." Karlson pulled a shrug, "I'm not forcing anyone to join me. Our benefactor has provided just a taste of the support they are willing to offer us. There is lots more where this came from." He had clearly tempted Abdullahi's three fellow black supremacists. These men knew that this would probably be their last and only chance to gain access to such wealth. At this point, Abdullahi was visibly concerned, "Come on guys, you don't need no money. We don't even know who this 'benefactor' of his is. Would you really betray your black brother for cash?" The young men looked their former boss in the eyes before edging to the side away from him. It seems like Karlson had easily won them over.

Abdullahi bit his lip for a few moments. For him, Karlson had only succeeded in sowing the seeds of pure rage. The two men stared each other down. In the next few moments, he thought back to how Karlson arrived in Oceanica and began making a name for himself; he had always known that there was something strange about the man. Everyone around Abdullahi had been so quick to accept this outsider as their own, and he had arrived just at the right time as tensions over the presidential election were beginning to brew. What if this anonymous benefactor was also responsible for his appearance in Oceanica? Did Karlson deliberately organise the suicidal charge on Little Kiyosu? Was it Karlson's plan all along to have so many black brothers killed? Had he been a Nifonese agent all along? Within the blink of an eye, Abdullahi pulled an unholstered a Glock 17 at a speed previously thought impossible for a man of his size. "Die you traitorous piece of shit!" he cried as he fired a barrage of 9×19mm Parabellum in Karlson and Meyer's general direction. Just as quickly, Meyer revealed a Beretta 93R machine pistol and riddled Abdullahi with bullets. None of Abdullahi's shots had succeeded in hitting either of the men. He winced in pain as he slumped to the floor, letting out a final few bloody coughs. He struggled to lift his head up to look Karlson in the eyes one last time, "You'll meet your maker one day Karlson. Mark my words. May God forgive me for what I did." Karlson grunted a response, "Oh I'm sure he will. I think its safe to say luck has been on my side today, however." Abdullahi turned to look at his traumatised brothers one last time, smiling before collapsing in a pool of blood.

Karlson walked over to inspect the body himself, rolling it over with his foot. He was dead. "A pity he didn't choose to be with us. We could have had many uses for a man of his stature. Good work Meyer." Meyer was still frozen in place, the smoking gun still clenched tightly in his hands. Everyone else had been stunned into silence. Karlson returned to his original position as if nothing out of the ordinary had just happened. "Now, before I was so rudely interrupted, I wanted to explain a little bit about our recruitment strategy." He strutted an awkward pose, indicating towards a map of Kesslerstaadt on the back wall of his living room, "Behold! The crown jewel of the Southern Furukuran Sea, Kesslerstaadt, or as our Nifonese friends like to call it, 'New Sodom'. The streets of this city are full of desperate, poor men, women and children. From the good of our hearts, let us offer them sanctuary in our new organisation, train them up to be warriors and thinkers to further the cause of the revolution of sexual liberation. We will teach them to hate the Yellow Menace with a fiery passion, fill them with a desire to avenge their fallen brethren. Nowhere will be closed to our efforts; brothels, the streets, slavers, drug dens, every place will be a source for new recruits."

If the fact someone had just been shot dead wasn't shocking enough, Karlson's sudden frankness with the audience was truly astonishing, yet captivating. "Our benefactor has arranged for us to move to a large compound in the furthest reaches of the Outskirts. Whatever conditions we find there, I understand it'll be a big upgrade to the accommodation we presently find ourselves in. Procedures for training and recruitment will commence as soon as possible. I am giving everyone a day to get themselves prepared. If you miss out, there goes your last opportunity to avenge your dead family and friends. Do it for them, if for noone else." Karlson stopped talking now, allowing a long silence to take hold. After a while, one of the former Homofront members piped up, "It's now or never." Meyer and Karlson nodded at each other, "Good. Do I have any more takers?" After a few moments, slowly at first, the flat erupted in shouts of "It's now or never!" Karlson beamed with glee at the sight, raising his voice into a rallying cry, "Let the world know that the Resurgent Homofront is back on the world stage! Death to Kojiro, death to Santander, death to SACTO!" Abdullahi's youngest comrade remained silent.
Last edited by Greater Carloso on Thu Sep 27, 2018 8:09 am, edited 5 times in total.
FEDERAL REPUBLIC OF CARLOSO
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Erythrean Thebes
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Founded: Jan 17, 2017
Capitalist Paradise

Postby Erythrean Thebes » Fri Mar 30, 2018 8:32 pm

Lihan City
Southern Baal Metropolitan Region
30 March 2018, 15:23


The suavely-crafted promo embossed in bold colored font on the inside page of the Traveler’s Guide to Baal confidently boasted that there were many ways to see Baal. Not excepting the contrivances of personal taste, they meant the bevy of taxi cars, metropolitan trains, city buses, and pedestrian bicycles which snaked like a tabletop puzzle through the crowded gridways of the country’s notoriously urbanized sea coast. From an altitude of about 30 thousand feet, a Theban Opsis II UAV could see the chaos in awesome detail, down to the shoes on the feet of the pedestrians striding down the sidewalk, and the glint of the oriental sun across car chassis and the types of tinted windows which were so seemingly popular in Baal’s buzzing modern metropolis. But like the propaganda surrounding the reconnaissance drone liked to say, it was really the things outside the spectrum of normal vision for which Opsis was most useful. It could see that the factory-white sport convertible gliding down the avenue through central Lihan was not as ordinary as it appeared.

The voice of Chalcon the drone operator reported clearly inside the fresh and air-conditioned cabin of the inconspicuous SUV, where a team of six had excavated most of the old seating and replaced it with a subtle arrangement of low-lying computer monitors and scanty flat cushions. “Commander, Atreus sees five thermal signatures inside the target vehicle, it looks like they’re grabbing onto weapons, I think they’re about the size of rifles or maybe even one or two large MGs, over.”

Idas was the vehicle driver as well as captain of their small team; although it was only mid-afternoon he sported a big pair of aviator glasses which he preferred to use because of the glare often surfacing in this shiny metallic city lying at the edge of the Eremian desert. Such a stern getup added further to the robotic impression he gave with his hands clutched tightly on the wheel and his thick hairless neck and head bolted forward. By a tap of his outer finger he pressed down the miniscule traffic button screwed into the backhand side of the steering wheel. “Copy Atreus…” checking the frantic pace of the thruway traffic about them Idas began navigating the oversized car to get into the exit lane. They rolled down the ramp, losing speed and preparing to merge into the crunch of traffic flowing down the main street of Lihan. Where the vehicle would normally have an FM radio, a miniaturized LCD screen broadcasted a GPS feed showing their position relative to the criminal target, as they prepared to merge ahead of them. “Atreus, we’re about to merge onto Farkan Street, confirm that you see no activity inside the vehicle, over.”

“Copy Minotaur, standby…” his last words hung over the cabin, the hum of their engine and the roaring of so many trendy vehicles all around them raised the tension of the moment up to a feverish pitch. Idas drove with his eyes divided, flitting anxiously to their GPS map and back up to the crowded road they were lurching down. Slowly their red dot drifted to the left and crossed onto the street maybe one hundred meters or so ahead of where their targets sat behind them. All six men of the Theban counter-terrorism squad waited impatiently for the signal.

“Minotaur, no movement inside the target vehicle, they’re blind, over.”

Idas’ terminator face let slip nothing at all. “Excellent, copy Atreus.” Calmly the Theban steeled his grip on the steering wheel and suddenly slammed his foot on the gas, shooting their SUV forward until it smashed into the back bumper of the car in front of them. The two locals inside were thrusted hard against the safety belt and cried out alarmed, their limbs flailing until they were left shaking there in their seats with flabbergasted faces of shock. The already broiling avenue exploded in a hellish chorus of bleating horns and dozens of red flashing brake lights, filled with the shriek of screaming rubber tires.

Idas jabbing the wheel left and right for good measure left his keys in the ignition and threw the vehicle into park, making sure his undercover garb was sound before he grabbed the door and stepped outside onto the pavement. “Ah fuck,” he spat loudly pretending to discover the damage for the first time. He slammed the door closed and started to where the two Baal stood in breathless irritation, consumed in the urban heat.

Back inside the undercover car the commander was now Koinos, the deputy-captain, who sat hunched over in the back of the vehicle intently eyeing the GPS. “Atreus,” he reached onto his shoulder and activated his radio, “what do you see?”

“Hard to say…they just look pissed,” the drone pilot answered frankly.

The force of instinct urged Koinos to crane his neck over his shoulder, even though the tint of their back window and their distance made it a useless gesture. “Any movement?”

“They’re just sitting there…”

“Alright team, let’s go,” Koinos ordered their lot to stand up; they were dressed in plain-looking vests and designer shirts, of the kind that would be typical to see in the city of Lihan – their sidearms were concealed inside their waistbands or the inside pockets of the clothes. They stepped out onto the seething highway and went to work at once; Maro ‘the Goat’ went immediately to Idas, pretending to bring aide to the man beleaguered by the exasperated gestures of the offended natives; the four remaining split up, Koinos took his partner Deukalion to the left-hand pedestrian walkway and started intently down, exuding as much belonging as possible. Of the other pair one took off to the right-walkway and the fourth trundled straight down through the frozen traffic keeping a needy look on his face to sell the disguise of seeking a helpful bystander.

“Excuse me?” he kept asking in English with a swarthy-sounding accent in his fretful voice, “phone? Phone call?” He turned this way and that disoriented but continually staggering down the line of traffic, past the gridlocked cars and the quizzical faces of the locals inside. Rapidly he was getting close to the frozen car where the five terrorists grew increasingly impatient.

“What the fuck is going on?” the demand spat by the long-haired extremist squeezed into the backseat was the tipping point to the driver’s manic impatience; he snorted like a mad bull as he ripped the clutch back and darted the vehicle into the left lane, leaping out in front of the oncoming cars. A contemptuous stare stewed in his eyes which rubbernecked onto the foolish-looking man stricken with shock bombarding the poor people in his clownish language. Very little care or empathy went into his roaring down the lane past the toes of stricken locals. The parade of annoyances continued as they rolled past the crash. He saw the burly-looking driver stubbornly trying to explain himself to the outraged victim and his poisonous mind automatically went to work.

At the level at which these dark characters were inculcated into the world of violent crime, a type of sixth sense commonly developed which raised one’s sensitivity to anything inimical to one’s personal authority and their own security. Innocuous though the incident may have been staged to appear, it was innately suspicious to nefarious characters like these men. They were some of the worst potentially in all of Erythraea: outlet-level operators of a cartel of multiple international criminal organizations formed for pragmatic purposes as recently as 2017, known as Product, when it was referred to at all, for it was intended to be acknowledged as little as possible, only existing by assumption. The Thebans warred energetically on the internet, but the nature of Product was arcane even to them – it seemed to have no online footprint, somehow it was run off of the grid, or maybe it just wasn’t what some people thought it was.

The greatest danger was that the leadership seemed to act mostly indirectly, meaning that radicals like this outfit of Socialist terrorists did their work for them while not being able to provide any information even if they were caught and interrogated. But the Hands, the officially secret black-ops arm of the King and his Royal Guards, could be slow and methodical if needs be. By tedious broad-scale wiretapping and digital surveillance they had, after many months, happened to catch what they believed to be a planned encounter between a dependent criminal group and one of the executive agents of Product – a person who was representing the interests of an immediate coalition of criminal leaders on a deliberate campaign likely to be an operation of Product. And just as they were on their way now to conference with the man, the Hands made their move to insert a pair of eyes and ears into the encounter.

Less than the size of a US dime, a transparent adhesive patch was inconspicuously stamped onto the trunk compartment of the illicit vehicle – the handiwork of the undercover agents of Team Minotaur. Stuck on the outside was a remotely-operated droid barely visible to the human eye, but despite its tiny size it had the power to see and hear the contents of an entire room. And even now it was carefully crawling across the surface of the slow-rolling car and scurrying itself inside to lie in wait in the underbelly of the oblivious vehicle.

Their work was done, but the mission was not yet finished. Koinos turned over his shoulder as he stopped with his hand on the railing of the staircase, leading down from the walkway to the city streets below. Their decoys had mostly vanished but the deputy was pretty sure he could make out the flashing pattern of police lights, probably called in to investigate the suspicious crash. All according to plan, although they could not predict how seriously the authorities would take the incident for the time being. In any case an ambassador of His Majesty’s government would intervene to secure their timely release. For now, having gotten free, they were on to the next phase.

“Atreus, confirm that you have audio and video feed online, over…” It was risky to carry the large-sized radio around so he had switched to a microchip earpiece resting just inside the fold of his ear.

“Affirmative, signal is good, I’ve got no interference.”

Koinos’ brain was trained to seize reality, any given situation in the line of duty, and make the best possible use of everything he had. Coming onto the sidewalk of the ground-level street, which ran underneath the city’s elevated avenues, he alerted his two immediate companions by a jab of the elbow and intimated they should follow him to casually wait in the throng of people milling at the bus station. Sunset’s long crawl was just beginning to squint overhead the oriental city, but still it was dark at the surface level and the cheap waiting area nailed onto the pavement was harshly illuminated by a failing industrial light that burned like a ghostly sun in the center of the irritable commuters. “Beats riding with George,” the deputy-captain quipped to his partners in the English tongue. They all sighed and cooled down a little; Koinos seamlessly switched to his smartphone and fired up the messenger app.

Charlie how far is your apartment from this restaurant? he tapped at the drone pilot Chalcon.

Staring blankly over the dusty apartment fronts he felt the answer buzz back at him. Less than a mile but I don’t want to walk :/

Koinos’ chest heaved sharply and an irritated vein throbbed inside his throat. The coded message meant that the suspect vehicle had arrived at the rendezvous point but the suspects had left the car well-behind them outside of the meeting. It would be a headache to try and get their listening device repositioned within range before valuable information was lost, who knew how much? The unsettling anger still crawled across the commander’s skin when he felt the second buzz. You should check the place out first, see if you like it. I’m coming out but it might not be till later. There’s this place I know but it’s kinda far.

In the depths of his head, he shot back, ‘what is it?’, but there was no point: no real restaurant was involved, the message was not real. Sadly, his impatience all too was. With plenty of heat cycloning in its wake and with a sharp hiss of the brakes their city bus ground to the stop and the folding doors collapsed open. The operation continued, the team of 3 covertly mounted the steps and took a pair of seats somewhere in the front section of the vehicle.

---

15:46

“This is the place?”

A lone and desolate parking lot full of cracks and potholes and hardly painted lay barren in a tar field of urban decay across the windshield vision of the cramped sports car full of Socialist insurgents. It was hard to say whether the soft hum of the idling luxury engine was adding to the fog of unease or prevented the situation from being totally creepy. The leader of their squad, sitting shotgun, was unsure enough of himself that he looked frowningly at the backlit screen of his disposal phone. “This is the address he gave me,” he shot back defending himself.

Just then the cheap red device vibrated in his hands; he snapped his eyes to the screen. In bald black type, their undercover contact had sent his instructions. Turn your car off and come over to the trailer. In sequence the Baal man looked back up, seeing the dilapidated prefab plopped at the edge of the far reaches of the lot. No lights were apparent within the boarded up window; the thing had probably been placed there years ago when the housing complexes on this street were being put up. Now the fancy new apartment buildings were ninety percent mortgaged, never having tasted a buyer; the lot sat uncleaned and unused.

The terrorists in the front seats shared a pained glance. They were macho men, but they were not the top dogs here and they knew it, and it hurt. The person they were dealing with was honorless – though they did not have the liberty of calling him so – of a kind who easily had their way with low-tech freedom fighters and street outlets such as themselves, and little could be done about it. The illusory power of good decisions only made the circumstance far worse. “Shut it off,” the leader said quietly, and the purr of the engine disappeared. He twisted his neck around the headrest and saw his three other compatriots, tense as could be and cramped like overgrown giants in the cloistered backseat. “Leave everything. Malik,” he added giving a special attention to the brother in the zip-up hoodie, “you stay here and protect the car.” He wiggled his hand, “keep your phone out. We’ll text you to let you know we’re alright.”

It was not so much that they worried they would be found here, given that the parking area was somewhat covert and tucked away behind the tall façade of a new community center – it was really the fear of their fellow criminal that foreboded to them as they sauntered over to where the sad-looking trailer lay like something out of a horror movie. It was not the kind of fear these men liked to acknowledge, for that would imply that they were not perfectly capable of handling themselves, and what then would be the point of their many chest-beating claims to defend the manhood of Baal, and their many camera-phone pictures of themselves with all kinds of baklavas, ammo belts, and big black sunglasses? There was no choice but to leer contemptuously at the crummy shack; they had better taste anyway, not being above the act of mocking their capitalist overlords through wild consumption of their garbage goods and luxuries. They stood restlessly at the top of the entranceway, like it were an insult to stand outside in the filth for too long.

The green metal door loudly jangled open from the inside and then swung in, showing the glow of a small electric lantern which lit up the lower recesses of the dirty plywood interior, burning from its place on the ground like a makeshift campfire. A man with his face obscured by the glare, black-colored hair and seemingly some kind of cleanly-kept goatee stood across the opening; his eyes, green, appeared faintly inside the shadow, a piercing look. “Annupal?” he asked for their leader by his name.

“Yes,” the insurgent nodded, steeled to the max so that he almost pouted with his jaw, a tense knot in his brow like he were the one who was answering the door.

“Come in, come in,” their contact ushered them through the door and flung it closed, clasping the chain again so that the entrance was sealed once again. The Baal criminals bunched up awkwardly, not sure where to go inside this eerie shack. By default they hobbled single-file to where the lamp sat on the harsh floor, but there was hardly anything more appealing, their number would not even fit on the ground in the narrow space between the two walls.

Deciding he would stand, the leader Annupal looked to the guidance of their mysterious contact. He was seated himself, his weight suspended in a simple collapsing lawn chair, where he lay almost entirely in the darkness except for the ray of light which fell across his foot, revealing the very high-class and polished dress shoe on top of his beige patterned sock. “Were you followed?” the man asked in perfect Semitic.

Annupal shook his head quietly. “No…”

“Good.” The chair groaned and creaked as the mysterious man shifted his weight forward; he leaned his arms and elbows on his knees, and his face crossed into the edge of the light for the first time. He was white, probably too white to be a native of Eremia, his features were well-cut and youthful, full of pent up athleticism, like those which would probably appear in a designer fashion catalog. When immersed in deep thought as they were now, they took on the semblance of one dwelling upon a funny old joke. “You are with the PRAB?” he asked. Standing for ‘People’s Resistance Army of Baal’, they were a well-known and serious movement of pro-Socialist guerilla warriors who maintained an armed resistance to the pro-Theban government of President Asklan Mekhizad, often serving as an easy target for rival states who wanted to funnel money and weapons into a critical periphery of Thebes, or insert such illicit supplies into the broader criminal network that was forming in Erythraea.

The beauty of the PRAB, for a rebel, was that it was largely decentralized, organized around individual cells which kept in communication horizontally, by the dark web and through runners and signals. But it was a society like any other – it had influencers and chief men, like Annupal, who tended to fill the role of organizers and prepare large-scale operations by acting as middlemen to connect disparate cells. That was exactly the kind of person that Product wanted to speak to.

The mystery man nodded approvingly. “You may have heard recently of the new organization called Product,” he told their wary faces. “Let me be clear – Product is a fiction, it does not really exist. Inasmuch as there is any Product at all it has existed for a long time now; we on the finance side of the black market have always had reasons to speak to one another and plan our moves. This is no different. I represent several financiers who are friendly to moving money through your type of industry, men from outside the region who have good reason for wanting to turn up the temperature here in your country by a little bit. They want to ask if you will accept their money in exchange for taking some…requests, so to speak…”

Annupal nodded; it was very close to what he had imagined. “And then I make sure the money gets out to every cell in the country-“

The man nodded firmly. “It is the best way, no? Why should people with no idea of the circumstances make the decisions? You fight, you lead yourself, here, on the ground – you will know where the money is best spent. All we ask is that you take some concern for our own interests…”

Annupal frowned. “What do you mean?”

---

At the fifty-second floor of an upper-class high-rise housing complex, ironically not so very far from where the targets themselves sat conspiring, entombed in darkness with the windows covered up by blinds and all the electric light snuffed out, save the harsh burning glow of the laptop computer monitor, Chalcon droid-operator of his Majesty’s own Hands worked feverishly at his task, beads of sweat pooling on his greasy face and trickling to the floor. Dragonfly, the micro-sized observation bot they had deployed onto the terrorist vehicle, was supposed to be lauded for its unprecedented mobility. That had been all well and good when the maneuver was from the bumper to the side door of a single sports car – a hike across unkempt pavement and up a cheap wooden ramp was a notably more difficult task.

Through the gaping fish-eye lens, which comprised Dragonfly’s optical sensor, the thin and crumbly front door of the shack looked like an imposing bulbous monstrosity eminently out of reach. “Fuck!” the techie hissed under his breath, breath which was poisoned by now with the stench of old cold coffee, of which he angrily pounded another mouthful. He mashed the keys, the bot turned its head to the left searching the exterior surface of the trailer. By chance, he saw what looked like an air-conditioning unit wedged inside the open front window; his caffeinated heart lurched and he motored the little robot forward up the wall with all of his digital might.

Zipping his head back and forth he stole a peek at his other screen; their UAV drone was under control, automatically circling overhead of the target building, showing six men inside the abandoned trailer gathered around some radiating heat source that swallowed the bulk of their signatures. Chalcon hunched over his keyboard, relying on sheer willpower to worm his observation device through the miniature gap between the AC unit and the window frame; just as he peeked through the opening, the mutter of conversation grew louder on the audio feed and the buzz of urban life began to fade away.

Thankfully the giant AC unit was off, perhaps unplugged; it made a good perch for the droid to park itself, casting its sensors across the tiny little room although it was too dark to see anything well. Chalcon cranked the volume on his audio feed.

“How will I know when I get your instructions?” The voice sounded like the leader of the terrorist outfit, a character by the name of Annupal Darkar, who was of great interest to the Thebans as a leadership figure in the PRAB.

“We’ll contact you,” was the careful reply. Chalcon turned his droid to try and see the unknown man, but the camera was blinded by the harsh electric light against the compressed darkness; only his outline, sitting in a chair at the edge of their circle, was visible. “You will know it is us. The information we provide you will lead directly to some of the highest-ranking men in the capitalist circle.”

“You mean the Theban oligarchs?” asked the lead terrorist.

“Mostly…there are several outsiders involved as well. You may consider them to be…accomplices, of the capitalist regime.”

There seemed to be a long pause; Chalcon’s wide and tired eyes trembled, stuck on the pithy view through the computer screen. “Is that all?” the Baal man was heard to ask.

“For now…”

Annupal sniffed, squinting a shade of caution at their mysterious benefactor. “So where’s the money? You said ten million today…”

Wordlessly the mysterious crime lord leaned forward and stuck a hand underneath the dark recesses of his seat. The moment had almost passed when the realization exploded in Chalcon’s mind – as quickly as he could he mashed the photograph key, albeit that the footage was all recorded, his program making a cheap ‘flash’ sound dozens of times, capturing the still image of the trendy-looking gentleman with his sporty face and designer facial hair.

“Take a look,” he offered, appearing to kick the briefcase across the barren floor. He may even have been offended, there was no way to know. The terrorists leaned down to check the money.

At his secret lair not too far away, operator Chalcon had his attentions divided. He was looking closely at the best of his free-frame images, where a 3/4ths profile of the mysterious target was presented, showing the whole left side of his face and the corner of his other eye and cheek. Still listening to their chatter, he ordered the software to run a facial match.

“What should I call you?” Annupal asked bluntly. A million lines of code rushed down the screen before Chalcon’s eyes, referencing the photograph to a thousand different suspects every second.

“We won’t meet again,” the man corrected him. “I’ve done my job. They’ll send a different agent to get in touch with you. There’s no need to try and look for him. Go about your business as you normally would. He’ll approach you sometime within the next several months. You’ll know its him because of the information he’ll provide you…”

Suddenly a second photograph jumped up onto the screen, invading Chalcon’s weary vision. A, frankly, convincing replica of the suspect stood in black-tie formal wear, smiling to the press with his arm around the waist of a beautiful supermodel and the promotional logos of a Kesslerstaadt soft drink company patterned across the panel behind them. The caption read “Peter Gambler, Western Economic Development Conference 2015, New York Times September 5th 2015, 87% facial match.”

“Be careful driving off…” Chalcon swallowed hard, minimizing the pop-up to see the criminals saluting each other at the door. “Sit in the car first and turn the engine on. Wait for my signal to drive away. Nice meeting you gentlemen, good luck.” The door opened and a blinding flash of light exploded over the tiny room.

---

March 31, 06:12
City of Thebes


It was not only the high-efficiency fluorescent lights weaved into the popcorn ceiling of the conference room which resulted in its palpably sterile atmosphere. The air itself was filtered on purpose, purged of unhealthy particulates and maintained at a germane standing temperature of roughly seventy-six degrees Fahrenheit; because of this it was filled at all times with a soft but clearly heard buzzing, that went some way to emphasize the unnatural grip kept upon this workspace by the automated powers of modern technology. All these comforts had been arranged because of its stately location within the high-security bowels of His Majesty’s worldwide military command center, Nauzuntribontes, the epic naval base built by King Theron Katarkonides to realize his dream of grasping hold of the Erythraean Sea. Not just anybody could wind up witnessing this place, so it could even have been taken as some level of honor that the grinning visage of Mr. Peter Gamble, pulled from the New York Times, lay on the expensive wooden table beneath a bright burning glare shining across the surface lamination.

Two bony, crooked hands pressed down hard on his either side. The inconsiderable weight of Special Director Nylias Ethrompudetes, called ‘The Crypt’ because of his gravely powerful memory and his patient skill for connecting the dots, was slung over the dossier which lay scattered under his stubby nose. He had a ruddy face, of a kind which made him look prickly at all times, even when one such as Field Agent Idas was the one ducking inside the door, whom he was glad to see. “Good morning sunshine,” the Director rumbled in the monotonous voice he always seemed to use.

“You asked for me sir?” Idas was at the level of experience in His Majesty’s Hands where he was too old to play the role of punching bag very comfortably and too young to ask for any respect. He mostly just took painful hits to the chin and tried to convince himself of his own devotion to the ethos of duty before self.

Director Nylias kept his subordinate waiting, while he decompiled webs of ideas only he was privy to, staring at the cosmetically-enhanced grin of their suspected crime lord. “Tell me Agent,” he mused at last, lifting his watery eyes to meet the soldier’s impassive countenance, “what do you know about the Empire of Nifon?”

He wondered what kind of test this was, rocking very faintly back and forth on the balls of his feet as he often did to move his mind around. “You want facts, sir?”

“Agent Idas, I want these wanna-be part-time mafiosis out of my goddamn ocean.” He decided he was finished with the picture of Peter Gambler. His attentions to Field Agent Idas Ithonomarou were just begun. “Have you ever been?”

“Not for any reason sir,” Idas told him blandly.

Nylias sighed with all of his frail might, but it was just the prelude to what he already intended to say. Even so, the expert counter-intelligence leader was never without a train of thought, wandering as he was in vaguely the direction of his underling, with his hand massaging obsessively at his warbly chin. “Our new buddy here Mr. Gambler is not only one of the largest shipping magnates in the global West. He’s also a gourmand when it comes to the fairer sex,” he added, something which could have been considered bluntly spoken in Thebes. “He’s addicted to hookers…”

“I’m so sorry for him,” Idas lamented with copious indifference.

“I hope you will be,” the Director continued in earnest, the lad’s cue to consider himself bested, “because we’re going to get in on him, through his women. The only loose end he’s never careful about.”

The agent nodded slowly, appreciating the plot which appeared. “And you want to start in Nifon?”

Nylias smirked, which was to say the muscles of his jaw clenched together with the faintest suggestion of a smile. “You haven’t done your homework have you Agent?”

Idas nodded heavily, “sorry about that.”

“Mr. Gambler is very well-liked in Nifon,” the Director explained in his erudite fashion. “Not with Kojiro of course – the one would never suffer the other…He has a number of close friends on what you might call the ‘fringe’ of high society there: entertainers, hotheaded aristocrats, athletes. The celebrities, I mean. Just the other month he was there to spend a week with his pal in the promotion industry…”

Idas chewed his thoughts. “And you want to try and get in touch with these party boys I guess?”

“Tsch…” the old man hissed, looking truly disappointed, which stung a little. “I do not know how you keep this job Agent Ithonomarou.” He glared dramatically at his young charge, “every foreigner entering and leaving Nifon passes through the attentions of the Emperor’s domestic security services. Mr. Gambler is not any kind of exception. For his exotic tastes, he is bound to be exceedingly well-known. We’re going to touch base with Kojiro himself, or his regime anyway, and get them to set a trap for poor Mr. Gambler the next time he tries to satisfy his lusts on their soil.”

At last Idas understood; he barely avoided a sarcastic laugh. “You’re sending me for the niceties?”

“I’m going to send you there because these people are some of the most dangerous men alive on the face of the Earth,” Nylias told him frankly. “And even our high-level exchange with the Nifonese Emperor will have to be undercover. I can message them by cable, but nothing more, I dare not. You’ll pose as one of our businessmen, trying to ply the markets of distant Nifon. The Emperor will be aware of your disguise, and he will arrange the rendezvous we need with their people in the intelligence.”

Idas clicked his heels together and for good measure put his spine as straight as possible. “Understood sir…” He breathed, “I guess you’ll want me to brush up on my Nifonese then?”

“Among other things…” Nylias shrugged, turning away from the young man, like the question had reminded him of his superior rank and office. “Don’t worry son. We’ll make a master spy out of you for sure – I’m confident of that.”
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Guadalupador
Senator
 
Posts: 4990
Founded: Oct 08, 2011
Left-Leaning College State

Postby Guadalupador » Sat Mar 31, 2018 5:39 pm

1800 Hours: Simendosan Navy Safe House, Kesslerstaadt

As the piercing pink neon lights of inner-city Kesslerstaadt filtered through the plastic blinds of the widow of the safe house, a television lit the rest of the living room. Kesslerstaadt's state news media program blared through the room with a story on 'Simendosan aggression and the supposed scientific findings on the inherent inferiority of ethnic Dorians and their culture compared to the Kessleraaners.' The people present in the room let out a laugh. So much for 'news.' As the program ended and its credits faded out to the opening of a trashy reality show the TV was switched off and everyone in the room went back to their work. It was the rainy season in the region and it seemed like nearly every day, Kesslerstaadt was drenched in a torrential downpour. The pouring rain from outside couldn't mask a hard knocking on the steel door of the flat that the six Simendosan Naval Special Service operators shared and worked out of. The SpecServ operative closest to the door, Rilles, cautiously looked through the eyehole to see a Yakuza looking around the area. Rilles opened up the door to a crack. Rilles asked what was the matter in his fluent knowledge of Nifonese. After the very short interaction, Rilles sent the Yakuza back off to his boss and walked straight over to the polytone equipment. He called the rest of his operators into the room to explain the situation. "The local Yakuza boss wants to see one of us.”

The group of operators looked to eachother and back to Rilles. Without words, they conveyed their collective feelings of apprehension toward him through a few shrugs and uncomfortable faces they made toward him.

“I understand that we may be a bit unsure about working with criminal elements... However, the Yakuza here follow a code, and from what SpecServCom has gathered for us, they keep to their words. Especially when His Majesty’s Navy are paying them handsomely to be our eyes and ears. Since I’m fluent in Nifonese, I’ll be off to meet with their boss.” Rilles outlined.
The rest of the operators, at least the ones that had been in Kesslerstaadt longer nodded their heads. The statement was really for the greener operators that just arrived in-country. Rilles sent them back off to do whatever they had been doing before and got his things together.
On the surface, Rilles’ cover story was that of an expatriate from Guadalupador, working a meager job in the slums. He opened up the small concrete and tin garage next to the safe-house and got on his cheap motorcycle. Off he sped toward Nifontown proper.

As the scenery around him transformed from concrete and metal shacks with road signs in Dutch and English to the feudal-style architecture of Nifon, complete with every sign covered in Nifonese script. The synthetic neon lights were gone, replaced with the orange and white glow of paper lanterns. Rilles was always pretty stunned at the transition, it was like he had just driven his motorcycle straight to Nifon itself. You gotta love diasporas. Rilles thought to himself as he took the sites in.

Upon arrival at the Yamada Family’s compound he let himself get checked for weapons even though he came unarmed. He passed by a few lower-rank Yakuza on his way through the spaceous yet cozy abode. Rilles went to where he was supposed to meet Yamada Itsuki, a great long, scarcely-decorated Hall that he had seen many times before and addressed the boss with a respectful bow. ”Honorable Head of the Yamada Family. I am honored to be in your presence this evening. May I inquire, for what purpose have I been summoned?” Rilles addressed the boss in Nifonese.
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Erythrean Thebes
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Founded: Jan 17, 2017
Capitalist Paradise

Postby Erythrean Thebes » Tue Apr 03, 2018 7:58 am

14 April 2018
Pura Batur Temple
Federal Republic of Bangka


Mesha Sankranti, the night of the annual return of the moon – which had been a quiet day, spent mostly inside the home, tidying up altars and common rooms, wives washing fruits and vegetables in the kitchens, few out on the street for fun but rather hurrying to their destination to buy last-minute supplies. Now sunset’s sleeping countenance was falling across the bannered streets, the lanterns were starting to come alive with long whispering shadows as they assumed the duties of guiding pious worshippers through the maze of cobblestone paths and meandering wooden storefronts. Children, taken into the night at last, scurried half-seen through the gutters of makeshift paths and around the legs of merchants and their covered stalls by whatever means they could.

On the surface of a hard concrete slab, left where the pebbled road sank downward on its long slope through the village, music was the food and comfort of a wise old man. His mortal body had shrank with age so that his brilliant life force glowed just underneath the surface of his fragile flesh. It was remarkable the ingenuity which moved his knotted fingers, skipping gracefully back and forth between the strings of an old homemade sitar. His eyes were open but he did not see; his true vision was inside the depths of his heart, where he grew tears in the brilliant glow of his love for creation and for the valiant character of the undying gods, and as he moved in these powerful feelings he was compelled to cry out in song:

“Oh Kind Luck! Luck in the heart of man alluring,
Be true to the ones you visit, stay with the ones devoted to you.”

And as he felt the song turning in his heart, every so often his pained face would look up to the heights of holy Mount Batur, where the temple of creation stood royally lit for the night of the spirits, her doors open to admit the traffic of the merciful ones, reigning where the famous hot springs welled up from the eternal life of the vast and wild Earth. Like a beacon, she drew a procession of the villagers up the steep tracks to her lofty summit, they rose like smoke from a vessel of frankincense, coming to rest around the sanctuary of the goddess, to where the kingdom of the holy ones bore its gates wide open across the mortal realm, where the people stood together by the hand of Lakshmi.

“How much?” The local man with the wire-rimmed glasses and fashionable chopped goatee was almost startled by the roaring cheer raised by the crowd of worshippers behind him. He turned over his shoulder, seeing the sea of colorful garments which snaked inside the brightly-illuminated gates of the shrine and continued out of sight amidst the ornaments.

The hilltop merchant watching the sight laughed gaily. “People are going wild this year…”

A quick sweep of the hands, the local man put his wad of bills on the counter, the other man left a bottle of purified water and took the money, counting it with his fingers and disappearing inside the recesses of his mobile sales van. “Thanks, Happy New Year,” he called like an afterthought in the direction of the departing customer. The register chimed and squeaked its door ajar; the little purchase went inside on top of the meager showing of small bills lying threadbare in the slots. He locked it and stowed the key in his back pocket.

Back at the counter, finding none waiting for him, he rested with his elbows on the plastic surface and thought privately to himself while he gazed across the bumpy summit of Mount Batur. The ancient limestone brick paved across the mountainous clearing connected three different shrines together, each of them resting out at length at a precipice of the holy mountain; in the middle of them all, a type of plaza was formed where now a huge crunch of joyful Bangka all stood together. The night air was cool, not too cold by any means this April day, so comfortable that he could be lulled into the scene, and he was shocked when his wristwatch buzzed and zapped him on the wrist.

“OPERATION START” was all it said.

The man took a deep breath, steeling himself for the deed asked for, although his only reluctance was the innate toil and difficulty of the cumbersome work. Nothing about the act he was charged with doing alarmed him particularly, even, after closing the front padlocked window, when he opened his secret cabinet to reveal the arsenal of military-grade combat weapons stored inside. At the top of his private armory, a miniature logo ran across the metal backplate: Siemens Self-Defense Forces.

His loadout for this dark atrocity was custom-picked however. His weapon of choice was the Arakawa Type 8 Assault Rifle, complete with Nifonese Imperial military barcode and label. For good measure, he wore also a full bulletproof jacket in cobalt nighttime camouflage and a waist belt of several replacement magazines, to add longevity to his evil spree. Finally he kept a pair of Nifonese fragmentation grenades stored inside a leather pouch attached to his hip. All would sell the intended disguise: a black-ops soldier of the Nifonese imperialists, pretending to be a Kogyokist fanatic unable to keep himself out of the rising social tensions. His true mission being to embarrass the weak island government, exposing them as incapable even of keeping out blatant manipulation by the foreign imperialists.

As he sauntered, weighed down with weapons, past the rear exit doors of his old van, the mercenary pounded his adhesive-glove fist onto the electric switch bolted beside the door frame. The LCD advertising sign mounted on top of the vehicle switched from its previous loop of dancing ice cream cones, smiling cotton candy people, and happy laughing peanuts to show the universal symbol of the Kogyokist sect: the Heavencross Seal, emblazoned before a ritual sun.

Few had noticed the foreboding change of theme, or had the time to think greatly on it, before the bullets began to fly at once; packed as they were in a tight mass in the central clearing, the faithful were slain at a painful crawling pace but in crushing terror, barely able to move or attempt a competent escape. Bullets sliced again and again into the flesh of those unfortunate caught outside; they slumped and hung down in grave condition, their failing masses dropping onto those who were unscathed in the center. Now into this foul cauldron the mercenary introduced his cruelest ploy, pitching the pair of grenades into their midst – they went off with a set of sickening splat sounds, probably very ineffective from a military point of view, all their payload spitting immediately into the piles of trapped and wounded bodies sprawled on top.

Some Bangka were able to extricate themselves from the killing area, and they sprinted for the shelter of any of the holy mountain’s three sacred shrines – but at each, as they approached, an accomplice mercenary stepped out from the shadows and opened fire with his own gear, terrifying the helpless who ran back in the other direction abandoning their desperate quest. Slowly the rout of people became a flight toward the main mountain path, turning into a cascade of hysterical Bangka half-tripping their way down the steep steps back to the village below.

Within minutes, a squad of local police cars raced into the village and camped out at the foot of the mountain; tearful escaping locals told them what they had seen: the searing banner of the Kogyokist faith illuminated over their heads, with automatic rifles tearing into their friends and loved ones from every side!

Soon another squadron of police cars joined their force at the foot of the mountain; these men had brought helmets and assault rifles for their fellow officers, becoming makeshift combat police.

Up on the mountain peak, after torturous minutes the butchering had come to an end; the four mercenaries met in the center square amidst the slain with only business-like faces. “Jeffrey, Michael, you follow the trail down the backside and try to get off into the brush. Jamie, come with me, let’s see if we can whiz her out of ‘ere…”

They loaded back into the van, the Kogyokist seal continuing its reign of terror on the light-up screen. The merc Jamie slid the padlock off from the window and threw up the metal screen to give himself a clear view of the holy mountain; as best he could, he steadied the bottom of his rifle against the countertop and leaned back to take aim. The van picked up speed, narrowly making it down the meandering mountain trail, abruptly coming face-to-face with the picket of police cars circled around the entranceway.

“Fire!!” the police sergeant cried unleashing the furious volley of eight officers and their automatic weapons against the runaway murder wagon.

The mercenary ducked his head, craning it just underneath the gust of broken glass that exploded across his back and the dozens of bullets pounding into the metal chassis; he pulled on the wheel, swerving the van off to the right and crashing it between the nose and bumper of a pair of parked police cars. His accomplice perched in the back laid down a hail of death upon the hapless officers in front of his view, driving them fretfully behind cover like helpless crouching children. From the corner of his exposed eye the mercenary could see the tiny gap he had forced and he floored into it, shoving the back of the cop car aside with his horsepower and gunning it for the village.

The police sergeant raced instinctually in the direction of the fleeing van; his arms snapped the stock of the rifle against the plane of his shoulder and he fired, once, twice, a third time, trying to drill his shots into the driver’s seat.

“Gah, fuck!!!” the mercenary gurgled, although he was barely heard for the bullet had punctured the side of his jaw and throat, mangling his tongue and windpipe together; dazed he did not have the presence of mind to avoid smashing full-speed into the side of the mudbrick peasant house, crashing through the wall and into the common room amidst a shower of dust and giant chunks of rock.

“Go! Go!” the sergeant yelled, his officers sprinting madly for the crash site where the wanted men lay vulnerable. Their arms swung back and forth, the hats nearly blowing off of the top of their sweating heads. The driver pulling himself out the crumpled door saw them and tried to reach for his sidearm, but he lost his support and fell limply out of the driver’s seat with an anguished cry, hissing in agony. The police surrounded the back door with weapons drawn, screaming for the mercs to come out with their bare hands or else be shot and die.

The doors swung open; the merc Jamie appeared with his hands raised in submission but then his hand was seen to cradle a grenade, his finger threaded through the metal pin; alarmed the police opened fire, tearing him apart – the grenade activated and smacked to the ground, rolling down the slight decline of the van and plopping onto the strewn floor of the ruined hut. Screaming terrified the police force backpedaled and scampered out of the way of the fiery blast.

“Subdue the prisoner!” the sergeant yelped, red in the face, as his officers swarmed over the dying merc on the ground and manhandled him into cuffs. A dark pool of blood was amassing in the dirt, flowing from the gaping hole that transected his neck and jaw. The killer moaned weakly, his presence of mind drifting away with the life force that dwindled in his limbs.

“Who are you!?” the sergeant knelt down and looked into the man’s fading eyes, his increasingly nonsensical facial expression, “tell me your name!”

The merc groaned, too numb to do anything more than squirm in the dust. “God protect his children…”

Camera bulbs exploded nonstop, again and again over the crime scene, taking the image of the dead mercs, the ruined vehicle, its evil sign. The sergeant dropped to his knees, trying futilely to make eye contact with the doomed criminal. “Why were you here tonight?”

“All glory is to God,” the merc slurred, his mind totally falling away, “and to his son, the Lord, Jesus Christ…”

With a last spasmed heave of the chest, the mercenary expired.
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New Aeyariss
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Postby New Aeyariss » Wed Apr 04, 2018 6:59 am

*** UCK, Kesslerstaadt

The boss awaited them within an enormous room, flanked by two bodyguards - both having visible SMGs concealed within their smokings - with Majiro sitting on his left side. Although Majiro technically was of higher rank and greater importance, he chose not to reveal that fact as of now, his thoughts wandering around different sphere - namely the storm that was about to hit them. At that moment, news of false flag attack had not yet reached the watchful ears of the Nifonese intelligence and Majiro had no idea what was happening outside his island.

"Konichiwa!" bowed the Yakuza boss, seeing the Simendosan intelligence operatives enter. In truth, he did not care much who they were - as long as they were good to make business with. Simendosans, however, had as of now akin interests to those of his compatriots "I am graceful to have you here! Please, sit down and enjoy my hospitality."

He clapped his hands like some sort of feudal lord. On this sign his three daughters, each dressed in traditional kimono, entered the room, carrying cups full of traditional Nifonese tea. Fumes of it's warm smell filled the entire room soon after their entry.

"Allow me to introduce you to Majiro-san!" the boss pointed at the tall, well built man with middle-length raven dark hair sitting next to him "Majiro-san recently arrived from the mainland as soon as you made this request. He brought us some information you may be concerned with. You should listen to what he has to say, and then, we shall talk about our payment."

"Thank you, Fuma-san" smiled Majiro as he lifted a cup full of tea and permitted himself to taste it's smell. It reminded him of scent of foreign lands where he had a chance to travel as businessman - both legal and illegal one. Links between Nifonese intelligence and Yakuza were well known; the two, though fiercely fighting in the homeland, had no issues with uniting when good of Nifon was at stake. After all, Nifonese were harmonious society, and all were supposed to cooperate for the common good. His task was to make sure they would.

"So, you wanted to have information about Russel-san, eh? I will tell you what" he lowered his voice. Even if he himself oversaw checking for listening devices in this room, one could not be too cautious "I don't think you even scratched the surface with him. Russel is just the tip of the iceberg."

He turned to the window, looking at dim shadows cast by the lamps:

"In shadow theater..." he continued, quietly "One sees the characters, but does not see the actors. We don't know the entire structure. Not even quarter of what this bakayaro Russel has built. What do we know is that this network is far greater than we have expected. They stay in the shadows, hiding their true origin. Very few people know just how many front Russel-san has."

Majiro looked directly into the eyes of Dorian intelligence operatives:

"We may be dealing with largest criminal organization in human history. One to which greatest Yakuza of Nifon can not even hope to compare." his voice suddenly became stern, serious; his eyes sending a look of deathly seriousness into eyes of Simendosan intelligence operative. Not for long, however, could the Nifonese operative continue the stare:

" Steven Nordholt, one of subsidiaries of Russel Financial. Used to lead Foundation for Human Development." Fuma took out a picture of an older gentelman with clearly cut grey hair, oval face and pair of deeply set, small blue eyes "Mysteriously survived death of Amihan Russel. Believed to be responsible for funding color revolution of Zabolekhovye a year ago; for that act he had been put on watch list by multiple governments. He had arrived on the meeting; and guess where he went shortly after. "

The head of Fuma clan smiled, taking another picture out of his wallet. This one was more recent; portraying a muscular man holding a machete, pointing it towards little Kiyosu during the infamous riot:

"Gene Karlson" Majiro did not hide his disgust for this man "Goes by the name of "Happy Daddy" as well. Has confirmed interest in boys. Used to be head of a formation of okama called "Homoguard", which was destroyed by our brothers and friends from Little Kiyosu. Since that time he has been present here; and until recently spent his time mostly in many brothels this excuse for jigoku has. Until today... "

Fuma smiled:

"Shortly after Nordhold-san left, Karlson-san seems to have been attempting to contact every friend of his. He already has vast contacts in various left-wing terrotist groups. Such a man would be invaluable to whoever took control over Russel-san's organization. There is your lead."
Last edited by New Aeyariss on Wed Apr 04, 2018 6:59 am, edited 1 time in total.
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Postby Greater Carloso » Wed Apr 04, 2018 3:15 pm

Haxton Outskirts, Ebon, Carloso
On a grassy hill just outside the confines of Haxton stood a large, concrete building that had been purposefully walled off from the outside world. On each side of the wall, there was a large watchtower, allowing whoever was up there to peer down into the suburban landscape below. Most people in Haxton knew that it was the national headquarters of the International Shiva Consciousness Society (ISCF). Far fewer remembered that it had once been a radar station belonged to the Carlosian Air Force. The members of the ISCF loftily referred to it as the Haxton Consciousness & Enlightenment Centre (HCEC), lead by a self-styled Hindu holy woman called Sannyasini Shanaya. Internationally, she had become known for her avid use of social media, which she used to preach to hundreds of millions of people around the world. Since arriving in 2016, many praised the centre for their charity work, expertise in crisis pregnancy management and youth outreach programmes. Many others still dismissed the organisation as a dangerous cult. Either way, there was still a great deal of mystery about the true nature of the organisation, with even simple details like the true size of the congregation remaining entirely unknown. Both local and national authorities had attempted to put down a figure on it, but their estimates varied wildly from anywhere between twenty and a hundred people. Whatever strange rituals that went on behind those walls remained entirely unknown to the public. For the sake of the ISCF's popularity in Carloso, maybe this was for the better. Few would tolerate the truly sick and evil practices that really went on in there.

Publicly, the centre's advertising gave the impression that its services involved typical Hindu meditative practices such as yoga sessions and deep contemplation. Outsiders who weren't aware of the ISCF's illegal activity in Haxton presumed that they were just another harmless pregnancy resource centre, bringing clarity to young women by talking them out of an unlawful abortion and considering adoption as an alternative. In reality, the so-called 'expertise in crisis pregnancy management' was the provision of illegal abortions, carried out by members of the cult. In a nation where a total, constitutional ban on all abortions was present, HCEC had no shortage of vulnerable clients. Their leader, Chandradev Upadhya, who liked to be referred to as 'Bagawan', had made it fully permissible for a woman to have an abortion at any stage in her pregnancy. In his view, congregations of the ISCF were obliged to provide this service to women, even in jurisdictions where it was illegal. In Carloso's case, performing or assisting in an abortion was punishable by a mandatory life sentence and the total confiscation of personal assets by the state. If this fact wasn't damning enough, how the group managed to fund itself was another matter entirely. Along with the money it received from the ISCF, many of the members were involved in either the production or selling of illegal narcotics. They had even set up a laboratory in the compound's basement, churning out tens of thousands of deroes worth of methamphetamine and other drugs every week. Most of the profit from these drugs went back into the international organisation or were used to fund Shanaya's lavish lifestyle, including world-class cuisine, regular holidays and luxury cars. Unluckily for her, the authorities were beginning to get very suspicious about the activities in the centre. The last thing she needed was a surprise police raid.

However, the police were the least of their concerns at the moment. A far bigger issue was the fact that Carloso's National Intelligence Service and the private military company Conquistador Security Consulting both suspected that it was the ISCF the entire time that had been arming Homofront and other homosexual extremist groups to carry out attacks on Carlosian soil. Under Estebán Santander's personal direction, Conquistador's security branch had already compiled a dossier containing a substantial amount of evidence implicating the ISCF in equipping and organising these terrorist groups. Unfortunately for Santander, most of this information had been gathered through far from legal means. The last thing he needed was another scandal in a political career undermined by the extranational activities of his company, both at home and abroad. Santander himself could see the compound from his own private residence in Haxton, only a stone's throw away from the international headquarters of Conquistador in the heart of Ebon City. Shanya was aware that Conquistador was on to them, and that it would only be a matter of time before the compound would have to be 'liquidated'. Unbeknownst to the rest of the group, Shanya did not plan to be there when it happened.

The members of the cult had transformed the courtyard area of the compound into an Indian garden, complete with elephant sculptures, a large statue of Shiva in the Nataraja dance position and ponds full of lilies. They often used this area as a place of mediation, though it was also a place of serious discussion. Sannyasini Shanaya and her inner circle, draped in orange robes, had gathered away from the rest of the congregation to discuss their future in Carloso. They sat on ornate stone benches, arranged in a circle. All of the members faced Shanya as she spoke, "Brothers and sisters, our time in Carloso is coming to an end. I fear the maw of the enemy is preparing to bite down and destroy the paradise we have built. As much as I wished we could avoid this, we will have to begin preparations for liquidation." With some hesitation, the inner circle nodded towards the Sannyasini. She inclined her heads towards them in return before she began to speak again, "Operation Trishula has been in development for several months now, in preparation for the 'great calamity' foretold by Bagawan. Sadly, last night his prophecy came through." Everyone here knew what Operation Trishula was; the grand campaign of terror masterminded by Shanaya and her inner circle against the enemies of the ISCF. Initiated by a prophecy foretold by Bagawan, it had evolved into a complex scheme to wage utter devastation on everything Estebán Santander held dear.

The primary target for the attack would be the international headquarters of Conquistador Security Consulting in the heart of Ebon City, a towering skyscraper of glass and steel that utterly dominated the skyline of the metropolis. As such, it was the centre of commercial activity in the city, constantly bustling with thousands of commuters. In the first phase of the operation, several members would detonate car bombs near the building at the peak of rush hour to trigger a widespread panic. Phase two would then be executed; a specially modified refrigerated truck containing several dozen litres of liquid sarin would manoeuvre into an alleyway and conceal itself shortly before the initial attack. Heaters would evaporate the sarin into a gas, which would then be dispersed using a set of powerful anticlockwise-spinning fans. Projections put the number of dead in the hundreds. In preparation for the attack, sophisticated chemical equipment had been bought on the black market, allowing the cult to produce dozens of litres of the nerve agent for use in attacks if needed. Any surplus could be sold back to international terrorists or third world dictatorships for a large profit. A third phase was also planned, involving the kidnapping of members of the Santander family.

"The Nifonese have made it clear with their latest provocation that they put no value on our lives, willing to massacre dozens of our brothers and sisters without even a single thought. As foretold by Bagawan, this is a clear sign that the clash of ages will soon begin, when the followers of Shiva will rise up and clash with those who foolishly oppose him. The Carlosian government and Santander have been accomplices to the crimes of the Nifonese, and for this, they will suffer." Shanaya did not even appear angry when she said this, even cracking a smile, But in the meantime, we must be most careful to avert the gaze of the authorities. I want all of our illegal activities terminated ASAP. Only a whisper will be left when our foes come to ask their questions." There were quiet nods from everyone, not daring to object to the Sannyasini's orders. Excellent." she continued to say, "Our enemies have made a great mistake by attacking Bangka. They will pay dearly in time."

Conquistador Security Consulting Ltd. Headquarters, Ebon, Carloso
Estebán Santander sat in his private office with a moustached individual, a civil servant from the Department of External Affairs called Badger Ramsay. He was visiting on behalf of Aaron Delgado, the Minister for External Affairs, to lecture Estebán on the conduct of his business. The men sat on opposite sides of the desk, showing nothing but utter contempt for each other; Ramsay had been extremely lucky to even get an audience with Santander in his office. The civil servent's walrus moustache quivered as he preached to Santander, "According to Mr Delgado, you are acting completely outside your portfolio as a minister. He is very frustrated." He couldn't help me chuckle off the attempts being made by this man to intimidate him, "I am in no way involved in the foreign dealings of my company, Mr Ramsay. Besides, it isn't my fault that a humble business like mine can do a better job of policing the world then he can." Ramsay was completely unflinching, unamused by Estebán's comment. "I'll make sure your attitude is reflected in the next cabinet reshuffle, Mr Santander." Ramsay continued. "Good. Maybe I'll get to be in charge of both Internal and External Affairs this time." Estebán quipped, a sly grin breaking across his face. Ramsay grunted a dismissive response, "Just keep out of our way in future and Mr Delgado will not need to discuss this with higher powers." The man got up from his seat and walked towards the door that led back out into the corridors of the upper levels of the building, taking his briefcase with him. Santander was kind enough to leave him out, tilting his head forward to whisper a few final words in Ramsay's ear, "There are games being played here on so many levels. Delgado would want to watch his back." The two men momentarily locked eyes, glaring into each others' pupils. Ramsay then slipped out the door, leaving Santander on his own.

Estebán Santander returned to his desk, pouring a glass of brandy for himself and dropping a few ice cubes in from the machine underneath the table. He swirled the liquor around in the glass as he drank, savouring the taste. He looked out onto the Ebon cityscape, as he often did, observing the thousands of Carlosians commuting to and from work and reflecting on everything going on in the world. At the moment, there could only be one thing on his mind; the apparently Kogyokist terrorist attack in Bangka the night before. After discovering what happened when he woke up this morning, he immediately scheduled for a full briefing with members of Conquistador's Special Intelligence Office (SIO). Santander's primary interest in Bangka was due to the fact that the headquarters of the International Shiva Consciousness Foundation located here. Several months ago, SIO's own investigation had revealed that it had been the ISCF the entire time that had been arming Homofront and other terrorist groups on Carlosian soil, though Santander had chosen not to disclose this to the national authorities. It still remained unclear whether the ISCF had been doing this for ideological or monetary reasons. Whether or not the ISCF were the real perpetrators behind the attack wasn't yet known, though it certainly served as a convenient excuse for stirring up popular anti-Nifonese sentiment in the largely Hindu populace.

The voice of Santander's personal secretary crackled through the intercom, "There are men from the SIO here to see you, sir." Santander bent over to the small microphone on his desk and flicked a green button, "Send them up Maria." Estebán sat himself down and waited a bit for the staff to arrive at his door. They would have to make their way through the waiting room; an elaborate Nifonese garden, and a series of corridors before they actually got here. Security cameras and various sensors tracked their every move, keeping out any intruders who could somehow make it this far up the building. When they eventually arrived, Santander let them through the final security gate and into his office. Three men appeared at his door, all proceeding to salute their boss. "Gentlemen." Santander said as he took another swig of his drink, "Please, take a seat." The three men each took an office chair and sat at Santander's desk. Seated from left to right was General Mestres; head of the Special Intelligence Office and fellow veteran of the Blitz, SIO chief research officer Ogden Castiel and Lieutenant-Colonel Fulton, head of Conquistador Special Reconnaissance Group.

"Kogyokist." Estebán began, "Do we have any more information?" he queried. Mestres was the one most forthcoming with new information, "The perpetrator was equipped with an Arakawa Type 8 rifle. From the pictures we've seen, he was almost certainly from Nifon. If he was indeed an agent of the Nifonese military or some PMC, its impossible to tell what his mission was." Fulton interjected with his own assessment, "That is if he even had a mission, to begin with. We've never seen this sort of behaviour from the Nifonese before. This attack will in no way benefit Kojiro and only deepen anti-Nifonese sentiments on the island. There is no way that the government is behind this." Santander agreed with them. It would be incredibly counterproductive if it were Kojiro who was behind this, "So what are we looking at here? Was it just a lone wolf attack? A false flag?" Mestres shrugged, "Impossible to say at this stage. One thing that is clear though is that Bangka is the next global flashpoint. We may have to deploy boots on the ground sooner rather than later." Santander nodded in agreement, "And what of the ISCF? Could they be behind this?" Mestres thought to himself for a few moments, "Upadhya and his followers can only benefit from the backlash against the Nifonese, regardless of whether they planned this or not. Still, it would be worth investigating. Their international headquarters is on the island after all."

Castiel, the chief research officer who had so far remained silent, finally spoke up, "If this escalates further, we might see an intervention by the Nifonese. They won't risk the prospect of losing their access to the island's natural resources." After a few seconds of silence, Santander got up from his chair and looked out of his office onto the city below, "From a purely business perspective, this is too good of an opportunity for us to pass up. On the other hand, I don't know if this is just the actions of some rogue Nifonese madman or part of a wider plot to undermine the integrity of us and our allies." Santander turned around to face the three men again, "And I don't want to find out at the last minute that the latter is true. I want three of our best men in Bangka within 72 hours. If my suspicions about the ISCF are true, we could finally have the evidence we need to put them out of business. Have I made myself clear, Mestres? Fulton?" The two men nodded, "Yes, sir." they uttered collectively. Santander smiled as he returned to looking out the window, "Very well. I'll forward my complete orders to your offices. You can go now. The three men left their chairs and fired one last departing salute before exiting his office, leaving Santander all on his own. As he finished his glass of brandy, he reached for the secure telephone on his desk to make a very important call.
Last edited by Greater Carloso on Thu Sep 27, 2018 9:09 am, edited 8 times in total.
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New Aeyariss
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Postby New Aeyariss » Sat Apr 07, 2018 5:42 am

*** Ishikawa-kyo, The Empire of Greater Nifon

Kogyokist faith was a peculiarity among Christian denominations. Distance from the West and grounding in a different culture made it adapt itself to accommodate spiritual needs of the local people. It were, ironically, those unique developments that made it so successful on the global religious scene today. One of them was simplicity - Kogyokist faith did not put emphasis on developed metaphysics or elaborate theology - on the contrary, the theological side was extremely simple, albeit not simplistic. Main focus of creed so deeply developed by Emperor Kogyoku and Lu Xinyue was always morality, and this is exactly where this religion shone. To teach morality to the masses, a series of religious festivals - the matsuri - were established. One of most popular of them - Shinano Matsuri - was about to begin.

Shinano Matsuri was to the Nifonese exactly what superbowl was to the people of Americas, except that it also had a religious side to itself. Long long ago, Emperor Kogyoku read the Heavenly Sutras, and came to the moment when Jacob wrestled an angel. Instantly in head of the emperor appeared a well known story from the Nifonese legends, where a man wrestled a kami. Concluding that it would suit Nifonese well to establish a festival to celebrate that event, the Emperor started first Shinano Matsuri - festival of the wrestling, which, over the years, developed into grandest sumo tournament in Nifon. Weeks before the celebration begun, colorful flags filled with names flew on the gentle breeze near the Emperor Genji's stadium in Ishikawa, proclaiming names of the famed wrestlers who will arrive to compete. Then came the beginning - like gigantic whales towering figures of the rikshi walked the streets, their colorful aprons shining in the morning sun. The procession first entered Heavenly Jewels Church, where a Bishop would explain the spiritual significance of the story of Jacob wrestling an angel in a fierce sermon, then pray for success of the wrestlers. When he was finished, conch shells were blown. Majestic sportsmen rose from kneeling and, in one big parade, accompanied by sounds of drums, headed to Emperor Genji's stadiums for the first day of weeks long tournament. Though lesser tournaments were going to be held both in Nifon, and abroad where Kogyokist populations lived - none of them could have compared to the one in Ishikawa in splendor and grandeur.

In the middle of the stadium, in a lodge separated from the rest of the stadium by a wall of dark glass meant to deny snipers a chance of taking shot, sat the Shogun himself - the pair of dark, green eyes carefully watching the beginnings of the competition. Three majestic tygers lied near Maki's legs, eternally watchful for next wannabe assassin to learn just how sharp their fangs and claws were. Kojiro was famed for his love of sports, himself actively practicing martial arts at least since he entered the university. For the Nifonese ruler, this was a chance to relax after a long week of work. Thus, he carefully watched two enormous wrestlers enter the dohyō and squat, preparing themselves to begin. The signal was given, and like two enormous walruses rikshi clashed against each other, hands flying wildly in order to establish the grip. Their legs worked tirelessly to avoid being pushed. But then, one of the wrestlers managed to establish a grip and with one swipe of his hips sent his opponent flying. Majestic body hit the sand of the dohyō and the first match of the tournament was concluded.

Maki Kojiro smiled. To see that Nifonese still maintain their traditions even when festivals such as Shinano were becoming more and more commercialized was always a good thing to see.

The next pair of wrestlers just assembled, the doors to Kojiro's lodge opened, letting a man in. One of the tygers tilted it's head, thinking that it's next meal might have just entered the room, but was disappointed to notice a well known face. The man's name was Ibuki Ryuta, Rear Admiral of Kaigun and head of Tokkeitai, the naval intelligence. Born in Yakuza and then it's assassin, he was pardoned at his youth in exchange for serving his county. Despite the fact that R. Adm. Ibuki changed a lot since leaving criminal world, he still had certain habits. Political opponents of Shogunate called him "Kojiro's bloodhound" as he was the one who enjoyed doing dirty work for his fellow former intelligence officer, now Shogun.

"Kojiro-dono!" bowed the intelligence officer, massive scar above his left eye still being visible "My apologies for disturbing you, but it's urgent. You need to see this..."

*** Three hours later

"Are we aware of the attacker's identity?" Kojiro spoke in monotone voice. For a former head of Nifon's military intelligence, this situation was nothing new.

Shogun Kojiro was far than more aware of the fact that he had indeed many enemies, ones that tried to bite him around the clock, just waiting to remove the ground from below his legs. Various zaibatsu not really happy from his policy, international bankers, domestic leftists, or simply power hungry individuals prowled twenty four hours a day, seven days a week, eager to get just a small bite at the - seemingly invincible so far - Nifonese statesman. Yet, being former officer of the military intelligence, Kojiro played them out with ease, perfectly knowing his enemies and their weaknesses. Those, whom he trusted, he greatly rewarded. It was not easy to win his trust, but people who done so were members of informal 17KAI, which roughly translated as society of seventeen closest Kojiro's underlings, ones that would have eagerly given lives for him should such need come. Recruited mostly from the virtuous military officials, grassroots statesmen and financiers who came to great wealth thanks to the Nifonese shogun, after he removed the international elite from Nifonese market, this group was his own counter to various less than pleasurable lobbying groups that always tried to get a chance at subverting the great ruler. And today, those seventeen most trusted advisors met in the undergrounds of the Tosa castle in an emergency meeting to discuss recent developments in Bangka.

"You think it could be those bakayaros from MNS?" spoke concerned Admiral Ryuzoji Hachirou. It was not a secret that Ministry of National Security did not really like the Army and it's intelligence from which Kojiro hailed. Though the shogun made sure to silence the opposition by purging the most troublesome members, a complete removal of MNS's influence from Nifonese political life was just impossible, and the ministry was simply too important to purge outright.

"I have many doubts about it" came the reply of Gen. Takeda Daisuke, the current minister of war. Not wanting to be left behind his Army rival, whom he clearly distrusted, Koizumi forced himself to be as active as the Navy official in his rivalry for the Shogun's favors. So far, there has been a balance of power between the two services, with Navy occupying the position of Cheiff of the General Staff and Army having the position of minister of war - but both secretly thought of means of obtaining more, and to that, the Shogun was the key "I don't see what that could have given them. We must look who benefits from that; and at this point the only one is the hindu nationalists on Bangka."

"The most active Zaibatsu now on Bangka is Tsukumo" sighed Murakami Akira, an important politician and former CEO of Murakami conglomerate "For years I have competed against Kurosawa-san, and I know he is smarter than that. I already contacted him and he is sniffing within the business world. This incident will be disastrous for our reputation, though."

"My apologies for leaving. I have received an important message" said Admiral Ryuta, who previously was forced to break his briefing "Please permit me to continue. Recently, one of Yakuza groups operating in the disgusting excuse for Sodom known as UCK has been paid by Simendosan intelligence to collect data on activities of associates of late Russel-san. What they found out was at least intriguing. According to our sources, a large meeting was held recently, virtually all of former Russel's associates being there. Upadhya-san, leader of ISCF and one of most influential men in Bangka... was there as well."

Hearing rumors among his friends, Ibuki continued:

"I already dispatched appropriate resources into the area. They reported that one of high ranked enforces of Siemens-san visited a certain Gene Karlson, who is well known to us for his role in instigating anti-Nifonese riots in Oceanica. Shortly after the man left him, Carlson-san gathered his friends. We are trying to currently discover what purpose did that gathering serve and what are his plans."

"Bangka was, until recently, a place of low priority. Thus new networks are yet to be formed. It will take few days until I have everything under observation. I had, however, a chance to consult the analytical teams." spoke Gen. Gen. Koizumi Daijirō, current director in chief of Gunpeitiai "Local police has already confirmed that there have been multiple shooters. So far we had chance to see pictures of only one of them. He had a full bulletproof vest, several grenades and an assault rife. Their method of operation indicates high level of skill as well. While the first mercenary attacked, at least three others opened fire at the fleeing people. They did not stand a chance at all."

Grave silence fell into the room. While most assembled here were hardened military veterans, none of them had pleasure of hearing about civilian deaths.

"I see two options here" continued Koizumi "First one is that this is work of some kind of hot-headed Yamabito group. Many of them have ex-military in their ranks, so this level of professionalism would not be surprising. However we can't say for certain until we have IDed at least a single shooter. Another option, which in light of revelations provided by Ryuta-Taisho I am more inclined to believe, is that we are seeing beginnings of globalist response for dismantling the network of Redshield-san. In such case, it is imperative we act instantly. The act is sure to enflame the Hindu radicals, and who knows what kind of response we may expect... "

Kojiro sat for a certain period of time, completely silent - like a towering mountain, unmovable and majestic. Then, he spoke.

"Tokugawa-san" he addressed his minister of External Relations "You will contact the government of Bangka. Promise them full cooperation of the Nifonese state in order to bring the preparators to justice. And provide it if it's necessary."

"Hai!" bowed the woman.

"Ryuzoji-taishou" Kojiro addressed the admiral carefully. This operation, if it comes to pass, will have to include both the Navy and the Army - had it not, the current policy of balancing between the two would have been broken "What assets are closest to Bangka now?"

"7th Naval Special Landing Force is nine hundred kilometers north, on Deijima. In addition to that 7th Mobile Force led by Ayanami class aircraft carrier "Hikari" is now on a routine patrol about 1500 kilometers to the north and can be diverted upon your order, Kojiro-sama!" spoke the admiral in monotone voice.

"Divert 7th Mobile Force and keep them at maximum strike range from Bangka. Do not get too close. We are keeping a precaution, not trying to threaten them." said Kojiro before turning to the Minister of War "I want full plans for eventual invasion of Bangka within four hours from now. The rest of you, keep me updated. This meeting is adjourned!"

And they all went in their directions, to do their respective tasks, as dark clouds begun to gather...
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Greater Carloso
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Founded: Dec 24, 2015
Moralistic Democracy

Postby Greater Carloso » Sun Apr 15, 2018 2:54 pm

Madrigal International Airport, Madrigal, Carloso
Madrigal International Airport sat on the very edge of Madrigal's metropolitan boundaries, closer to the satellite city of Preston than it was to the centre of Madrigal City. As the nation's largest airport, serving over 77 million passengers every year, it was considered by many to be the gateway to the rest of the Musgorocian continent for international airlines. With the summer drawing ever nearer, the terminals were beginning to fill up with holidaymakers looking to go on vacation, either out-foreign or domestically. The airport had just concluded the largest expansion project in its eighty-year existence, adding a new passenger and cargo terminal to the five existing buildings. The market for tourism had increased exponentially over the past two decades, as both Carlosian and international airlines sought to open the country, and the entire continent, up to international travel. Despite the complete revolution in Carlosian politics in recent years, the growth of international air travel in the country had not been stemmed. To the contrary, the present government was pursuing a policy of encouraging the further growth and development of airports to showcase the dramatic economic and social realignment that had taken place. As a result, many spin-off industries had emerged from the growth of Madrigal International Airport, including extensive business parks, hotels and sprawling industrial estates. Many took pride in this prosperity as signs of Carloso's continuing economic boom.

It was an unusually warm spring day. After over a month of some of the coldest weather to ever hit Carloso; which had left over twenty people dead, the country was currently experiencing a scorching heatwave, with temperatures reaching as high as 27°C. The conditions had smashed records to make this the hottest April on record. Waves of heat shimmered up from the asphalt of the runways, distorting the view of planes as they crawled into the air. At Gate 503 of Terminal 5, a Cerbero Airlines Natividad L47F business jet was preparing for take-off. A vicious emblem of a three-headed dog was emblazoned on the aircraft's side. In the cabin, the pilot relaxed while he waited for the passengers to arrive, basking in the warmth of the radiant sun. Within a few minutes, a pair of black SUVs rounded the corner of Terminal 5 and came to a halt beside the plane. The airline's client emerged from the back of one of the vehicles, no other than Lieutenant-Colonel Fulton of Conquistador Security Consulting. However, he would not be the one jetting off on the aircraft; that job was for the two men and one woman who exited the SUV after him. They were all dressed in relatively casual gear, journalist passes with photo ID dangling from their necks. They were supposedly an RTC News crew; Raúl Mencia, Cynthia Acton and Michael Delgado.

Conquistador employees lugged the crew's equipment and luggage into the cargo hold of the plane; boom microphones, cameras, tripods and all sorts of journalist's equipment. Fulton joined them as they walked from the SUV to the plane. "As the three of you know, this mission is highly sensitive." Fulton said to them at the foot of the airstair, "Do not deviate from your cover as an RTC News crew. You'll find that several thousand deroes have been deposited in your accounts when you land. I'm sure the local yakuza will be able to sell you weaponry if you need it but be wary that they are infested with Nifonese spies. Do you have any questions?" Delgado, the leader of the group, nodded, "No, sir. As ordered, we will be on the lookout for any suspicious activity. We'll forward reports regularly." Fulton smiled and shook their hands, "That's what I like to hear. I'll keep in touch. We've given you an ETA of about 20 hours, travelling from Madrigal to Mediator Island to Ishikawa and then to Bangka. I wish you all the best of luck. Think of it as a holiday." With a chuckle and one final salute, Mencia, Acton and Delgado left Fulton made their way up the stairs and into the plane. Fulton backed away as the plane began to move out of its position at Gate 503 and onto the taxiway. A few minutes later, it darted down a runway and lifted itself high into the skies of Carloso, heading for Mediator Island.

The plane soared over the sprawling metropolis of Madrigal and then the blue waters of the Musgorocian Ocean, stretching almost indefinitely in every direction. Mediator Island, 3,407 km from the next landmass, was an astonishingly isolated but strategically important island. It hosted a small airport for stopover flights between Musgorocia and the rest of the world, popular with small passenger planes and private aircraft. The desolate island was the centre of a two-century-long dispute between Carloso and the rogue state of Bourgougia over its ownership, however, it remained firmly under the control of Carlosian authorities. Its distance had saved it from Bourgougian occupation during the Emergency War. To the far west of the island was the metaphorical gateway to the Southern Furukuran Sea and its numerous states, including Kesslerstaadt; also known as 'New Sodom', Oceanica, Bangka and, of course, the global power that was Nifon. The Cerbero Airlines plane touched down at Mediator Island after four hours of continuous flying. The ground crews hastily refuelled the plane so it could continue its flight. After leaving Mediator, it turned northwards and then east as it put Ishikawa in its sights.

Besides the three agents, the aircraft cabin was empty. Michael Delgado used the time to look back over the briefing with Acton and Mencia. He flicked through some of the documents he had been handed in their initial briefing, "We've been given a blank cheque to look for any signs of ISCF involvement in the attacks." Delgado explained to his team, "We'll start with interviews with the locals and witnesses to attack, ask them about any suspicious activity. At the same time, we'd want to steer clear of attracting the attention of the local authorities." The lone woman in the team; Cynthia Acton, examined the photos of the dead perpetrators. Part of a vast military family, she was a seasoned veteran of multiple Conquistador operations. "And the Nifonese?" Cynthia queried, "Fulton said something about the yakuza in Bangka." Delgado nodded, "Yeah, the Nifonese crime gangs. It's an open secret that they're implanted in almost every country around the Southern Furukuran Sea. They're the eyes and ears of Kojiro's government, one of their many first lines of defence. Unfortunately for us, the yakuza in Bangka is one of the few possible outlets where we will be able to buy weapons."

Cynthia grimaced at the thought, "So no matter where we go, the Nifonese won't be far behind us? Great." On the other side of the table sat Raúl Mencia, crossing his legs. He thought about the issue for a few seconds before interjecting, "We might be able to work with the Nifonese. At the end of the day, it's their livelihoods at stake here. We need to make it clear to them that Conquistador is on their side." Delgado shook his head, "You have a point, but it's too risky. We still don't know for sure if the Nifonese can be vindicated for this attack. If they are innocent, however, they could be a valuable source of intel." Everyone was in agreement regarding this. It looked like they could only make a judgement once this landed in Bangka. The clear waters of the Southern Furukuran Sea were now below the plane. A musical tune began to play from Delgado's computer, indicating he was receiving a call from someone. He pressed a dark blue icon on the screen, allowing Fulton's voice to crackle through. "You'll be entering Nifonese airspace in the next hour. When you land in Ishikawa, don't try to arouse any suspicion; the plane is only refuelling for the last leg of the journey to Bangka. When you do get there, be aware that the authorities are on the lookout for any kind of suspicious activity. Since you're flying from Ishikawa, the plane will probably be searched when you land. Act normally and you shouldn't get into any trouble." Delgado nodded, even though Fulton wouldn't be able to see him, "Affirmative, sir. We'll stick to the cover." Fulton murmured something on the other end, "Good. Santander informed me a few minutes ago that he is ordering a flight of tiltwings to Oceanica. They'll be on standby if you need be extracted. Please God, they won't be needed. Sierra Four out."
Last edited by Greater Carloso on Thu Sep 27, 2018 8:11 am, edited 5 times in total.
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Guadalupador
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Left-Leaning College State

Postby Guadalupador » Mon Apr 16, 2018 10:13 pm

Yakuza Compound, Kesslerstaadt

Rilles bowed once more at Majiro and sat with the Yakuza boss and his friend from Nifonese Intelligence. He sipped the steaming hot tea and listened intently to Majiro as he detailed a lead in Russel's organization. As soon as Majiro finished Rilles took in the information. After a few moments of silence he spoke: "Nordholt, eh? Seems like Redshield didn't wipe out the entire lot... Which is a shame, really. Would've made my job much easier... I don't enjoy guessing. Where did he go? I'll be sure to tell His Majesty's Special Service to keep an open dossier on Nordholt; through him we could reveal this theorized mass criminal network, or at least a significant part of it. We do know that he tends to travel in a pompous style. Shouldn't be that hard to notice where he goes off to and fro."
Rilles took a closer look at the second photograph. "Gene Karlson... Do you happen to know where in the city he's living? The name of the neighborhood would suffice, though the lead that you've presented us is sufficient enough. His Majesty and the Prime Minister would be delighted to reward you, Honorable Yamada-san. A 'donation' will come through an anonymous wire payment for your men to collect in a few days time. It'll likely be something in the amount of about $750,000 NSD... With much more on the way given your continued support."
Rilles got up and turned to Majiro, leaned in and whispered: "I take it that the Shogun himself would want a debriefing, would he not? Relay this information to him: His Majesty is quite open to cooperation between our respective states." Rilles knew a spook when he saw one especially around rank-and-file Yakuza. As soon as he entered the room he realized that Fuma Majiro was not just some Yakuza boss from Nifon. It was the way he carried himself and the subtle ways that he spoke that differentiated Majiro from Itsuki. Rilles then spoke back up: "It was nice meeting you Majiro-san. May we keep in touch." With that, Rilles bowed once more at the two men and went on his way back to the safe-house to debrief his fellow operators and send a few messages back home to Simendosa.



Simendosa Royal Palace Gardens

Prince Andosh enjoyed his evening tea as he watched the sun set on the skyline of the city that he ruled. It was one of the few times that he really felt at peace, surveying his bustling urban realm from atop the lush forested mountain. As he took a sip he could hear the clattering of footsteps from behind him. He knew who it was before he turned away from his beautiful view. It was his Prime Minister with another dossier in her arms. The Prince sighed before resigning himself back to his duties as sovereign. "I take it that the Special Service has a lead on Russel?"

Galisqa nodded and presented the dossier on the small table on which the Prince's tea was cooling. "Our asset in the form of the Yakuza in Kesslerstaadt didn't disappoint, Your Majesty. Steven Nordholt survived the explosion and attended the meeting as well. It really seems like Russel's old gang is getting back together, and the fact that Nordholt even survived that assassination attempt adds clout to the theory that Russel himself may have survived."

"Hmm. And the operators in Kesslerstaadt are requesting permission to conduct an operation to capture some man named Gene Karlson and interrogate him? What does he have to do with Russel?" The Prince questioned his Prime Minister as he read ahead through the dossier.

"They have reason to believe that Karlson, or 'Happy Daddy' for that matter is bringing his own little gang of ruffians together. The Yakuza have reason to believe that Russel's organization would find it in their best interest to contact them." Both Galisqa and Andosh winced in disgust at Karlson's nickname.

"If it leads to whoever's behind all this then I'll sign off on that op." The Prince continued to read now more interested than ever. "Ah so that Uphadya fellow... he's got a little following here?"

"Yes, there's an ISCS community center in the Galu District of the city. They keep to themselves it seems. They've got sparkling clean records. No evidence of illicit, well, anything. According to the past few days of watching the facility, Special Service has yet to see anything out of the ordinary. I was about to give the order to end the operation..."

The Prince raised his hand as he continued to read along. "Don't. Have SpecServ keep watching their moves. If there is any connection at all between Uphadya and Russel this community center needs to be considered a safehouse for hostile intelligence services."

"And that brings us to the terrorist attack in Bangka, where the ISCS and Uphadya are from. Hundreds of innocents dead even more wounded. A horrible sight indeed."

"Police forces in the country have said that the perpetrators were Nifonese dissidents. Your thoughts, Galisqa?"

"At this point, it's likely that the terrorists were doing it in the name of their One God of Christianity. A backlash against Hinduism is the most probable. A fear of difference perhaps? Such a fear is common in multicultural states."

"Unfortunate. Most unfortunate. Send my condolences to the people of Bangka. No one should experience such horrific acts." Andosh couldn't imagine if such a crime had happened in Simendosa how sorrowful, how enraged he'd feel. "I don't particularly understand the idea of Nifonese diasporans committing such an act though. It's apparent from all that I've read on their diaspora communities that they keep to themselves mostly. Not a particularly violent folk, they only act in self-defense it seems." In his spare time, The Prince immersed himself in books on the cultural studies of diaspora communities from around the world. Andosh felt a connection to diasporas on account of Simendosa's origins as a community of Dorians escaping persecution back in the 15th century.

"Well, the definition of self-defense differs among many." The Prime Minister said as the two watched the sun dip below the horizon. The sun's light was quickly replaced with the artificial glow of the lights of the metropolis nearly rivaling the star's brightness.

"Too true." Was all Prince Andosh said before shutting the dossier and giving it back to his Prime Minister. He walked through the gardens and back into the palace to meet his wife and children for dinner while the PM went back to her office. The gears continued to grind as plans were made for the operators in Kesslerstaadt to act on their intel against Karlson. It would definately be another long night for Galisqa, that was for sure.
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Erythrean Thebes
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Posts: 707
Founded: Jan 17, 2017
Capitalist Paradise

Postby Erythrean Thebes » Tue Apr 17, 2018 6:51 am

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POLITIC | WORLD | NATION | SPORT | ART | OPINION



Archdirectors Chorepou, Nospicorius Among Eight Named In Cybersnooping Conspiracy

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Owner of Ingenuity Systems Inc. and Archdirector of the National Computer Hardware Syndicate Teuchromantes Chorepou (pictured)
was one of eight major capitalists arraigned Wednesday morning in the Investigatory Commission's ongoing investigation into 'Arkana-Gate'


CITY OF THEBES - Inquiries into the recent 'Arkana-Gate' scandal began today, hearing preliminary testimonies on recent allegations that several of Thebes' major internet and communications firms could have conspired to install a backdoor accessway into citizens' TV, phone, and computer networks. An investigation of the Royal Ministry of Information Security begun just under two months ago has already returned the names of over 50 suspects, including the list of eight 'ringleaders' summoned today. The release of the suspected names constitutes some of the first indications of just how serious Royal authorities believe the conspiracy may be; previously, information from the Ministry and from the special committee of the Council established to supervise the operation has not been very revealing. The eight men suspected of being high-level ringleaders in Arkana-Gate are all prominent capitalists in high leadership positions within Thebes' syndicalist economic system, many of them also serving as the Directors and Committeemen of their respective National Syndicates. These recent allegations raise some of the freshest concerns since the 1970s that the culture of collusion running rampant at the summits of corporate power may be at risk of spiraling out of control.

These eight industry titans, entrusted as leaders with navigating the rise and fall of Thebes' place in the frenzied economy, will have to answer now for not only why they apparently tried to install a secret software into Theban data networks, but also why, if it were not sinister, they had seemingly hid their efforts from government and their fellow businessmen. The secret monitoring software, known as 'Arkana', was revealed to the public only weeks ago through a leaked memo released on the internet by an anonymous hacktivist group, Cleanwater. The memo, which supposedly is signed by Mr. Chorepou himself, gives explicit instructions to the recipients that they should "prepare their organization to begin installing Arkana immediately on all cable, wifi, and digital data networks," and allegedly continues, "this is a remarkable day for our ambitions." In its full transcript of just over ten pages, the memo continually refers to Arkana's role as a "monitoring system", instructing the recipients of the message to use Arkana "to give our operation a feel for the consumer's tastes, thoughts, and desires," and "remember: we are trying to figure out what their plans are."

Experts have spent the last weeks trying to understand what exactly "Arkana" is supposed be; according to some research published independently on the internet, the nefarious program is the same as one reportedly mentioned all the way back in 2005 at CPAC, a worldwide summit of telecommunications leaders in Dilmun. Among the presenters that year was Mr. Chorepou himself, who is also a close friend of innovator and tech CEO Gabriel Regalado, whose company Exposure began one of the first 4G cloud networks for its smartphone users in early 2000. "Arkana" was the name used by Chorepou in a pitch he gave to investors for a "life-enhancing tool" which would automatically aggregate users' travel and spending habits to offer them the cheapest possible deals; behind closed doors, he divulged that the sophisticated AI powering the program would then direct the user to different vendors based on traffic levels, and even manipulate the price in order to maximize profits for the industry. The little-known telecom summit has suddenly become a hotbed of internet search activity, with some media personalities drawing attention to the "hidden alliance" of wealthy capitalists discussing the future of the global economy in private self-interest.

In their first round of inquiries today the investigators appointed by the Special Committee of the Great Council largely skirted the topic of Arkana itself, only occasionally asking questions which related to the suspects' intent and their level of personal involvement with the software. Questions centered on the apparent conspiracy itself, and the nature of the agreement between the major tech companies to install and operate the Arkana program for a distinct purpose. Although 'collusion', or agreement between firms to manipulate the market, is a basic commonplace in Thebes' syndicated economic system, the actions of the eight suspects may still be ruled illegal if they are thought to prejudice the interests of the nation or the company's constituents, or if there is reason to believe that the collusion would not have been divulged to the assembly for the approval of the workers. Indeed it was the secrecy of the plans surrounding Arkana which concerned investigators the most, leaving them puzzled as to why a supposedly innocuous adware service was deliberately kept hidden if it did not run any risk of violating the market regulations on personal data. Chorepou, who was personally overseeing development of the software and its planned release, was at a loss to make explanations of corporate espionage sound convincing.

"We seriously doubt that one such as yourself who knows the industry well would have believed that secrecy concerning this development was either beneficial or necessary to the good execution of your business," said Special Investigator Galatea Calliphanates, one of eleven on the extraordinary committee created by the Great Council to investigate the accusations. If evidence constituting a legitimate violation is uncovered, a case will eventually be brought by the Committee to the Supreme Court, where the eight ringleaders could face incarceration or even formal disgrace. The Committee was assembled from a delegation of 2 expert prosecutors from each of the Commonwealth's primary national groups, with a chairman selected from the ranks of His Majesty's Royal Ministry of Information Security, serving as a tiebreaker vote and liaison to the Royal Court. At the same time, the breach of ethics case originally lodged by a posse of concerned citizens in the High Court of the City was suspended in light of the new investigation begun in the Council.

The controversy as it concerns the law of the Commonwealth relates to a new and mysterious form of data collection included in the Arkana adware network. Known as "Big Picture" in the infamous corporate memo, it is ostensibly a security feature made by the developers to protect their customer data in a reinforced physical network center, a fairly typical industry tool. But investigators are concerned by the fine-print specifications of Big Picture, some of which suggest the project may include plans to archive sensitive user information and to keep it permanently, not only posing a serious liability to users, but more importantly raising questions as to what the data is intended for. Previously, major internet providers in Thebes have sworn to keep user data anonymous, stripped of its identifying markers and used purely for adware generation. Now authorities worry that the Arkana developers may intend more comprehensive control of their user's personal information, and they want to know why.

In the meanwhile pressure is beginning to mount, as political leaders everywhere across the Commonwealth took to the media with their concerns, calling on the Council to use every possible measure in the effort to get at the bottom of the mysterious conspiracy. A number of large states including Argalia have come forward lodging formal complaints in the Supreme Court, asking that the royal government allow them to temporarily seize control of Ingenuity's wifi and cable services because of the vulnerability. Speaking on behalf of the general assembly, a memorandum issued from the Secretariat of the Great Council expressed the nation's firm resolution not to tolerate 'clandestine meddling' in the country's 'common living space', claiming that the internet is "something all of us share for our general use." The position was echoed by the statement of His Majesty the King, who affirmed his "total and constant commitment" to enforcing the rule of law.

"We consider this to be an attempt to undermine the laws of our country," the Royal Court said in their brief statement, "and we will use the tools appropriate for criminals in order to defeat them and return control over our own internet."

In the last week an outpouring of anger has appeared on social media, as millions of citizens across the country weighed in to voice their indignation. "Why would they need to banish Teuchromantes?" jested one tweet late Wednesday evening, which received over 10 million retweets, "he already lives overseas, wasting his money and avoiding the people he makes it off of." Millions of other, anonymous tweets, were written slandering Chorepou and his accomplices as everything from a moron to a "total degenerate", and calling for the Council to expose the sinister Arkana software for what it really is.
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New Aeyariss
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Founded: May 12, 2010
Iron Fist Consumerists

Postby New Aeyariss » Mon Apr 30, 2018 4:27 pm

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MON OF MAKI KOJIRO, SHOGUN OF THE EMPIRE OF GREATER NIHON

Honorable Ayanami-heika;,

I, Maki Kojiro, Shogun of the Empire of Greater Nifon, am addressing this letter to whoever it may concern. While unofficial channels have already issued open condemnation of the attack, this is the official request of the Empire of Greater Nifon issued through proper diplomatic channels.

The Empire of Greater Nifon wholeheartedly condemns the recent terrorist attack that took place in Bangka. There is no way in which Kogyokist faith, which is the largest, but not only religion present in the Empire, would have condoned such a heinous and barbaric action.

As such, on behalf of the Empire of Greater Nifon, I request a permission to dispatch an official delegation to Bangka in order to asses the situation and bring the preparators to justice. During the investigation the Empire of Greater Nifon will be willing to share all information that are not considered vital to Nifonese national security with investigating parties. To avoid potential bias, the Empire of Greater Nifon would like to invite representatives of other nations and organizations to oversee the process.

However, refusal to admit the Nifonese teams will be treated as admission that there is something hidden about this attack; and the Empire of Greater Nifon will take actions being logical consequences of such an assumption.

Honor guide you,



- マキ小次郎
Rping in MT (2023) and PT/FanT (1564)


Inyourfaceistan wrote:You didn't know that Cusc is actually a 4-armed cyborg genius commander and skillful warrior created in secret by a cabal of rich capitalist financiers built to lead and army of drones and other renegades against and overbearing socialist regime?
Psalms 144:1 wrote:Blessed be the LORD my strength, which teacheth my hands to war, and my fingers to fight.
Also known as El Cuscatlan, Jesus will offer you eternal life if you believe in him!


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Erythrean Thebes
Diplomat
 
Posts: 707
Founded: Jan 17, 2017
Capitalist Paradise

Postby Erythrean Thebes » Sun May 06, 2018 10:38 am

New Aeyariss wrote:***

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MINISTRY OF STATE
113 Aamir Bachchan Boulevard
Tel: (+45) 46-6428
Fax: (+45) 46-8500





MEMORANDUM TO SHOGUN MAKI KOJIRO

Yesterday we received your message from the Nifonese Shogunate regarding the recent atrocities in Pura Batur, which were suspected to be the act of Kogyokist terrorists embedded in extremist cells here in Bangka, of which we have long suspected and protested the tacit as well as covert support of your excellency's government and security services. We would like to inform yourself in no uncertain terms that our police and domestic security agencies have already begun their investigation into the murders and that their efforts will not be compromised in any way, nor made available to the inspection of any outsiders. So that you too may have no doubts about the true nature of this late tragedy, the Nifonese Shogunate is invited to conduct their own independent investigation with the supervision of our Domestic Security Ministry. You may provide us with the names and dossiers of the men you wish to dispatch from your government, in order to be checked and cleared for entry into Bangka. To preserve the fragile situation here on the island, and to protect our people from any additional harm, you cannot be allowed to bring any uniformed enlisted personnel of the Nifonese armed forces onto the island of Bangka, including the outer-lying shoals. You cannot reveal your investigation to the public, or our offer to accommodate you here will be rescinded immediately. We will not tolerate any actions which risk further escalating the tensions.

We would like to give yourself our full assurances that we will protect the law-abiding members of our Kogyokist communities with the full rights of our laws. We have already taken measures to ensure that there will be no outbreaks of violence from the native Bangka toward your Kogyokists. We wish to inform you that we cannot accommodate any direct involvement from your Shogunate in assuring the safety of any part of the Bangka people. We cannot allow you to extend any direct promise of security or protection to the Kogyokist Bangka, or we will not be able to guarantee your right to investigate the attack, nor could we guarantee the safety of the Kogyokist population. We ask that you do nothing which might provoke the outbreak of further violence during this difficult time.

For related reasons, we request that your Shogunate cease to make any references to the handful of Kogyokist Bangka taken into custody as a part of our investigation, and that you cease to make any implication of protecting them or demanding their release. We assure yourself that these men are being handled according to the stipulations of our Constitution. We will interview them to try and uncover anything possible that may lead toward the group directly responsible for these atrocities. Your agents will be welcome to meet these accused face-to-face and ask their own questions. For the time being, any suggestion that your government will extradite these accused may seriously jeopardize your ability to participate in the proceedings here on the island.

Finally, we ask that you will respect a duration of no more than 24 hours as the reasonable window for us to satisfy any further concerns you may have.


Salman Manoji Siddiqui
Minister of State


---

"President's Office, this is Aainah speaking..."

A thoughtful and glazed looked lay on the receptionist's attractive face, as she squeezed the receiver against her shoulder and listened coolly to the long-winded query filling her ear. Her distant eyes looked off down the short hallway to the entrance of the President's Office, where dark shadows were faintly seen flitting around beyond the thick snowy glass. "Have you spoken with Mr. Laghari, Correspondents' Office?" She stared blankly as the number of dark silhouettes outside their door seemed to pile up. "Let me see if I can provide you with his contact info sir..."

She rolled her shoulders sore from the tension of working all day and spun the adjustable chair to face her glowing computer screen. Suddenly the front door was heard to fling open - she peered out the corner of her eye and saw the familiar if not always friendly appearance of General Dravina Biswas, 'the Chief', who as usual consumed most of the space of the entrance-way with his gigantic frame. "Okay," she said turning back to her directory, "are you ready? His name is Idhayan Sachdev..."

Her voice caught in her chest and died, as she was stricken by the sudden sight of the General barreling his way past the front desk and into the equally uneasy recesses of the President's Office, with not a word spared. "Sir!" she blurted, the telephone hanging limp at her side, "General!" He paid her no mind as he sauntered for the back of the office, where the wide-open office of the President himself appeared bathed in sunlight from its giant glass windows. Shocked, she watched with a growing sense of horror as a posse of olive-drab GI's stomped by in the man's wake.

In his circular office, President Navneet Malhotra paced unconsciously around the circumference of the white marble floor. Portraits and bookshelves surrounded him, the trappings of a gentleman devout to the science of statecraft and of an office designed in the finest traditions of political theory. With the aide of his reading glasses and index finger, he trailed down the bullet points he had been provided concerning the outpouring of motley opinions from the world community, as they made their responses to the recent tragedies. His ears were first to notice the approach of his truculent rival and military chief, and then his body which steeled itself for the confrontation that erupted as soon as the bulky bearded generalissimo sailed through the open door.

"Navneet!" the General exclaimed with a treacherous playfulness; he threw forward his calloused hands like he had found the object of long searching. "I find you hiding as usual my friend!"

Little could have been more ominous than to hear himself saluted as friend in such circumstances, although the affectation had once-happy origins, decades before when they were co-revolutionaries struggling against a Marxist despotism. The President ignored the barb, frowning down the rim of his spectacles at the General and his party of muscle. "To what do I owe your pleasure, Dravina?" he replied in his soft, aging voice, drawing dignitas from the erudite features of his older age.

"I just came to hear, friend, if you could explain to me as prettily as you explained to the Chapte, why you have decided to bend over and kiss their ass instead of standing up for our rights!" No laughter at all was heard. The smile which General Biswas wore on his face was of the ultra-masculine kind reserved to psychopaths, who had discarded all rules and so as a necessity smiled incessantly at the chicken-wire of human taste they perpetually plowed across. His enormous bushy beard deepened the disguise, leaving only experience and intuition to identify his heartless soul.

The loud clapping of high heels raced into the President's Office. "I am so sorry Mr. President, he just came right inside!" his secretary raced breathlessly into their midst, a forlorn expression on her face as she saw the heap of trouble.

"Tell me Navneet..." the General thrusted his challenge out by his chest, he threw back his neck and dared the President to satisfy him, as he stepped slowly towards, "are you also planning to say the same, when the finding comes back from Chapte-land that it was nothing but some bad accident, with nothing to do with the imperialists who steal the wealth of our island!?"

President Malhotra bowed his head, but he did not concede. "It seems you are the one who cares for the words of liars and cheats, General." He pegged the man with his sternest look. "You do not understand what you are meddling with. If we do not pick our battles wisely, we will provoke the Nifonese into invading the whole island." Frowning he folded up the briefing from his ministers. "I am not unaware of what the Nifonese are trying to do. That is why I am being very very careful, to give them none of the things which they are looking for. They can come here and walk around if they please, but I will not open any one door to them in matters of diplomacy!"

"Oh, but you have thrown the door wide open, Mr. President!" Biswas barked his scorn at the President's cautious face. "While they are here, I bet they will plant a dozen bombs, each bigger than the last!"

At last Malhotra's patience was forced. "Please," he spoke, sounding to be wounded, as he raised the palm of his hand for peace, "this is not the Trojan horse you believe it to be, General. Perhaps when you understand these matters better you will be qualified to share the deliberations of my office with me-"

"We are not," Biswas spat infuriated, "some dumb apes for you to boss! We!" he jabbed furiously at his cameo chest, "are the ones who lay down our lives, so that you may live in peace! We, tell you, what the danger is!"

The President sighed, giving a sorry look to his outrageous military commander. "I think you will not find such a thing in the Constitution, General. That is the not the principle of our democracy, and it is not any one of the good principles of politics. Now unless you have some urgent business to share with me, I would ask you to come back later at an appointed time, when we will talk about the security of the island separately-"

"You are such a cad," the General sneered at his old friend. "See if I will come back at all, the way you treat me! You are lucky that I am here Navneet!" And as brutally as he had stormed his way in, the General barreled out from the President's Office, his underlings trailing him with contemptuous looks on their young faces.
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Greater Carloso
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Founded: Dec 24, 2015
Moralistic Democracy

Postby Greater Carloso » Sun May 06, 2018 11:36 am

Empress Rei International Airport, Ishikawa, Nifon
After a while, the plane began to descend through the clouds and the coastline of Nifon came into full view. A radiant sun shined down on the huge city of Ishikawa below, revealing towering skyscrapers and hundreds of office blocks. "Lady and gentlemen, we have begun our descent towards Empress Rei International Airport. We expect a small amount of turbulence so please fasten your seatbelts." the pilot chirped through the intercom. The aircraft flew down into the heart of the city towards one of the runways, allowing the passengers to catch a glimpse of the sights the city had to behold. One of the most eye-catching of these was the giant torii-shaped monument known as the Ishikawa Triumphal Arc. Near the airport, there was a massive statue to Empress Rei herself, holding a brush in one hand and a manuscript in the other. "Welcome to Nifon, lads. This is only a stopover so enjoy it while it lasts." Delgado informed Mencia and Acton as they gazed out the window. As they got closer and closer, all the signs of a prosperous and proud nation could be seen in greater detail, including vast new construction sights and their attentive work crews. The distance between the aircraft and the runway grew shorter and shorter until the plane touched down and screeched to a halt, its tyres grating against the asphalt surface. It was then taxied towards the apron area for refuelling so it could commence the last leg of its journey.

The team left the aircraft to get some fresh air. Instinctively, they scoured their surroundings for any suspicious activity, any indication that the Nifonese had notified of their intentions. Nothing seemed to be out of place, so they assumed that they were in the clear. The local ground crew, meanwhile, hooked the fuel lorry up with the aircraft and started the pumps, paying little attention to the passengers who were stretching their legs. Delgado looked off at a large flagpole in the distance, flying the golden sun flag of the Nifonese Empire. Standing on their land for the first time, Delgado still found it hard to believe that Carloso and Nifon were cooperating with each other on such good terms. They had been at each other's throats less than three years ago when Carloso was still in the failed International Freedom Coalition (IFC). The country's entrance to SACTO last year seemed to cement its position amongst the self-styled anti-communist crusaders, a sharp turn away from the more liberal democratic crowd it had once associated with.

Acton stood with Delgado and watched the flag flutter in the breeze with him. "They say it was Santander in the end who convinced President Tobón to withdraw from the IFC." she said, "I'd believe it." Delgado crossed his arms and grunted a response, "I would too. He wasn't getting much action with all the infighting between the higher-ups. Santander is a dangerous man." he paused, "A dangerous, powerful man." Acton laughed it off, "You might be right, but he has Carloso's interests at heart. Even if he doesn't, we're stuck working with him." Delgado shook his head solemnly, "I suppose you're right." After about half an hour, the ground crew had finished refuelling the plane and air traffic control gave the pilot clearance to begin taxiing out. Acton, Delgado and Mercia returned the cabin and prepared themselves for the last few hours of the journey.

The stay in Nifon had been brief, and within a few short moments, the plane was bolting down the runway again, lifting itself into the air above Ishikawa. It began to turn away from the city as it gained altitude, the pilot setting a course for Ubud, Bangka. The flight only took a few hours, and it wasn't long before the aircraft was descending again and the pilot was telling them to prepare for landing. The Bangkan coastline and its dense jungles were soon in full view, illuminated by the setting sun. Amongst the lights of the large city of Ubud, the lights of the airport were shining. The plane flew low over the buildings and set itself down on the runway and taxied to the arrivals area.

Ubud International Airport, Ubud, Bangka
Delgado looked out the window to see soldiers in light military vehicles pull up beside the aircraft. "Whats going on?" Acton asked Delgado. He remained silent, just as two more men brandishing assault rifles entered the cabin. "Show us your passes!" one of them, a sergeant, shouted in broken English. The team handed their press ID and passports to him, carefully reading every detail. You are Carlosian? he queried. "Yes, we are." Delgado uttered firmly. The soldiers below were pulling the equipment from the cargo hold, examining it for any firearms or explosives that they might be trying to smuggle into the country. The sergeant handed back their passports and identification and turned to another soldier, shaking his head. "You can leave." he told them, giving them a look of suspicion. The soldiers departed the aircraft and returned the equipment, leaving in the same vehicles they had arrived in. Delgado's prediction that they would be checked had turned out to be an accurate one. They breathed a sigh of relief and prepared to leave the plane.

With a sun now beginning to descend below the horizon, Delgado, Acton and Mercia thanked the pilot and collected their luggage in the terminal. After about an hour, they managed to get a taxi from the airport to their hotel in the heart of the city. A local Bangkan business, who had been contracted to help them with the logistics of reporting, picked up their equipment and helped them transport it to the hotel. Acton took the opportunity to ask the driver; a moustached, jolly man called Pajit, about the terrorist attack and its effects on Bangka. "The Nifonese community are suffering terribly." he said, in an extremely pronounced accent, "Rape, murder, kidnappings. People are angry and they want answers" He was surprisingly open about the subject, clearly sympathetic to the plight of the Nifonese immigrant population and the natives who had converted to Kogyokist Christianity. "I don't hate the Nifonese or their religion. They didn't cause the attack, but people don't listen. If the government and the authorities don't explain themselves, people are going to take matters into their own hands." Pajit explained. When they arrived at the hotel; one of the prestigious Brixton-Elosua hotels operated by the Carlosian company of the same name, they tipped him generously and made their way inside. After getting the card for their room from the check-in, they went to their room and rested for the remainder of the night. Conquistador's operations in Bangka had begun.

Abandoned power station, North Koningsten, Kesslerstaadt Outskirts
A month had passed since Gene Karlson had announced the formation of his Resurgent Homofront. Working from an old compound in the fringes of the city; a long decommissioned coal-fired power plant, Karlson and his comrades had been working tirelessly to establish an expansive network of contacts all across Kesslerstaadt. As every week passed, he was attracting more and more new recruits, including many impoverished youth and refugees from lands that had allegedly persecuted them for their sexuality. Karlson welcomed them with open arms, training them to be the front-line of his growing army of homosexual zealots. From a balcony overlooking the training area, he gazed down the full length of the cavernous building and was infatuated by its sheer size. Shortly after they occupied the building, Karlson had them drape a giant rainbow flag across the wall looming above the main training grounds. Before Karlson and his team had set up shop here, the power plant was occupied was various squatters, who all had to be removed forcefully if they didn't leave willingly. Not long after establishing themselves here, Karlson's benefactors were quick to begin funnelling money and supplies into his new organisation.

One of the top priorities for Karlson after setting the Resurgent Homofront up in this derelict site was dealing with local crime gangs and drug dealers, all of whom were less than happy with the influx of armed, dangerous and determined homosexual revolutionaries. Karlson and the Oceanican refugees at first had to deal with a series of raids by these gangs but they quickly stopped once the first batch of recruits were ready for active service. All around the site, Karlson had sentry towers and barbed wire erected, warning the local crime syndicates in a strongly worded letter, written in the blood of one of their own men, that any more attempts to attack Homofront would result in their immediate destruction. Needless to say, they had so far stayed clear of going against his warning. There were plenty more business opportunities for the criminal underworld to exploit in the lawless, poverty-stricken cesspit that was the Kesslerstaadt Outskirts, without risking being destroyed by a gay fanatic.

Karlson looked down into the training area of the facility with the sickening and mischevious grin of a Cheshire Cat, taking great pride in his creation and what it had achieved so far. About twenty fresh, shirtless recruits were doing exercises in front of their overseer, Captain Meyer, who for the first time in months was wearing his customised Homoguard uniform. He stood tall, pacing up and down the rows of new recruits intensely. Like a year ago in Oceanica, he had a sheathed machete at his side, supposedly ready to jump to the defence of Karlson, if need be. In reality, Meyer was having serious doubts about the integrity of the man so often referred to as 'Happy Daddy', ever since his show of cowardice when the Nifonese came crashing through the protesters' camp outside Little Kiyosu. In the end, it was Meyer and his quick thinking who saved the lives of Karlson and so many other people that night. As he walked up and down, shouting orders, Meyer was startled by a call from Karlson above. "Meyer! I need you to do something." Karlson shouted down. Meyer blinked his eyes for a few short moments, shielding them from the rays of sunlight filtering through a crack in the roof of the power plant. "What is it, sir?" he queried. "Rally all of our men together. I want to speak to them." Karlson ordered.

Meyer snapped a firm salute to his commander and barked an order to the recruits, telling them to get in line. Three dozen more members of the Resurgent Homofront filed out from a makeshift barracks and assembled themselves in front of Karlson. Some of these 'men' were only boys, no older than 15. In Karlson's view, such young and vulnerable minds and flesh were ripe for indoctrination into his cause, perfect shock troopers to further the reach of the homosexual revolution. Holding the rails of the balcony, he breathed deeply and began to speak to his miniature army. "Brothers of the revolution, our work here is the first step in the war against the Yellow Peril and their cowardly enablers!" Karlson paused, "We still have a while to go until we are ready to strike the enemy in their lair, but I assure you all that the moment of triumph is drawing closer and closer!" The recruits continued to listen intently, not even daring to so much as flinch while Karlson spoke. "Hundreds, maybe even thousands more brave soldiers of tolerance and progress will join us in the coming weeks in our great quest to enact vengeance on the Nifonese for their great crimes. For so long as I am alive, I promise you that we will never falter in our task to destroy Kojiro and his fascist regime."

A few of survivors from Oceanica joined Meyer on the sidelines of the training ground, watching Karlson give his fiery address to the soldiers. Karlson raised a fist above his head. "Kesslerstaadt, which our foes have so haughtily referred to as 'New Sodom', will become the base of international revolution and brotherly liberation. Like a hedgerow of Nifonese knotweed, every time they cut us we will multiply in both number and strength. Our network will be so vast and incorruptible that Kojiro will never be able to destroy us." he continued, reaching a crescendo and grinning wildly. "In Bangka, we will have our revenge! Death to the heteros!" The recruits were whipped into a frenzy of chanting, shouting "Death to the heteros!" to Karlson. A malevolent smile broke across his face as the call for blood echoed throughout the building.
Last edited by Greater Carloso on Thu Sep 27, 2018 8:12 am, edited 6 times in total.
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New Aeyariss
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Postby New Aeyariss » Fri May 11, 2018 4:16 pm

*** Ishikawa:

One could say many things of the Nifonese capital; but no one could say that the great city of Ishikawa wasn't imposing. Originally assuming it's function at the times of Chosokame no Yorimoto, the first Christian shogun of the Empire of Greater Nifon, it remained the capital until this day. When eyes of foreigners looked at it, the glory of past Shoguns, Emperors, statesmen and samurai who ruled from this place instantly came to mind - and somehow, it hadn't passed even among the star - like array of neon lights, towering skyscrapers indicating the modernization and architectural marvels that filled the former capital of Chosokame Bakufu, contracting with the mountains visible in the distance that surrounded it like a high wall protecting it from the foes. Nifon was modernizing - and ironically, the values of the past found perfect application for the modern days. Working culture, contributed to by ethics of Ruist philosophy and Kogyokist Christianity brought here in XVI century by missionaries, now so widely accepted by the sons of Amiral Yi, contributed to development to nation that could manufacture a lot, and with high quality. The commercial fleet, and trade with it, was growing, and with Kaigun protecting it, few dared to touch the swarms of commercial ships that flooded the waters. When Murakami Akira and man responsible for the economic miracle, current PM, would leave the office he would eagerly admit that the success surpassed his expectations. Properly designed education system produced people who worked for enormous zaibatsu conglomerates, fueling the one of freest markets in Southern Furukuran sea. And such powerful county had powerful demands.

Nifon lacked natural resources, thus it was basing it's economy on manufacturing and services sector, producing plenty of goods of high quality and cheaper than the competition; yet such industry required enormous resources to be imported to the land of the Blazing sun. Thus sons of Admiral Yi were reliant on the sea for their economy economy to function. While Kaigun has been perfectly suited for defeating any enemy - with it's massive submarine fleet always ready to wreck havoc on any foe that dared to mess with the Imperial Nifonese Navy - there were some foes that needed attention. In the past days, competition with Western powers was fierce, developing in the Nifonese strong sense of cultural pride and national unity... And with globalization ever again hitting at the Nifonese, the competition only grew.

At the middle of Ishikawa laid an old palace, surrounded with thick walls built years ago, with it's several roofs towering upon the city's parks and casting shadows upon the mountains, laid the Tosa castle, the old seat of Shoguns. While the cherries started to show first bosoms in the castle's gardens, an older man was sitting, chatting with his several advisors. One could easily say that he was someone important, judging from the uniform he wore - the classic, dark olive uniform of the officer of Imperial Nifonese Army, that contrasted with his gray hair, long cheekbones, and oval face. This man - was Shogun Maki Kojiro himself, current Shogun of Nihon. Some called him semi - authoritarian, some - even worse names, but Kojiro was not a Tyrant, although everyone could say that he restricted the powers of the Imperial Diet a lot. "McCarthy of Asia", hero of the right wing and nightmare to the left, Kojiro always caused extreme emotions; some adored him for Nifonese free market economic miracle, and some - hated him with fire for restricting LGBT rights or communist witch hunts.

Today, however, Kojiro was far less interested in oppinions of others as in presentation his National Security Advisor and External Affairs minister were delivering. Both, as party colleagues, found themselves perfectly working together:

"We can safely conclude that pieces are being moved on the grand chessboard" spoke Asuka Tokugawa, a middle aged woman with raven dark hair, explaining the situation. Asuka Tokugawa was the Minister of external affairs, and although she sat among many former intelligence officers, it was up to her to explain it "It's only safely to assume that right now there exists a plan to radically restructure the social, cultural, political and religious makeover of the world. The plan is being carried out by a vast network of non-state actors and their corrupt allies within the states. Recent Gunpeitai activities have confirmed that next stage of their plan to remove major obstacle to their dominance of the region - t.m. the Empire of Greater Nifon - is meant to happen in the Southern Furukuran Sea."

She switched the picture on the display to map of the region.

"As you may all know, our country relies on external deliveries via sea to sustain itself.." she continued "And so it happens that Southern Furukuran Sea region holds two main Sea Lanes of Communication leading from Bharatan ocean to Nifon. There are two major straits between the islands; first one is located near the Molean Peninsula and hosts both Kesslerstaadt and, located a bit to North-East, the Principality of Simendosa. The second one among the maze of islands is roughly 2300 kilometers away; and is dominated by a single island, Bangka, in the middle. The island has, traditionally, been a refugee for the Hindu population fleeing Muslim conversion and conquest. It's government has been, until now friendly towards the Empire of Greater Nifon."

"It's safe to assume" suddenly spoke scarred Ibuki Ryuta, the infamous commander of Navy's intelligence "That the network we have been tracking for the past years is making a move to deny us those sea lanes of communication. Alongside with Gunpeitai I searched any potential activity from MNS; there is no chance it's a factional inside job. My friends also scoured all Kogyokist churches; and no Yamabito group had been involved in the attack. At this point, using the law of the benefit; it's safe to assume that the network, whoever is leading it, is making a direct strike against our influence in Southern Furukuran sea."

"A strike we can not let go unpunished" Admiral Ryuzoji Hachirou was speaking with real bloodlust in his voice "Kojiro-sama, we must at least take precautions to counter whatever move the globalists seem to be making."

Kojiro closed his eyes. Those who were with him, knew what it meant. He was thinking.. analyzing. When he opened them, people gathered seen him full of confidence and faith in Christ for his success. His eyes hadn't even moved as he spoke, his face revealing the same authoritative expression:

"We all have read their last message" he spoke "I can't blame them for acting how they did. However, at this point we may safely assume that their government is compromised by the same network we have been trying to eliminate for years. While on surface, we will keep a face of cooperation; we will silently take steps to ensure our interests."

He looked at the map:

"Our first move will be to preserve our position in the other sphere; Simendosa. I read the reports and it seems that Simendosan prince is very intrigued with the prospect of working with us. We shall give him what he wants. His country will act as an excellent counterweight to Kesslerstaadt; and I am very inclined to believe that he is seeing us as a counterweigh to the influence from the Dorian mainland, which we do not really want to have here. When we compare our potential to Dorian potential, we can safely assume that he will be safe from all conventional threats. Tokugawa-san, you shall go there within next few days. Your detailed orders will be delivered separately. "

"Hai, Kojiro-sama!" replied Tokugawa in a disciplined manner, correcting red hair being a memory of her Aravean Nifei ancestry.

"Now onto the matter of Bangka" continued the Shogun "At this point any violent moves will only make us look like aggressors. I want Hikari positioned 1200 kilometers away and ready to strike on my order; but at the same time, avoid making any unnecessary commotion. Instead of complying with their demands, we shall request and open investigation carried out by a respected third party previously agreed by both actors. Even if in the long run we have enough tools to make them comply; using them now is not in our interest. With that, however - by no means can Bangka be allowed to fall away from our sphere of influence and should, in the long run, the attempt to claim it by the network be made - we will respond with force. And even if we are not to be the aggressors - we will need to prepare ourselves to act should our people and interests be threatened. "

And with that, seeds were sown for the coming storm.

Image
MON OF MAKI KOJIRO, SHOGUN OF THE EMPIRE OF GREATER NIFON

Honorable Salman Manoji Siddiqui - Daitoryo;,

I, Maki Kojiro, Shogun of the Empire of Greater Nifon, am addressing this letter to the office of honorable Salman Manoji Siddiqui, Minister of State. The Empire of Greater Nifon understands concern of your excellency's government and as such will not enact needless pressure. On another hand, however, the Empire of Greater Nifon values transparency; and as such, understanding the legitimate concerns behind the investigation, it is ready to hand over it's investigation to a respected third party or international body that shall be jointly agreed upon by both Nifonese and Bangkan governments. Such third party would ensure that the investigation is not biased in favor of any of the sides and deliver a neutral, fact - oriented findings about the nature of the attack.

I also have to notify you that, on behalf of the Empire of Greater Nifon, it is within your excellency's interests to accept the proposition. Nifonese government does understand that due to recent terror attack, Bangkan tourism industry, which is one of main sectors of the economy, took an enormous hit. Acceptance of the proposal will result in considerable Nifonese donations and help for a public campaign to restore the image of safety on the Island of Bangka; thus bringing tourists back.

However, on another hand, the Empire of Greater Nifon feels a need to state that it does not concern itself with internal affairs of the Bangkan state as long as freedom of worship and all appropriate rights are granted to the citizens of Kogyokist Faith or Nifonese descent. Should the government attempt to hold the entire group of people accountable for the actions of a single rouge individual, it shall trigger a response in form of diplomatic sanctions that will stop movement of Nifonese tourists onto Bangka. While of course the Empire of Greater Nifon trusts the words of your excellency, it is also aware that many segments of the society do not share those sentiments; and politely asks the government to ensure that it's duty as a shikken will remain fulfilled.

It's only within your excellency's power to decide weather this will be a chance for building bridges - or walls.

Honor guide you,



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Capitalist Paradise

Postby Erythrean Thebes » Sun May 13, 2018 8:27 am

Presidential Palace of Bangka

"Mr. Gambler?" Formality conditioned the tone of the President's greeting, but there was no hiding the happy grin which crested Navneet's stately features when he, coming with his entourage down the warm-colored hallway, saw the familiar form of his personal friend and recent confidant in affairs, the businessman and socialite Peter Gambler. The President's posse of subordinates waited patiently with knowing smiles as their leader strode forward and took the gentleman's hand with both his own. "So good to see you again sir." He nodded, beaming. "Thank you for coming today."

By far the younger of the pair, Peter copied the gesture of manly friendship, with warm eyes overlooking the impressive health of the man who was President of Bangka. "It's my pleasure Mr. President, I'm very happy to be here with you today and I can't wait to show you what I've come up with for the people of Bangka," he promised by an unnatural but not unpleasant enthusiasm, his soft and melting gaze almost supposing to worship the confident and controlled face of the Bangka leader.

The two men kept perfect, practiced control of themselves even as the blinding flash of a camera bulb exploded against the side of their faces; the photographer with her bulky camera rose from the half-crouch she was in, signalling implicitly the next phase of the proceedings. "Please, I would love to hear it," President Malhotra accepted the overture and ushered his ally towards the open conference room. "Thank you," he added to the photographer, who bowed and stood aside for the party of dignitaries cramming themselves through the doorway in an orderly file. The last to go were the security guards, conspicuous only for their muscular size among their fellow suits, who carefully closed the door and stood themselves squarely on either side.

"Tea? Coffee?" Navneet asked of his guest, his sharpish look and tone suggesting an air of great command about these things, a powerful desire to serve.

Peter sheepishly waved the offer away. "I shouldn't. I started a new workout recently and I'm supposed to keep my body hydrated at all times," he played his self-effacement off as the irony of healthy living, shooting a playful look to the Bangka president as he squared himself before the long conference table. Their followers took their seats around the circumference; Peter was accompanied by his secretary, an attractive and shapely blonde with thick-rimmed glasses and a very serene-seeming face with pale makeup. The President's ministers flanked him along either side, deploying their folios with precision.

"No doubt," the President chuckled, his intonation cuing that he had nothing more to say.

Glancing briefly around their gathering, Peter leaned himself backwards very slightly in his chair and by way of beginning his pitch he threw his palms out wide. "So first, please let me share my condolences and all of my sincere love for the people of Bangka." He swallowed hard, his chest heaving with breath. "That kind of ignorance is exactly what I, personally, as a philanthropist, I am all about trying to get rid of. I think these people represent an issue that threatens all of us, and I really want to support you Mr. President, and your whole government really, in dealing with this issue and seeing if we can make progress that will really change everybody's lives for the better."

Navneet bowed his head attentively. "Thank you."

Peter turned to his assistant. "The documents please," he murmured, his hand already closing around the neatly-bound binder, with its blue cover and white page logo on the front, reading Council of the Far Eastern States. "What I've tried to do - in my capacity - is not only just to get that message across to all of what I think we could agree are the key players in this issue, but also to use my resources, as somebody who can get the opportunity to speak to a lot of the decision-makers involved, to try and get them to see how a peaceful resolution works with the existing interests, that they already have." He closed his thesis statement with a sort of half-appeal, holding his idea up matter-of-factly by both hands. "You know, they tend to see the landscape of these issues a different way. Movements of the kind that I like to support, really to them, in power, they tend to get evaluated for their leadership content, as electoral rhetoric. Especially when you're talking about states like Nifon, for example," he shrugged to the Bangka ministers. "And they're very wary of what I try to say. But money and power is a language that we all get..."

He now opened his portfolio, flipping to the first content page which was a joint statement put together by the Nifonese Empire and the Theban royal court, going imminently to be released to the press. "I'm going to let you think about this, and then you can make your decision. There's obviously some serious push right now in the Shogunate for a muscular take on this issue. Some of them will want to see this as the opportunity they've been waiting for to take control of the passage. But a lot is going to depend on how you play it yourselves. Right now, they really lack for an angle to push the blame on yourself," he explained to the President, who nodded gravely. "Anything you can do which publicly shows your commitment to protect the Nifonese and the Christians on the island, will give you that protection to make it hard for them to claim that there's a recognized need for their intervention." He swallowed, moving energetically with his hands. "Okay - but there's a snag..."

He tapped the page of his folio with the blank tip of his fountain pen. "The big powers in the East don't want Nifon to keep this one in their own hands. Right now, they're calling for this incident to be referred to an arbitration in Thebes. That means your government would be summoned to attend, and they would probably try to arrange for their own investigation to get to the bottom of what really happened. And they're going to have a hard time understanding why, if you can accommodate that for Nifon, you can't accommodate the same thing for the whole Council." He let this sink in while he tried to gauge the various reactions on the ministers' pensive faces. "Not good!" he grimaced, eliciting thoughtful nods from the Bangka leaders. "Because that will much more easily lead to an intervention in your private affairs, than a unilateral approach ever could."

His chin rested on his bony knuckle as the President, gazing deeply downward, swung very slightly from side to side deliberating on the tangle of competing interests. "Then, in your opinion, an investigation by the Eastern Council is likely to lead to an intervention?"

"Here's what I think," Peter held up a hand to steady the flight of everyone's thoughts as he worked through his grand scheme. This was exactly the dynamic which the President was beginning to treasure so much about their budding friendship - Peter the sharp and ingenious thinker, he Naveet the wise and careful decision maker. The businessman pulled his palm down and began to count on the selfsame fingers. "The investigation is better handled in the Council; the incident itself, as an altercation, is better kept in a scheme between yourselves and Nifon, directly. Okay - but you can only have one," he insisted sticking out his first finger, "and right now, there's not a lot you can do that will keep this thing bilateral."

He seemed to lurch into a different idea; with spidery dexterity he leafed ahead in his packet to a pair of pages with thick paragraph blocks spaced one after another. "My recommendation to you, and what I'm also going to try and help you with doing, is to see if you can bring this summit in Thebes to a gridlock," he pounded his fists together conspicuously, "and essentially either try to frustrate their agreement on this issue, or to frustrate Nifon enough that they will prefer the unilateral approach instead. Personally, I think the former is the better option. But," he warned them, "I think it will require you to play to the agenda of the other Eastern states. Now, for Thebes at least, I'm only a small fish over there; that being said, the Thebans are people who really listen when they hear the right buzzwords. And the biggest word buzzing around in Thebes by far, at the moment, is 'naval power projection'." As if to diagram this phrase, he drew his hand across the air. "Everybody heard about the uprising that went down there last year. There's a new alliance in command of the government, and they are dead set on bringing back Theron Katarkonides and making the ocean into their little lake again. And I do happen to know that they are offering the big bucks for the people who want to get on-board with that."

"Mmm," the President hummed uneasily, "but we all know that a Theban base in your nation is just the same as a slaver fleet on your shore," he sighed.

Peter leaned forward. "What I would suggest, and this is actually what the Thebans do all the time: you should hint your interest in such a thing, to deadlock the ambitions of Nifon and Thebes, so that Nifon will withdraw from the multilateral agreement. And when they do," he reclined in his seat with a mysterious look, "then you reel in the promise, just a little bit, and postpone the timetable. And then when Nifon tries to make their move on you, the rivalry will play itself out."

Navneet frowned in his thinking pose. "And that will end the swarm of invaders around our country?"

"That will buy you some serious time," said Peter nodding. "Probably a couple of years. And that's more time than you have right now."

The President was uneasy. In truth, he was never comfortable making decisions on the spot, nor was he any more comfortable making decisions any way else except by himself, after many rounds of conference with different minds. But for the time being, he gave his fateful answer. "Since the parties will meet in Thebes regardless, of course we are going to send our representatives there and make our stand in the proceedings. We appreciate your efforts on this matter, and I hope that you will continue to remain in touch with me personally about where you see things. I think for now, you should approach the Theban king and see what their level of interest would be - but on behalf of the Bangka government, we cannot extend any serious promises before we explore the details further."

The young man nodded and he folded his hands, pleased. "Understood Mr. President, and I thank you for giving me the opportunity to try and serve your people, and the mission that we cherish for our world." Smiling wearily, they reached out and shook hands.
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Greater Carloso
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Founded: Dec 24, 2015
Moralistic Democracy

Postby Greater Carloso » Sun May 13, 2018 3:17 pm

Brixton-Elosua International Hotel, Ubud, Bangka
The team had spent the first few days after their arrival weaving through the traditional markets of the old city. Under their disguises as foreign reporters, questioning locals had helped them get a valuable insight into the national consciousness of the common people in light of the recent attack. Needless to say, anti-Nifonese sentiments were rife and everyone was angered by the lack of a serious government response to the incident, with many feeling they were stuck in the back pocket of Nifonese bankers and business magnates. Knowing the importance of foreign investment and the Nifonese mining companies to the national economy, Delgado could only come to the conclusion that these accusations of excessive corporate influence in Bangkan politics were true. The administration was clearly trying to balance out the interests of both the Nifonese corporations for the economy's sake and a rabid electorate that was calling for blood. Nevertheless, there were still many people who went about their daily business, preferring to get on with their own lives instead of getting caught up in the outrage. Preliminary observation determined that; if this attack had indeed by staged by a third party, it would create a perfect storm for political chaos in the near future, perhaps even a civil war if the government wasn't careful about its business.

Delgado unfurled a map of Ubud across a coffee table and whipped out a metre-long stick, pointing it at the heart of the city, "Our priority at the moment is to scout out Upadhya's headquarters in Ubud," he explained. "We need to find out everything we can about what is going on in there." Delgado manoeuvred the stick in a circle around the city. Mencia gazed at the structure on the map Delgado had been pointing to. "A temple? That's their headquarters?" Mencia grunted, "Is there anywhere else we could check out?" Delgado thought to himself for a few moments and paced around while looking at the map, following the roads marked by orange lines. "There are several other, smaller temples." Delgado mentioned, "But our main interests lie here. If anything incriminating exists about Upadhya and his followers, its bound to be in that building." He lifted his head away from the map and looked at both Acton and Mencia. "That is where we look first."

Acton and Mencia looked at each other silently before Delgado spoke up once more. "The locals might seem friendly, but I cannot stress it enough that we cannot trust anyone here." he shook his head as he continued. "Everyone in this city is a potential spy, working for the Nifonese or Upadhya's clique." The other two nodded. "Understood, sir. We won't be taking any unnecessary risks." Mencia added. Delgado pushed past Mencia and moved to the window, pulling out a pair of binoculars and lifting them to his eyes. He focused in on the peaks of the large temple off in the distance. "Mencia, I want you on the ground. Find out exactly what is going on in there. If you get into a tight situation, I'm sure your charm and, eh, 'skill' will get you out." Delgado chuckled lightly, "As for you, Acton," he continued. "You'll be his backup. Listen and observe everything that is happening around you, the usual. If you get stuck, Mencia, Cynthia will be on standby."

Mencia raised his right eyebrow slightly. And what if we both get caught? he asked. Delgado turned away from the window and looked at him for a moment before looking away again. "Then I send Santander in. Tiltwings rescue us, warplanes level half of Ubud and I get to retire." Delgado laughed to himself for a few awkward seconds before continuing. "Actually, I might do that anyway." Acton grimaced behind his back, going to fetch her rucksack in the corner of the room. "Whatever. Come on Mencia, let's get this over and done with." Mencia nodded and went to fetch his own bag. With the sound of a click, the door closed behind them and Delgado was left alone in the room.

International Shiva Consciousness Foundation Temple, Ubud, Bangka
At the height of the day, the beating heart of Ubud was thronged with thousands of people roving around its streets. Frantic sole traders tried to entice natives and tourists alike to come and buy their wears, an array of beautifully crafted pottery and other works. Many of these shops and market stalls had sprung up around the massive Hindu temples that contributed so much to the local economy. Hundreds of thousands of Western tourists were drawn to these hallmarks of the nation's cultural evolution. One of the more eye-catching and voluminous of these religious complexes was the main temple of the ISCF, which also served as its international headquarters. To the locals, the questionable practices of this organisation was an open secret, enjoyed by many foreigners who came to Bangka as 'sex tourists'. The practice was abhorred by the vast majority of Bangkans, but an expansive network of political corruption and blackmail kept law enforcement from breaking down the doors of the complex and hauling the leaders of the ISCF out by the scruff of their neck. In addition to this, there were hushed allegations of exploitation of the severely disenfranchised devadasi caste; the temple dancers, and, among other things, a rampant child prostitution ring.

Acton sat in a café opposite the main entrance to the temple, watching sporadic groups of white men move in and out of the building over a hot cup of locally brewed coffee. The locals didn't pay much notice to the lone white woman who appeared to be admiring the temple so intensely. Mencia stood at the other side of the temple, connected to Acton through a tiny earpiece. "Anything strange?" he chirped. Acton scanned the faces of each person leaving the temple. "There's a constant flow of tourists going into the same part of the temple, mostly men. They look fairly happy with themselves." she explained, her eyes continuing to follow the groups. "So there's a brothel down there?" Mencia asked. "More than likely. Fulton told us this already from the briefing. You're going to have to get inside and give us visual confirmation first." Acton explained. Mencia grunted on the other end of the earpiece. "I partly guessed I'd be the one doing the dirty work around here." he moaned. "Just give me a few minutes and I'll have your visual."

After gathering his thoughts for a moment, Mencia began to approach the entrance to the temple, walking amongst the looming shadows of colossal gopurams which appeared to reach towards heaven. Brushing past a group of locals, he sailed beneath the arches and entered the temple. The wearing pair of glasses he was wearing, fitted with a built-in camera, took in everything he could see. As Mencia entered one of the main halls of the temple, the first thing that caught his eye was a troop of very scantily clad devadasis, performing for the visitors. He watched on from a safe distance, paying great attention to the level of dedication the dancers invested into their performance. When they finally stopped, there was a soft burst of applause from some naïve onlookers. One of the girls caught Mencia's gaze and began to walk over to Mencia, his heart now beginning to pound. On the other side of the camera, Acton could see the woman approaching. "Get her talking, Mencia. She's probably one of the temple prostitutes." she advised.

The girl, perhaps in her late teens or early twenties, broke a soft, welcoming smile as she neared Mencia. He couldn't help but grin in return. She gestured for Mencia to come closer. "Come with me." the dancer whispered. Instinctively, Mencia hesitated but was nevertheless pushed forward by Acton's chirping. He allowed the girl to take his hand, and guide him towards a giant gate on one side of the hall. Gazing down the stairwell on the other side of the gate, it appeared to lead down to a dimly lit basement beneath the temple, perhaps the remains of an ancient structure that had been built over by successive generations of Bangkan Hindus. He noticed that, as they progressed downwards, the murals on the walls were beginning become more and more erotic in nature, transitioning from common displays of everyday life to graphic illustrations of positions from the Kama Sutra. Towards the bottom, the paintings got very strange, depicting various forms of deviant sexual fetishes. Nevertheless, Mencia continued to follow the girl down the steps as she gripped his hand tightly.
Last edited by Greater Carloso on Fri Sep 28, 2018 5:32 pm, edited 7 times in total.
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Guadalupador
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Founded: Oct 08, 2011
Left-Leaning College State

Postby Guadalupador » Sat May 19, 2018 7:31 pm

Principality of Simemdosa. (09/03/1983)

“Yesha, Yesha, wake up.” A young woman knelt by the future Prince’s bed and gently nudged him awake. “Yesha. We need to go now.” The woman, his mother, Princess Omira gathered a few of his clothes together and shoved them into a luggage.

The boy rubbed his eyes and mumbled in a confused daze. “Where are we going, mama?” As Yesha adjusted to being awake he could hear the sounds of commotion outside beyond the walls of the enclosed palace. He went to his window and looked out toward the city. Smoke was trailing into the air from the Parliament Building downtown. His mother was quick to pull the curtains closed and led him out of his bedroom. The Princess and her son rushed down the hallway and reunited with her husband and Yesha’s father Prince Togares along with a squad of Simendosan Army soldiers. “Where are we going?” Yesha asked once more, unsatisfied with his mother’s silence.

Prince Togares embraced his family. Yesha quickly realized something was going terribly wrong. The Prince knelt down to talk to his son: “To safety. We need to leave for a little while little Yesha, but we’ll be back home soon.” Togares tried to sound reassuring but the crack in his voice betrayed his intention. He looked up to an officer. “We’re ready to head to the airport.” The soldier nodded and ushered the Royal Family to their Rolls Royce.

The car ride was short, but increasingly tense. Simendosan Army APCs blocked off streets and a red flag was draped across quite a few buildings as the car sped toward the airport. Yesha could hear his parents speak in hushed tones about how the army allowed them to at least evacuate and how Communists had seized control how lucky they were to allow them to leave if only for a short window of time. The lights of the passing city started to smear across the car windows and the hushed discussion between his parents began to muffle as young Yesha drifted back to sleep in the car. The next time he would awaken he'd be on a private jet to Guadalupador, living as an exile.



Principality of Simendosa, 45 years later

Yesha, now Prince Andosh, opened his eyes and took a deep breath. He was dreaming again. The Prince slowly picked himself up from his chair in the parlor and went to his childhood bedroom. The occupant had changed as he was now standing in his younger daughter's room, the wallpaper was covered in posters and pictures of his daughter and her friends from school, her and her older brother, the Crown Prince, and one picture of the entire family together, on the wall adjacent to the window. Andosh adjusted the picture frame and stepped toward the window. Like when he was a boy, he pulled open the curtains and looked out toward the skyline.
A steady rain fell across the city as a storm started to move in across the strait. Those denizens in the streets opened their umbrellas and continued on with their own business unknowing of the intricacies of political power and action that their leaders in Parliament and in the Palace were dealing with. Those that ruled, Prince Andosh in particular, preferred that to be the case. The Prince wasn’t much a fan of representative government, his father was essentially a figurehead monarch, though that was of his own choice as Andosh found out after his own ascension to the Principate. The Prince’s problem with republicanism and popular governance arose out of the Simendosan Emergency of 1983. In Andosh's view his citizens couldn't be trusted with too much power since they were too susceptible to mass manipulation. He had always wanted to play the role of an enlightened monarch, giving his people what they needed in return for undying loyalty and dedication to the throne. With the Parliamentary purges behind him and a Royalist-dominated Parliament prepared to work for him, rather than with him.
A simple rumble from his pocket caught his attention as his smartphone vibrated with a message from the PM:
SpecServ Op is go. Will keep you updated.

Andosh left his childhood room and walked out to his Rolls Royce. His driver was already behind the wheel. "Take me along the coast road."
The driver nodded and the car sped off through gates of the palace and down into the city.



North Konigsten, Kesslerstaadt.

"There he is. We've got a visual." A SpecServ Operator, Turel, adjusted her camera from the safety of her enclosed position in an abandoned shipping warehouse down the street. She could see him through a broken window in the abandoned coal plant. "He's on the 'parade ground.' 350 meters from my position." She looked to her right and watched Rilles deploy his directional microphone toward where Carlson was. The two Operators listened in and recorded his speech.

"...Bangka?" Rilles whispered. "What would Carlson want with Bangka?" Rilles asked Turel. She shrugged and went back to watching him. Rilles put his headset on and spoke into the secure channel. "GC just announced that they're making their next move in Bangka." He took off the headset and gestured to Turel to pack up her equipment. "We're out of here." The two meticulously hid their tracks and left the warehouse the way they found it. They then left the area incognito. As the unsuspecting car passed out of North Konigsten Rilles once again spoke over the secure channel: "We need to snatch up GC as soon as we can."



Central Kesslerstaadt

That evening, at a nightclub known as "Tower of Babble," the drinks and designer drugs flowed freely throughout the establishment as bright lights reflected off of the crystalline dance floor creating a vibrant luminous effect while the dancers moved their bodies along with the music. The bar was less crowded but still a maze to get through as patrons aimlessly walked off of the dance floor and toward a bartender. At the bar was a young man clad in a bright orange vest and black leather pants his black hair was gelled up into a fauxhawk. He rested a cigarette in his mouth and watched the club for his target to make an appearance. SpecServ was banking a lot on this club since it opened up only recently and with its proximity to one of the largest brothels in the city it was all but irresistible to anyone looking for a good time after a long day of work.
The operator took another drag of his cigarette and continued to survey his surroundings. It was unreasonably hot in the club, mainly because of the hundreds of people dancing, drinking, and snorting throughout the club. He ordered another drink and sipped from the crystal glass. A few men and women tried to make passes at him but he simply used the excuse that he was waiting for his "friend." He noticed that although Simendosa had its own massive nightclubs and dens of vice it was nothing compared to what Kesslerstaadt. The entire city was practically a den of vice. An anarchy, a playground, a cesspool. He put the thought to the back of his head and continued to survey the club. A fortnight's worth of surveillance and studying Carlson's movements have better been worth it.
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Erythrean Thebes
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Founded: Jan 17, 2017
Capitalist Paradise

Postby Erythrean Thebes » Fri May 25, 2018 10:39 am

Unknown Vista

Nature makes its own purpose, it constitutes a world by itself. Swami Upadhya watched with impenetrable, solemn features, the daring flight of multicolored birds streaking in pursuit of prey and of one another across the steamy surface of an inlet lake. They squawked as they raced back and forth, barking at one another, pushing and shoving to the rhythm of a powerful and mysterious force. They paid no mind in their darting flight to the clods of insects and miniature bugs that clogged together in fuzzy black knots above the surface deposits of sweet grass and waterflowers. They delicately avoided the protruding shape of a quiet dock floating in the middle of the pond, giving no notice to the lantern which glowed faintly behind a wall of thick, misty fog. These intricate scenes existed for no reason, but they provided the fodder for endless ideas in the mind of man, thinking men and ambitious men, like the Swami who sat under the recesses of a painted gazebo, kept warm in the folds of his cotton robes, silently watching the wildlife of the lake with dark eyes.

"My Swami..." the repose was broken by the entreaty of one with a smooth male voice and almost perfectly-conditioned English. He stood a tasteful distance back from the stairs of the gazebo, from whence the religious guru was little more than a faint bundle tucked in his seat beyond the white wooden lattice. "Are you awake?"

He was wide awake as he regarded the forest scene, if anything the strength of his concentration and his attentiveness to his sight left him too clearheaded and well-focused to easily distract himself with the troubles of business. It was a minor toil for him to break his silence and wrap himself around the pressing concerns. "What is it Samuel?" he replied at last, recognizing the young servant by his voice.

"General Biswas just called you sir." Although good and expected news, the butler delivered the word as delicately as he kept his white-gloved hands laced together behind his back. "He wanted to tell you that the Bangka President will send envoys to attend the conference in Thebes."

"Good..." the Swami breathed to himself, barely perceptible. In truth it was nothing good, but it was something necessary. When a cow wore the coat of a tiger, the tigers would not be able to tell that they were not cows. Such was the fate of Bangka, where the atheist Western government stole the mantle of divine virtue and used it to justify actions that prostituted Bangka and harmed her land and people. By exposing President Malhotra and his regime for the imperialists they truly were, the Bangka people would be able at last to recognize the evil state of affairs, and they would rise to the occasion and establish a new government that obeyed the gods. Just the same, the true Darwinian cannibal ideologies of the Western empires would be revealed to the world, and the mass of the abused subjects would see at last the true division of society between a handful of evil predators and a larger mass of innocent-minded peasants. It was frightening, but only because so many lived in ignorance. What they would realize, was that they should have been frightened all along, and that now they could be brave, for they would see that the true lie of the land left them strong and their oppressors few and weak.

Jabbing his cane loudly against the wooden planks at each step, the Swami shuffled out the door of the gazebo and plunked down the stairs for the grass. "Do an old man a favor lad," he said to the servant cautiously minding the Swami's uneasy steps, "tell the General that he may proceed with the plan."

"Anything else sir?" the butler stopped in his tracks, as the Swami began to trudge away into the fog, making for other parts of the estate.

"Use caution," Upadhya croaked over his shoulder, "do not force anything, but wait until the time is just right. Let him be a support, not an instigator, to the verdict of justice."

The servant bowed, "yes my Swami, of course."

---

Air Force Station 3
Kumi Island, Bangka Republic


The commander of the early warning forces stationed offshore on the edge of Bangka waters at Air Force Station 3, who was Brigadier General Rameshvara Subrahmanya, was known to many of his subordinates as 'Fight Dog', because of the ferocity with which he prosecuted his command and his willingness to assault personnel personally for their perceived indolence. As dogs are trained as animals and not as people, no matter how many regulations were programmed into the Brigadier General, nothing spoke to his vicious and instinctual personality, which only made things worse, as he became the memorizer of great chunks of Air Force regulations but continued to use them only as barbs and rebukes for his unfortunate victims. Like a typical alpha dog, he had a propensity to try and get his hands personally on anything that was important and interesting, which included the routine alert that came down from the LRI reporting a flight of two enemy fighters coming from the Nifonese 7th Mobile Force.

"Cadet Banerjee, send an ultimatum to the enemy fighters at once," commanded the Brigadier General as he barged out of his office and into the operations room, accompanied by his lackeys within the lower ranks.

The unhappy cadet hid his sarcastic eyes as he turned away, cradling the microphone close to his lips. "Nifonese patrol, this is Bangka Air Defense, you are approaching Bangka airspace, watch your bearing, over."

"That's not what I said," the Brigadier General snapped, bearing down upon the exasperated operator, "tell them to get out of the area at once!"

His angry quip drowned out the garbled sound of the response from the Nifonese patrol, which trailed off in an official-sounding way just as the General was finishing his orders. "Say again patrol," the operator patiently asked. He grimaced and ducked his head as the General proceeded to grab the headset and tear it off in the palm of his hand.

"Bangka Air Defense, this is Nifonese Patrol, we are on a prepared course through international airspace, no threat to your airspace over."

General Subrahmanya listened to the answer with baited breath; his eyes were angled upward, his mouth agape as his full fury waited on the tip of his tongue, his fist clenched around the headset as if he could not believe the lack of respect from the Nifonese aircraft. "Nifonese patrol," he barked into the microphone, "this is Brigadier General Rameshvara Subrahmanya of Bangka Air Defense Station 3 - if you do not change course and divert from your heading this instant, I am personally going to blast your aircraft out of the sky, I order you!" he ended with a pointed jab of his finger.

"Negative, Bangka Air Defense, our instruments read almost 200 km out-"

Though the reply continued in its mechanical way, the General tossed his headset aside in disgust. "Dhawan!" he cried as he stormed in the direction of his Flight Commander, "Dhawan, we need birds in the sky this instant, Commander!"

"Affirmative Brigadier General," the officer responded, albeit with a hidden look of utter skepticism on his face, "Mirages are scrambling now, set course to intercept enemy fighters."

Outside on the tarmac, crews raced like mad beneath the sizzling summer sun, trucks scooted across the pavement and in and out of shiny white hangars, everyone giving a wide berth to the Mirage 2000 fighters that peeled onto the runway and raced up into the sky, exactly 4 of their number, headed to intercept the 2 Nifonese patrol craft on their ill-fated excursion over the sea.
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Greater Carloso
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Founded: Dec 24, 2015
Moralistic Democracy

Postby Greater Carloso » Wed Jul 04, 2018 6:04 pm

Abandoned power station, North Koningsten, Kesslerstaadt Outskirts
The former control room of the power station had been transformed into the personal quarters of Gene Karlson, fully furnished with various items and trophies pillaged from helpless locals at gunpoint. An office desk was positioned in one corner of the room. Since he had allowed Captain Meyer to take charge of all the training operations at the headquarters, Karlson had given himself plenty of free time to do as he pleased. He liked to spend most of this time at the desk, penning what he regarded as his own great contribution to gay literature and philosophical thought; an autobiographical book called 'The Queer Dawn', in which he envisioned a world where heterosexuality was banned and homosexuality was the norm. At the moment, Karlson was raking his time reading over the weekly report of the recruitment division of the Resurgent Homofront. He couldn't help but smile at the rapid growth his organisation was experiencing since its foundation. Fresh soldiers, ready to bring the fight to the enemies of the homosexual revolution, were being drafted into the ranks of the force every day. Each of the new recruits had their own personal profile compiled by the recruitment after a brief interview. While he was reading over the details, he didn't notice the door to his room creak open behind him.

"I see everything is coming along nicely, Mr Karlson." an unnervingly familiar voice boomed behind Karlson. It threw him totally off guard, jolting as he turned around to face whoever was talking to him. He glared as he realised who it was; Steven Nordholt, that Russel henchman who had visited him in his apartment a month back. Captain Meyer was standing beside Nordholt, visibly agitated by the man's presence. It looked like Nordholt was after bringing several armed guards along with him this time. "I must extend my sincerest apologies, Mr Karlson. I shouldn't have barged into your base uninvited. Can we talk in private?"" Nordholt asked, pulling what could only be described as a spine-tingling grin. Karlson nodded at Meyer, who promptly left the room and locked the door behind him. The two men stood in silence, Nordholt deciding to light a cigar up in front of Karlson while he waited for the Homofront commander to regain his composure. With a puff of smoke, the Russel employee resumed his unsettling grin and briefly stared into Karlson's eyes. Only then did he finally choose to speak. "There have been some new developments since our last meeting, Karlson." Nordholt began, "Outside interference, that sort of thing. Nothing major. We had plans for scenarios like this well in advance."

Karlson raised his eyebrows at this revelation. "Developments?" he queried, "What sort of developments?" Nordholt appeared to ponder for a few seconds before he compelled himself to give an answer. "Are you aware of Mr Estebán Santander? Maybe his company, Conquistador? They're fairly infamous, even if they are newcomers to the whole private security business. Our field agents in Bangka have intel indicating that Santander has sent some of his own men to scout out the place while they masquerade as reporters from some big Carlosian news broadcaster." Nordholt explained. Karlson was clearly taken back. How could Conquistador be involved already? They must have gotten a tip-off from someone, or maybe they were working with the Nifonese. "Great. Why have they gotten involved? Did someone tell them?" Karlson queried. Nordholt took another puff of his cigar before he explained further. "We have several leads. According to the information that was given to us by Upadhya, the branch of the ISCF operating in Carloso is being investigated by Conquistador for offering illegal abortion services, trafficking humans and taking part in the drugs trade, and the recent bombing in Bangka probably heightened their suspicions. Santander is probably unaware of Russel's involvement; we're all dead after all, so we have reason to believe he is trying to find concrete evidence that will allow the Carlosian authorities to close down Upadhya's cult for good. What better place to look than the den of the devil itself." Nordholt chirped, smiling gleefully.

"We have two options." he continued, "We keep the status quo and monitor Santander's agents or..." Nordholt took yet another puff of his cigar. Karlson was waiting for him to finish the sentence. "Or?" he asked. Nordholt suddenly tossed the cigar away and stretched his muscular arms out wide. "We kill them of course!" he shouted at the top of his voice. Nordholt landed his right hand down on Karlson's shoulder. "It is your choice, my friend. We already have men on the ground who can track Santander's agents to wherever they are staying and kill them while they sleep." he clarified, all the while smiling cheerfully down at the comparably shorter Karlson. Nordholt's sudden turn had clearly peaked the Homofront commander's interests; the only reason Karlson was working with Russel, after all, was for the opportunity to strike back against Conquistador and the Nifonese for what they did in Oceanica, so he returned the smile. "Sure, have them killed, but what about Santander? Won't he get suspicions when he finds out that three of the agents he sent on the same mission turned up dead, all in the same country?" Karlson questioned. "Santander has his hands tied Karlson. His little 'interventions' around the world have made him one of the more disreputable figures in the Carlosian government. Besides, he is hoping to become the leader of the ruling party in Carloso next year. He won't be able to do anything against us and we'll be free to do as we please in Bangka and against Nifon." Nordholt assured him.

He extended his hand to meet Karlson's. The two men shook firmly on the matter, apparently sealing the fate of the Conquistador operatives in Bangka. "Great! With all things going to plan, the targets should be neutralised within the next 48 hours. I'll relay the order to the commander in Bangka." Nordholt continued, "But first, I have something to show you. Follow me." Karlson followed Nordholt as he left the quarters and went out onto the corridor that contained all the rooms that once housed the plant's administration. They turned a corner and went down a flight of stairs that led to the floor of the power station below, their footsteps clanging against the rusting steel steps. There was barely enough room for the two men to walk down side by side. "You never had a chance in Little Kiyosu." Nordholt began to speak again, "The Nifonese turned the place into a bloody fortress, prepared to fight to the last man for their homes. Sheer strength in numbers was never going to win you the battle, not with an enemy so heavily equipped and well trained. I'm sure we both don't want a repeat of what happened." Karlson didn't speak a word in reply, continuing to flank Nordholt silently. When they reached the bottom of the stairwell, the two men emerged onto the Resurgent Homofront's training grounds. Karlson could hear Nordholt's own heavily armed security detail following them, watching and waiting for any potential slip up. Together, they walked right through the training area and continued down an expansive walkway that led towards the power plant's loading bay. Karlson could hear the sound of a running engine nearby.

"To fight the Nifonese, you and your men are going to need a lot more than swords and rifles." Nordholt said as they approached the noise, "We will give you the heavy weapons needed to cut down any defences they decide to put up. Should make the job a lot easier." They turned a corner to see that Nordholt's guards were unloading several boxes from a black van that had parked itself in the loading bay. The vehicle was concealed from the outside by the bay's roller shutters. Lighting another cigar, he signalled to his guards to crack open one of the cases and show Karlson what was inside. Inside was an APILAS anti-tank weapon, almost a metre and a half long. "I'm impressed Nordholt." Karlson commented, cracking a smile as he ran his fingers along the tube of the device, "How many of these are there?" Nordholt beckoned one of his own guards forward, who then whispered something into the businessman's ear. "Twenty, plus a whole load of ammunition. My men have a dozen Stinger surface-to-air missile launchers in the back as well, just in case the Nifonese decide to deploy any helicopters in Bangka." Nordholt clarified, "In the meantime, you're going to have to keep all these weapons here where nobody can find them. A detachment of my people will be on standby in case you run into any, huh, difficulties..." He took another puff of his cigar as he said that. Everything in the van was quickly unloaded and both Karlson's recruits and Nordholt's guards began to stockpile all the weapons in a concealed room deep within the power station.

"I better start making my way back." Nordholt said to Karlson once everything was in order, "We'll keep in contact. My apologies again for the unannounced arrival." He put his hand on Karlson's shoulder, pulling another unnerving but oddly welcoming smile. They shook hands for a final time, Nordholt departing from the power station in an inconspicuous grey saloon, followed by the black van that had transported his guards. When they were finally out of sight, Karlson went to check on the stockpile of weapons by himself, feeling the grips of both the Stinger and APILAS launchers. He wondered how he was going to train his men to use these. Feeling shook from the whole ordeal, Karlson decided it was a good time to unwind himself by spending some alone time on the balcony that overlooked the vast, abandoned industrial estate to the east of North Koningsten. As he stood there watching the sunset over the slums of the Kesslerstaadt Outskirts, while the blinding lights of the city shone in the distance, he couldn't help but wonder who this Steven Nordholt really was.
Last edited by Greater Carloso on Thu Sep 27, 2018 8:16 am, edited 3 times in total.
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New Aeyariss
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Postby New Aeyariss » Sat Aug 04, 2018 12:41 pm

Bangka was an island located in a curious position. One that, when analyzed by various scholars, put it always in the crosshair of the greatest international events. The island had became Hindu because the various hindu states desire to find easily accessible trade route to Wenchuan. The original Hindu settlers founded factories to act as waypoints, which subsequently brought Hindu culture with them. It was not long before the local nobles were reading Ramayana and speaking in Sanskrit. Hindu religion had found a second home here even when Islam, introduced by Fasrian traders, became the dominant faith of the neighboring empires; despite ever increasing Islamization from the West and Christianisation from the North, Bangka always remained a fortress of Sanatana Dharma.

The recent events could not, in such case, came out as surprise. When the Empire of Greater Nifon positioned it's carrier group nine hundred kilometers from the Bangkan coastline, it did so as a warning; a warning to all who challenged the might of the current Shogunate and questioned will of Her Augustness. Shogun Kojiro had led the sons of Admiral Yi to become the greatest power in this corner of the Earth since the breakup of the Wenchuani state and beginning what had already been named "Great Autumn" period (after the number of the dead). This power was, due to Nifon's geography, depending on his tent-government's ability to exercise control over routes of naval trade. Since Bangka lied on the crossing of major routes here, there was no chance that Kojiro would let it fall out of Nifonese sphere of interest without a fight.

That day a simple CAP (combat air patrol) was sent as a screening of the Nifonese carrier that was stationed several hundreds of kilometeres away. Like a hulking whale, the mighty ship of war was a thing to fear. The floating castle, though not largest of it's kind among the forces of the Kaigun, contained enough planes to carry several hundred sorties a day, and enough supplies to sustain it for a period. Escorted by several lesser vessels and two submarines keeping the watch against the foes approaching from the depths, "Hikari" stood always watchful.

When two Nifonese fighters were hailed, operators in CIC (combat information center) who listened to the pilot's calls at first dubbed it insignificant. Only when the crew of AWACS relied the threat to the CIC, did the Nifonese take action. Commodore Hanazawa Yoshihito, Air War Commander of the Hikari battle group, was quickly called to CIC in order to manage the situation, which at this point, was not looking bright.

"Aizu-actual this is Hara-actual" said the leading pilot of the CAP on the voice line "Four new tracks in a group, angles high, bearing zero zero two! Bogeys inbound, hostile attack yellow* over. "

"Hara actual," said Commodore Yoshihito in a tired voice. Despite all his experience, he was getting too old for this; too many scars already decorated his face "Can you pull up a tiger**, over"

"Affirmative Aziu-actual!" replied the pilot enthusiastically. Evidently the hours spent on boring CAP flights made some action a welcome change "IFF verification complete. Four mirages, assumed hostile and closing in fast. Permission for intercept?"

"Hara-actual, action" sighed defeated the colonel "you are cleared hot for intercept, chicks*** inbound soon. Hara-three, bug out from there!"

"As Fragged Aizu-actual, Hara-actual out!!" came the voice of the happy pilot as the engagement begun.

The AWACS turned around and begun it's retreat towards the carrier, while the two Tenrais turned around and headed on a direct intercept course towards the Mirages at front aspect. More powerful radars of Tenrais (far outranging what Mirages had) illuminated them quickly and locked on. As the Mirages reached 180km from the fighters, they entered into the range of terrifying Nifonese weapon known as SJJ-9. Due to longer reach of both their AWACS and Tenrai's large radars, the detection advantage was going to be directly on the Nifonese side in this battle. Mirage 2000 had a decessive advantage in turning over a Tenrai, so the lead pilot was not going to permit them to get too close.

"This is NFN07 #21311 to the incoming aircraft. You are in direct violation of this groups right to freely navigate air corridors not being part of Bangka's territorial airspace. Continuation of this action will result in assumption of hostile behaviour and appropriate response. Turn back now, or we will be forced to act in self defense." announced the voice on the radio as two groups headed towards each other, Nifonese planes decreasing altitude to 10 000 meters while increasing their speed. Both tenrais dropped their conformal fuel tanks - now largely depleted - and headed on towards the confrontation.

If the Mirages would not turn when two groups will find themselves at 70 kilometers from each other despite being issued multiple warnings, they would be welcomed with a hail of steel. Each of them would be targeted with 3x SJJ-9. Though individual missile had only 30% probability of kill, when fired per 3 on aircraft, that chance would greatly increase. Unfortunately, said fire was going to leave Tenrais with nothing but two WVR range, IR guided missiles each (as their load was reduced to accommodate more fuel). Thus, following the shot, both aircraft would perform an S-turn and head back, either to gain energy for subsequent fight or to withdraw towards the carrier, and four new Tenrais that have just got into the air and headed to reinforce their compatriots.

ORBAT:
- CAP: 2x A10T Tenrai, 1x Ki-2700 AWACS
- Incoming: 4x A10T Tenrai.

* - Attack assumed probable.
** - do you have enough fuel to commit ?
*** - friendly aircraft
Last edited by New Aeyariss on Sat Aug 04, 2018 12:46 pm, edited 1 time in total.
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