☯ Orientalism Rising! [IC][MT/PMT][CLOSED]

by **Pan-Asiatic States** » Mon Aug 19, 2019 6:08 am

August 19th, 2019
Malacañang Palace

The Malacañang Palace, a beacon of liberty and hope—the shining symbol of the People's Liberation from colonialism and tyranny. Many, many years since the founding of the Pan-Asiatic States, time and time again, leaders big and small have taken shelter under its red roof, beyond its glistening white walls, to take the reins of the mighty 9-Republic Federation. People of all ethnicities and cultures have gathered here then and again to shed their opinion and uphold the values of the Oriental Standard.

Hurried footsteps could be hard on the approach to the office of the Secretary-General. A Party-worker in olive garb bursts into the office holding a foreign newspaper.

"I am aware of the situation and I'm handling it.", spoke the Secretary-General of the Pan-Asiatic States, Chairman of the Asian Communist Party, Guanyu "Abra" Abramovich. He turned to the Party-worker, fiddling with a brand-new Kaiga Omnitool, a small personal holographic device.

Projected from the device and reflected by the walls of the office were videos of explosions, terror, and rallies in Insulindia, atrocities being carried-out by the rouge terror group which have branded themselves as the Red Band.

"The vultures are picking on us. The reporters are storming the lobby. What is the Palace's position on the attacks, Chairman?", asked the aide-de-camp, inquiring to inform the designated Press Secretary who was probably drowning in his sweat, hiding from the press, in a hole somewhere around the Palace's confines.

"Protocol. Express our condolences and condemn terrorism, yada-yada. I am yet to discuss the issue with the Executive Council. I will let them know the Palace's official position at the proper time.

One more thing, though. I want you to go to the Ministry of State and Public Security's office and relay a message to Ministress Louangrath-Lorenzana from me, personally.

Tell her to keep the clandestine backchannels open. If the leader of this 'Red Band' is serious about his work, he'll come to us personally. I don't want to waste our resources looking for this guy, definitely not with our war in Skyhooked right now. Let him visit us here."

The Bay of Neo-Manila

The busy ports of the magnificent Pearl of the Orient were a sight equal to none. Goods from all over the continent were being shipped off to the Americas in the West and Africa to the East, each article increasingly more magnificent than the last: everything from the porcelain of nomadic Chinese artisans to thin strips of the abaca tree's bark used to make labor vouchers.

Qiang Galan, an attaché-slash-rapporteur of the Pan-Asiatic Economic Zone Authority (PAEZA) humbled himself here all the way from the tall ivory skyscrapers of the Laurel District to board a Nusantara-bound passenger cruise, a classy yet affordable mode of transportation for tax-payers' money to be spent on. Qiang, a thirty-year-old ethnic Batangueño raised in Hainan, was a slender, tall brown man who looked a little over fifty despite his age. The troubles of a practical career in socio-civic economics and the exhaustion which bureaucracy always took upon itself to cast on those who worked in its line of work turned Qiang into a bonafide number-cruncher.

The boarding line was an abnormally long one, as there weren't necessarily a lot of good reasons to get off work for tourists hoping to catch a break by visiting the sands of Nusantara. Most were like him, attachés for various state-run businesses, organizations, and concerns.

The booth at the line's end inquired his intent in visiting. Qiang proudly displayed his Asian Communist Party ID to the crew of the ship in confirmation of his ticket.

"Official Party business. I'm visiting the Delmonte enclave. I hear it's coming along well.", spoke Qiang.

"I see. Everything seems to be in order.", told young Korean woman in charge of the booth, handing Qiang back his ID and ticket.

"Hope you packed an umbrella, Comrade. It's rainy this time of year.", she remarked.

Qiang gave her a nod and boarded. As he settled into his personal compartment the waves began to take him Southward, to Paigino Norde.

by **United Avon** » Mon Aug 19, 2019 8:34 pm

Insulindia

It was supposed to have been a simple mission.

Lieutenant Robert Pollard cursed himself for even thinking that. Of course it hadn’t turned out as simple as the battalion command had made it sound. He should have expected that it would all go tits up at the first possible opportunity. But the sheer scale of the cockup that he was in astounded the Paras lieutenant. The company had been moved by helicopter out into the countryside, a ways away from Queenstown, to try and hunt down the base this Red Band Army had been using to ambush Royal Insulindian Constabularly and other government vehicles along the main road. The boys in Intelligence had figured out, somehow, where the base was likely to be and they’d convinced Major Blackwood to send out a company from the newly arrived battalion of the Royal Parachute Regiment to investigate. Pollard had been tense the whole helo ride over, waiting for a hidden machine gun or rocket launcher to try and knock the Paras’ helicopters out of the sky. It hadn’t happened, and he’d allowed himself a sigh of relief.

The heavy machine guns had instead waited until the Paras had advanced about half a kilometer from their landing zone, and then they’d opened fire and taken out most of the lead squad. The rest of the company had been pinned down by the rapid-fire guns and the pinpoint fire of a sharpshooter, concealed somewhere out in the bush. That had been bad enough, but then the sullies – the Paras had picked up the derogatory word for the local inhabitants from the Royal Marines who had been stationed on the island – had unleashed a mortar with disturbing effectiveness, dropping rounds on and around the camouflage-clad paratroopers hugging any bit of cover they could find.

“Say again, need immediate close air support!” That was the Forward Air Controller attached to the unit, huddled in a dip in the ground clutching his radio like a lifesaver, trying to get some aerial firepower to even the odds. Artillery support was out of the question – none of the guns available would have had the range to provide support, even if they’d been ready and standing by to do so, which they weren’t. Lieutenant Baxter had been trying to get helicopter gunships out to support for the last five minutes, to no apparent success.

The cacophony of fire picked up in intensity suddenly, and Pollard risked a peek to see why. He was just in time to watch a Para make the last stride of his run and tumble into the same bit of cover as Pollard. Lieutenant John Travis rolled over to mirror Pollard, facing towards the enemy, and fired off a burst from his rifle in the general direction of the tree line where the Red Band Army was presumably swarming.

“Bloody Red Band was waiting for us,” he said. Pollard would have rolled his eyes at the obvious statement if he’d had any brain power to spare for the motion. Instead he was focused on more important matters.

“Any word about reinforcements?” Pollard found himself hollering over the din of machine guns, FAL assault rifles, and incoming and bursting mortar rounds.

“More guns behind us,” Travis replied. “Tore holes in chopper with backup. Cap’n says they’re mobilizing a relief force by ground.”

“Bloody hell.” This trap was even more well-laid than Pollard had known. The sullies had not just prepared a textbook ambush of the Paras company, they’d also managed to cut off the fastest source of reinforcements and air support. A force moving by vehicles or on foot would take hours to reach this position, if they didn’t get torn up in another ambush along the way.

“Lieutenant!” That was Baxter, shouting from the other side of Travis. “Sir, Amherst says they’ve got a pair of Tornados loading up. Said they should be in the air in two minutes and here in five.”

“Some bloody good news, finally,” Pollard hissed through his teeth. It was going to be a ong bloody day.

Later

The air support had been enough to scare the Red Band Army off. Or at least, that was what Lieutenant Pollard told himself as he picked through the remains of the well-prepared firing positions that the Tornados had blasted into charred ruins. The firing had dropped to nothing after the bombs had landed, and after a tense fifteen-minute wait Captain Cutler had ordered the company – what was left of – forward to “overrun” the abandoned enemy position. Plenty of empty shells, what looked like a destroyed mortar, and a handful of dead Red Band insurgents. Even if the mission had been bloodless for the Paras, it was hardly worth the time. It certainly wasn’t worth the company’s toll in dead and wounded.

The relief force arrived some time later, a convoy of armored cars and personnel carriers that cautiously nosed its way into the jungle clearing. Royal Marines and jumpy Native Rifles spread out in a wide perimeter, clearing enough space for helicopters to come in and evacuate the wounded back to Queenstown without fear of being shot down.

“Bloody mess,” Captain Cutler spat out. Standing with the other officers, Lieutenant Pollard agreed. This Red Band Army was going to be a tougher nut to crack than anyone had anticipated.

Galion

Allanea wrote:I repeat that we invite all countries struggling with the threat of PAS terrorism, or those interested in opposing it on other grounds, to work with us on solutions.

Grand Ambassador Peter Nizhinsky

“…and so it would appear that our initial estimation of enemy strength was somewhat inaccurate.”

Prime Minister Richard Pitt stifled a laugh. Yes, it certainly had been bloody inaccurate. The Red Band Army had nearly cut an entire company of Paras, Avon’s elites, to pieces in the jungle. They’d gotten bolder in their attacks on the Constabulary as well, upping their game from shooting at passing jeeps from the side of jungle roads to conducting drive-by shootings of Insulindian collaborators. The Royal Marines, Paras, and Native Rifles were being stretched thin just to provide security in the cities, much less go out and actually track down the bastards in the jungle.

“So it would seem,” he replied instead. “And now we have the press and the opposition jumping down our throats about that particular miscalculation. So what resources are available?”

The Minister of War, Thomas Fairfax, looked down at his notes. Pitt was enjoying the chance to make the normally composed and arrogant Fairfax squirm. While the Minister of War could plausibly wave off the limited reinforcements sent to Insulindia as Pitt’s idea, the botching of the planned raid against the Red Band had fallen totally into his lap. Fairfax, who Pitt knew harbored dreams of greater political office and influence, had finally been knocked down a peg, if only for a moment.

“We could dispatch an additional battalion of the Parachute Regiment,” he suggested. “That would leave us with a somewhat reduced capability to respond to other emergencies. The Queen’s Own Rifles could be sent, or possibly a battalion from the Highland Rifles…”

“Keep the Paras,” Pitt cut the Minister off. “Send the rest. Put as many bodies as we can spare on that island.” Fairfax nodded, gathered up his notes, and rose from the seat opposite Pitt at the meeting room table. With a barely noticeable incline of the head, he was out the door. Pitt scowled after him, wishing he had the time to savor the moment. But there was work to do. The Prime Minister reached for the phone that would connect him with the Ministry of State. There was more than one way to skin a cat…

OFFICIAL DIPLOMATIC CORRESPONDENCE
FROM THE FOREIGN MINISTRY OF THE UNITED KINGDOM OF AVON
TO GRAND AMBASSADOR PETER NIZHINSKY, FREE KINGDOM OF ALLANEA

Grand Ambassador,

On behalf of His Majesty William the Third, King of Lorain and Elyria in Union, and the Government of the United Kingdom, and the People of Avon,

I wish to first commend you on your strong and incisive denouncement of the recent statements and actions of the People’s Federation of Pan-Asiatic States. It is always invigorating to see that Avon does not stand alone against the scourges of communist infiltration, subversion, and aggression.

The United Kingdom of Avon has recently encountered a serious issue on the island of Insulindia, one of our overseas territories. A newly-emerged insurrectionary movement calling itself the “Red Band” has begun a campaign of terror against the local government. Our own military and security forces have met stronger, more well-organized and well-armed resistance to our attempted crackdowns. It is the belief of His Majesty’s Government that the Pan-Asiatic States may in fact have a hand in supplying, training, organizing, and/or motivating this Red Band.

I have been authorized by the Prime Minister to seek the aid of the Free Kingdom of Allanea in suppressing this terrorist movement. Your nation is well-known for its prowess in battle and superb counter-insurgency capabilities. Your assistance would be greatly appreciated.

Cordially,
William Chester, Lord Amberly, His Majesty’s Minister of State for the Western Department

by **Allanea** » Tue Aug 20, 2019 4:11 pm

From: Grand-Ambassador Peter Nizhinsky, Speaker-to-Slavers, etc.
To:William Chester, Lord Amberly, His Majesty’s Minister of State for the Western Department
CC: Free Kingdom Ministry of War

Dear Sir!
Let me first express my deepest respect for His Majesty, and the People of Avon.

My counterparts in the Ministry of War (which is the Ministry in the Free Kingdom Government responsible for the majority of our armed actions) have briefed me on the circumstances and I present below a summary of their proposal, to the best of my understanding.

Substantially, we face a problem which in some ways is going to be difficult to solve with armed force. As I understand – and please correct me if I am wrong – it appears that the insurgency (I will use the term insurgency from here on out, this is not to ascribe any legitimacy to this group, but solely to utilize a technical term) has festered in some of the more remote areas of the island. Fundamentally, groups such as this rely on the existence of secure areas (sometimes called 'safe havens' or 'sanctuaries' or similar names) to plan and prepare their attacks, as well as to evade law enforcement. The protection those groups receive is not only physical – but also in terms of the fact that since those areas have not got a reliable law and order presence, the knowledge which the state authorities have of the terrorists and their plans is minimal.

Substantially, the goal of insurgents is to erode the legitimacy of the lawful authorities through the use of violence, in part by striking wherever the protection of the law is lightest. As an Anglo-Saxon, you know well that the strength of the law is not so much in the flanks of bayonets and sabres, but in the willingness of the common citizen to observe the law when they are not within the eyesight of a constable, or at least to obey the constable without violence when they arrive.

To prevent this erosion, it is necessary to create a boundary between the insurgents and those groups which are most in danger from both infiltration by them and their attacks, that is to say, the farmers and villagers. This boundary must be both a physical and a spiritual boundary.

For this purpose, we propose the following courses of actions:

1. The creation of a belt of fortified villages, protected by village militias (trained with our aid), in those areas where insurgents are most likely to strike. Moreover, we are willing to secure some funding, from the CAPINTERN alliance and from private charities, in agricultural grants and infrastructure grants in those areas.

2. The organization – with Allanean aid – of regular raids into insurgent-held territory, to erode their offensive ability and their morale. This is in fact the most straight-forward action and can be done soonest.

3. The collection (by Allanean forces) of intelligence on Red Band operations.

4. The interdiction – by your Navy – of supplies to the rebels.

5. Joint PSYOPS/explanation operations to target the Red Band's legitimacy and the confidence of its members.

For these purposes, we wish to send a small group of professionals to Insulindia. As of this moment we plan on a team of approximately 110 professionals (10 Operatives, who will engage in training those individuals you select to be the core of the village militias, 90 Long-Range Reconnaissance specialists who will aid in the training and engage in kinetic actions, and 10 intelligence/cultural analysis professionals). These individuals will have light military equipment (motorcycles, reconnaissance vehicles, etc. in this vein) as you may permit.

However, to further refine this proposal, it would be superior if you supplied us with more information about the Red Band and its tactics. What is known, at this stage, about this group? Are there any estimates of its size, its weapons, its sources of funding, and most importantly, the tactics it has selected?

If you feel that the aid we have proposed is excessive (or, contrarily, insufficient) please feel free to add any comments you feel are appropriate regarding my message.

Sincerely yours,
Peter Nizhinsky

by **Pan-Asiatic States** » Wed Aug 21, 2019 9:41 am

News | Balita | 通讯
Pan-Asiatic States
Estados Pan-Asyatiko
泛亚洲国家

ENGLISH | INGLES | 英语

New Asia-Africa Procurements Threaten Western Foreign Direct Investments
Caixin Global
^{August 21st, 2019}

The Pan-Asiatic States and Africa have been partnering on investments for approximately the last decade. Today, August 21st, 2019, delegates from both the Pan-Asiatic States and several African states including South Africa, Benin, Togo, and Libya, met at Cape Town to initiate the eighth annual Forum on Asia-Africa Cooperation. The collaboration and cooperation summit makes Africa one of Asia’s greatest allies in the current global market environment. The level of Asia's investment in the continent of Africa has been increasing at a steady rate. Last year, at the 2018 Asia-Africa Cooperation Forum, Asia announced it would be providing $60 billion in financial support to Africa. This number is only expected to expand as the People's Federation enters its Bottom-Up Budgeting season.

Some of the primary motivations that lie behind the Pan-Asiatic States' push toward increased investments in African nations include the desire to secure a solid base of raw materials to fuel the Federation's own rapidly growing economy, the desire to increase Pan-Asiatic global political influence and the major growth opportunity presented by emerging market economies in Africa.

Mining and oil remain a primary focus of the Pan-Asiatic States' investments; however, the country's investments extend throughout virtually every market sector, including everything from infrastructure to food processing. The Pan-Asiatic States' investments in the largely undeveloped infrastructure of African nations are particularly strong, encompassing key areas such as utilities, telecommunications, port construction and transportation.

The Pan-Asiatic States' investments have the country well-positioned to profit from continuing economic development in Africa. Among the concerns involved in today's talks, many more Pan-Asiatic firms which have already established bases in the continent and are continuously investing in Africa are state-owned by the Pan-Asiatic government. This gives them a notable competitive edge when, for example, bidding procurement contracts in African countries, since the companies can obtain substantial subsidies from the Asian government.

The stakes in Africa are high due to the continent's rich abundance in raw materials. Africa is estimated to contain 90% of the entire world supply of platinum and cobalt, half of the world's gold supply, two-thirds of world manganese and 35% of the world's uranium. It also accounts for nearly 75% of the world's coltan, an important mineral used in electronic devices, including cellular phones. The Pan-Asiatic States has also been expanding its military presence into Africa, rivaling the United States in investment and military activity there. Investment in the continent has also been a topic of discussion for the United States and the Pan-Asiatic States in its ongoing trade negotiations and political deliberations.

However, today's talks, briefly mentioned in a press release this evening by the newly-elected Undersecretary for Foreign Affairs and acting First Lady, Katrina Nishikino-Abramovich, may antagonize the investments, directives, and economic influences of other countries in the West and/or allied with Western countries as well, most notably those of Anglomir, Atkemri, United Avon, and Allanea.

The press release mentioned the deliberation of the introduction of twenty-six new mining, infrastructure, and transportation state-owned concerns to several of the member-states on the African bloc of the talks. For the past two decades of rising Pan-Asiatic economic influence in Africa, major subsidies in such sectors have crippled the above Western nations' own industries by raising higher investment stakes, lowering the prices on goods necessary to the development of and are exported by the Pan-Asiatic States to the African countries, and providing "solution specialists" such as doctors, IT professionals, architects, and economists through various aid missions to low-GDP African countries.

The Pan-Asiatic States is a premier emerging market nation, and the well-being of its economy significantly impacts world markets. As the world's largest nation continues its economic expansion, Asian leaders recognize the increasing need for natural resources, food and product markets necessary for continued economic growth. The focus on resource-rich Africa is a logical one for the Pan-Asiatic States. Mining investments account for nearly one-third of Asia's total foreign direct investment, or FDI, in African nations. By working to secure a solid base of critical raw materials, the Pan-Asiatic States strengthens its economy for decades to come.

by **Delmonte** » Wed Aug 21, 2019 10:37 am

The Coast off of Paigino Norde

A wave lifted the Signalia ever so slightly. It was a large yacht, to be sure. Only the best for the Di Canossas to whom it belonged but who were conspicuously absent tonight. Despite its size, it had nothing on the behemoth that bore steadily past it en route to the enclave just a few miles behind them. The nobles, dignitaries, and captains of industry in their varying states of being overfed and overwatered flocked to the rails.

Silence overtook the deck for the first time that night. Even the band paused in their serenade as countless sleek opera binoculars were lifted to as many eyes and pointed towards the oncoming container ship. Concentration was broken only by the sound of servants taking advantage of this reprieve to collect used glasses and dishware. Luca took his own advantage by getting another drink ahead of everyone else.

At long last a spotter shouted, “One of ours!” to the cheering of his comrades. They jumped and waved to the vessel in the distance. Apparently its crew had been watching the Signalia watching them because they sounded their horn in response to the welcome. “One year of good luck.” Luca muttered as he twisted his sash back the right way round. It had a proclivity for sliding the insignia up and around his shoulder.

“Right!” He shouted as he made his way up the staircase towards the upper deck. “That means it’s time for the auction.” He gestured to an attendant who rang a small bell. Another one brought him a list of parcels and took the champagne glass out of his somewhat reluctant hand. The Persons of Quality present assembled below him on the chairs that had been laid out earlier. There were about four dozen in all. These men would shape the future of the entire enclave.

“As usual, the port facilities and surrounding half mile of land have already been sold and developed privately. This auction will only be for the interior land of the enclave.” Luca droned off the formalities, “A list of parcels was made available for your review a week ago that includes their location, size, terrain, et cetera. Therefore parcels will only be described by their number in the auction. All bids are considered binding. Questions, comments, concerns?”

No-one raised any.

“Excellent, then we will begin with Parcel Number One. Do we have three million ducats?”

“Three million.” A portly, balding man waved his hand casually without rising from his seat. The shouting and urgency of standard auctions were beneath affairs such as this one.

“Three million from the Rivolinni family, do we have three and a half?”

“Three and a half.” The man who counter-bid was just as portly as his adversary, but had admittedly thick and luxurious hair.

“Three and a half from the Di Azzone family. Do we have four?”

Silence.

“Three and three quarters?” Luca glanced at the Rivolinni representative who merely rolled his eyes. “Right, Parcel Number One is sold to the Di Azzone for the sum of three and a half million ducats. On to Parcel 2 starting the bidding at nine million ducats.”

Like a bolt of purple lightning, a bishop seated in the back row shot up and spoke hurriedly.

“The Archdiocese of Delmonte…” he began, “Is, of course, very poor as we are men of God.”

Luca knew for a fact they were neither poor nor were a majority of them men of God.

“But…” the bishop continued, “We would like Parcel Number Two in order to administer to the souls of the Delmontese faithful and so we bid the sum of one million ducats and ask those assembled to join us in prayer for the souls of all who might dwell in here. O Lord, Heavenly Father, please grant us humility that we may join you in your Glory. For this we pray, Amen.”

“Amen.” Was the unanimous reply, albeit some responses came a bit more reluctantly than others. The Archdiocese was grudgingly allowed to pay a reduced price on a certain amount of land in each enclave by gentleman’s agreement.

The next three lots sold normally with some fierce bidding over a particularly scenic forested lake which was two hundred thousand ducats short of becoming a wildlife preserve and would instead become home to a papermill. Such is the plight of good deeds, Luca thought to himself.

“Parcel Number Six. Shall we start the bidding at-“

A man that was dressed so unassumingly Luca had thought him a servant spoke up. “My friends and I… Would like to bid one ducat and a few good men.”

The uninformed turned to look quizzically at this interloper, but those veterans of previous enclave auctions shouted in unison, “Whoever wants it is welcome to have it!” Some of them turned to explain the situation to curious colleagues afterward. The Gentleman with One Ducat sat and remained quiet the rest of the evening. The Delmontese flagged container ship had long disappeared round the edge of Paigino Norde. He removed a small map of the enclave with its parcels that he had just sold from his breast pocket and carefully drew an outline around Parcel Six with his pen before returning the parchment to his pocket and patting it gingerly.

It was time to sail home.

Paigino Norde
The Next Day

Mercifully, Luca sobered very easily. The trick, his wife assured him the previous night, was to hydrate before going to bed. Though he pissed like a racehorse in the morning, he did not have a headache and for that he was grateful to his beloved Laila. He felt a twinge of pity for the attendants who stood in the rain in order to hold umbrellas over him and the Pan-Asian representative emerging from the water taxi and onto the wharf. Though, to be fair, they were very well-compensated umbrella-holders. Qiang’s umbrella boy demonstrated that he was worth his salary by ensuring that Qiang enjoyed the large, black umbrella’s protection from the less than agreeable weather as soon as the protection of the water-taxi’s overhang ended.

As Qiang approached (his umbrella keeping pace admirably), Luca extended his hand in greeting. The professional umbrella holders coordinated so that the two shook hands without any part of them getting wet.

“Commerce won’t stop for the rain, so why should we?” Luca announced, “It’s a pleasure to meet you. I’m Luca Grimaldi, the Magister of the Enclave of Paigino Norde and I have a few noble titles back home as much as they matter.”

He turned round to look at the rain drenched island behind him.

“Well, I suppose this is my home now.”

by **South Reinkalistan** » Wed Aug 21, 2019 12:13 pm

Tunchix Palace

Shikarewatis

South Reinkalistan

The 63-Year-Old King Sarkos Tunchix IV surveyed his Kingdom from the balcony of his palace, gazing over the vast Areintor Square and to the gleaming Tosdoda Harbour. It was just the right weather. There were clouds in the sky, but not too many. The sun shone, but not too bright. It was warm, but not uncomfortably so. This, and the jovial atmosphere on the streets seemed to represent the fact that there was great potential for the future in the Tosdodan Kingdom. With the recent development of South Reinkalistan, and the recent fall of its northern counterpart into economic depression, it appeared that South Reinkalistani boar would charge forth into a glorious future. However, trouble was brewing, just out of the view of the general public. Despite Sarkos' reforms that seemed to point in the vague direction of some sort of democracy, there were still hard-line communists in the poorer boroughs of Shikarewatis. And the recent events with the so-called 'Orientalists' had brought this issue into the limelight. This was most troubling to the monarchy. Sarkos sighed, and walked back out of the sun into his luxurious quarters. He went through a side entrance to a large meeting room, with a long, carved wooden table stretched out, with around 50 chairs lined up. On the walls, works of art showed the semi-legendary conquests of Reinkalistan's ancient heroes. Bookshelves stacked with the worlds' great works of literature lined the walls, and a beautiful globe sat in the corner, detailing the political borders of the world.

However, when Sarkos entered, there were seated only four individuals at the massive table. These were the most powerful in South Reinkalistan. Despite a large network of noble families posing as figureheads for a sort of aristocracy, the real political power lay with these people. They were three men and one woman. Sintendo Quiere, Governor of the autonomous principality of West Ontis, was the first to speak.

"Ah, Your Majesty. How nice of you to join us! We have been waiting." There was a hint of annoyance in Sintendo's voice. The West Ontisians were a fickle people, and their fondness of South Reinkalistan was limited, as represented by the brash mannerisms of their representative. Nonetheless, he was a powerful man, and he could not be dispatched of effectively. So he sat at the table of negotiators.

Sarkos let out a sigh. "Yes, well, I'm here now. Shall we discuss the matter at hand, or have you time for any more pleasantries?" He took a seat, awaiting a response from the Governor. None came. Satisfied with this, Sarkos quickly surveyed the other members of the secret assembly. There was Tocho Ki, counter-revolutionary war hero and admiral of the navy. Schure Likotos, head of the South Reinkalistan Ground Forces, and die hard loyalist to the monarchy. Then, there was Igorae Ture. Head of the Reinkalistani National Guard, which was the Reinkalistani intelligence agency and borderline secret police, she held perhaps the most influence in the room, bar the King himself. Once he had made himself comfortable, the King spoke again.

"Well then. Let us begin. The matter that has dominated our discussions for the past few months, the Socialist Turaniski Council, while still in hiding, remains a threat to the establishment. But this is not what I have brought you here to discuss. This matter is of the Pan-Asiatic menace, a communist power bloc that dominates the Eastern Hemisphere. Indeed, South Reinkalistan is but a speck on the World Map to this colossus."

He was interrupted by Quiere, who looked tired. "With all due respect, Your Majesty, we all know of the Pan-Asiatic States."

Sarkos glared at Sintendo. "Yes. But now they concern us more than ever. Their hard-line Maoism has lead to the Asiatic minorities in Shikarewatis uppity, to say the least. For now, it is the odd act of vandalism. But as someone who has worked as an insurgent, I can tell you that rebellions start from such small things. We must crack down on this treason. When I ascended to this throne, I swore to protect the nation from tyranny of all sorts. I think we are all in agreement that Communism is the worst form of tyranny." Everyone let out murmurs of agreement. "Indeed. This is why it must be dealt with. What is your opinion on this?"

Schure Likotos spoke first. "Well, we need to make a show of force! Drive our tanks and armoured cars through these rebellious areas. Make them know that the King's will is absolute, and that the power of the monarchy shall not be challenged. Glory to the Bold."

Sarkos considered this, but before he could respond, Tocho Ki challenged the suggestion. "We cannot do such a thing without causing more unrest and ethnic tension. I suggest we just invest in these regions, and attempt to alleviate tensio-"

Likotos laughed. "Tocho, Tocho, Tocho. You delude yourself with these musings. The only way to eliminate dissent is to cut it out at the root, leave it no way to return. In fact, I wouldn't be opposed to expatriating all of the Orientals back to wherever they came from. They can play their little Communist game in there, and we don't have to deal with their tiresome revolutionary thought. Everybody wins."

Ki was in shock. "You can't do this! The people have been living there for generations. It would be rather foolish to kick them out, and would discredit us on the international stage."

Sarkos sighed as this argument carried on for hours, back and forth, back and forth. The arguments between these two were becoming quite frequent, and ever so tiresome. Eventually, Igorae butted into the argument, having remained silent for most of the evening.. "Eliminate the dissidents quietly. Don't appease the Communists, but at the same time don't make your removal of their influence seem tyrannical. That would seem hypocritical, wouldn't it?"

Schure and Tocho stopped their arguing to listen, and Sarkos thought about this. It'd make sense. He trusted Igorae's ability to get the job done. Now all that stood in the way was his personal morals. He had done bad things for good reasons before, and would doubtless do so in the future, but killing teenage boys for graffiti seemed a bit extreme. But he had to take action. His opponents had called him out for seeming like a fence-sitter, and so he reluctantly agreed. "Do so. Anyone who disagrees can take it up with me." As was the norm when the King made a decision, nobody challenged him, save from a disapproving look from Sintendo, which Sarkos ignored.

Tureais District

Shikarewatis

South Reinkalistan

The Reinkalistani National Guard was arming for an operation of dubious morality. Despite the rigorous training and desensitising that these men had been put through, even they were doubting whether they were in the right. In fact, relief ran through the ranks when it was found that an Orientalist protest was undergoing near the district's administrative building. Asiatics marched through the streets, waving placards and banners. This was a matter for the police force, not them. The blood would not be on their hands. But for the people of Tureais District, the trouble was only beginning. The overworked and stressed police force had no idea what to do, and when vague orders were received from their nonchalant and corrupt superiors, the following message reached the Tureais police station: "Dispatch of the Protesters." A four word order. It didn't mention how to dispatch of the Protesters, and with the mob getting violent, the policemen opened fire on the Orientalists. The protest scattered - but the fallout made national news.

Soon, Asiatic communities across the country were becoming vehemently anti-government, and this sentiment would only grow with time.

by **Pan-Asiatic States** » Mon Aug 26, 2019 5:24 pm

Delmonte wrote:“Commerce won’t stop for the rain, so why should we?” Luca announced, “It’s a pleasure to meet you. I’m Luca Grimaldi, the Magister of the Enclave of Paigino Norde and I have a few noble titles back home as much as they matter.”

"Qiang Galan, chargé d'affaires for the Authority⁠—the pleasure's all mine, Magister.", replied Qiang in an unusually enthusiastic tone, shaking Luca's hand firmly. He was of course, referring to the Pan-Asiatic Economic Zone Authority, the department of the Pan-Asiatic States responsible for managing the foreign-owned private sectors of the economy. While PAEZA had some notoriety for shutting-down businesses which didn't toe the Asian Communist Party's line, the Authority invested, both literally and figuratively, quite a lot of faith in the revenue which could be generated from Delmonte's enclave in the Pan-Asiatic States.

Delmonte wrote:[Luca] turned round (sic) to look at the rain drenched island behind him.

Qiang withdrew his umbrella as the rain began to clear. He looked beyond the docks with Luca, gazing towards the vast horizon of Delmonte-sponsored infrastructure ongoing here and there, in and around the island. Foreign restaurants, malls, cafés, tourist hotspots, parks, trade unions, offices—the entire island seemed to be growing from the bottom-up.

Delmonte wrote:“Well, I suppose this is my home now.”

"I suppose it is. Well, how do you find your new Nusantara home? Quite a different scene from Delmonte?

While we're on that topic, shall we move someplace more comfortable?", inquired Qiang, hoping to get away from what was referred to in Filipino as ambon, the light drizzle of rain which either precedes or succeeds heavy rain. In this case it seemed to be both, as grey clouds began appearing on the Southern horizon.

by **Pan-Asiatic States** » Mon Aug 26, 2019 6:35 pm

Shenyang Re-Education Facility
February 18th, 2000

Ten columns of 200 men kneeled blindfolded behind bars in a detention center hidden beneath the suburbs of Shenyang. Each one of the orange-shirted prisoners looked increasingly more rugged, with an age range of around 19 to 25 years old. Skinny, deliberately underfed, bruised and bleeding, these young boys were stripped of their names, dignity, and even existence. They hailed from seven of the nine republics, the two exclusions being Burma and Japan; their faces, or whatever was left of them, reflected their racial characteristics. For the past six years, they had endured forced "re-educational labor" under the "caring guidance" of a political commissar who could only ever be described by those who had the displeasure of serving under him as a penal drill sergeant. The youngest among them had disappeared from society when they were only around 13 years of age through the bogus accusations of local Red Guard cadres, and whom upon detainment, were treated no less than anybody else, under the guise of the 1995 Cultural Revolution. The disappearances of these 200 mostly-innocent boys were drowned-out by the earth-shattering civil strife ongoing at that time, and cases of people vanishing-in-plain sight were often simply counted among the casualties of the various coup-d'etats and rebellions staged across Asia at the time after the end of the Pacific Wars.

One of the teenagers in the group was a 13-year-old Manchurian orphan arrested in Harbin, Hou Chao, a scrawny and short yellow boy who had been caught stealing from the local marketplace at the time he was taken by the garrison Red Guard cadre. Once full of life, he now gave a thousand-yard stare, scarred by years of brutal treatment.

Their political commissar, who stood in front of all of them as if preparing to make a great speech, was a war veteran, but not one from the Communist side of the war. It was an open secret at that time that he was a pro-Japanese collaborationist, pardoned (subsequently recruited) by the incumbent Soviet government in 1991 for his invaluable set of skills—the kind of skills that can turn pieces of coal into polished diamonds, the kind you need for fighting a People's Protracted War... the kind of skills that were simply too good to be put to waste. Warrant Officer First-Class Tsuzuki Bunrakuken, a moderately-built commando who had waged a guerilla war in the Cordillera Mountains of the Philippines all throughout a majority of the conflict, even long after the Japanese had surrendered in the region, was given the task of putting together a special Task Force of cutthroats and rouges, a caste of Spartans with skills even more specialized than the actual special forces of the Pan-Asiatic States trained for an extremely specific and experimental objective.

"Let me be clear about one thing, and one thing alone.

All of you are dead. All of you have always been dead. You were all dead before you were even born. You have all lived in the shadow of your heroes and Supreme Leaders, and will never amount to anything more than them. Your families have been informed of your deaths. As of this moment, all of you have ceased to exist. Your names and faces have been erased from history, and in their place shall be numbers and results.

But mark my words, men. Your nonexistence is your place in history. You will stand as the barrier between the People, and the enemies of the people. You will all suffer so that others may enjoy the freedoms of the People's Federation.

You will all melt your youth into the waters of the Fatherland. As I have. As your forefathers did."

Los Angeles, United States of America
July 4th, 2002

067, a 21-year-old scrawny, yellow Manchurian adult wore his bluish repairman jumpsuit as he made his way into a major metrpolitan mall. The atrium of the building was huge, commercial American shops lines its walls. 067 rendezvoused with a few more Asian-Americans who had arrived for "tourism" weeks prior to his arrival, the same guise he himself used to gain entry into the country. Other agents who had aided them in this operation, who needed to stay for longer amounts of time to organize crucial aspects required to fulfill the directives of what was now referred to as the Ministry of State and Public Security but formerly, more simply, referred to then as the Ministry of State Security's Foreign Intelligence Division, applied as migrants from the Pan-Asiatic States through third-party countries.

The team of now, all-in-all, six agents, dressed-up in a mix of American retail clothing and posing as mall personnel, blended in with their surroundings, although their facial similarities appeared eerie to some. They dropped-off a gym bag at the corner of a service elevator, into which crowds were pouring in of. They inconspicuously stepped-out of the lift and vacated the building.

Just as the elevator began to open at the mall's 32nd floor to begin releasing its first passengers, explosions followed by blood-curdling screams erupted and the mall was ablaze. Dozens of Americans were dead. The six agents felt no sympathy, in fact, they felt a rather sadistic pleasure in the harm they had caused. They escaped via by posing as one of the first-responding ambulances.

The night approached, and in the distant black nighttime sky erupted also the fireworks of freedom so often enjoyed in the American tradition of the 4th of July.

by **Pan-Asiatic States** » Mon Aug 26, 2019 7:05 pm

August 27th, 2019

In the eyes of the Pan-Asiatic government, South Reinkalistan had always been a tough nut to crack. Undersupplied, undermanned, and with better nations of interest than to interfere with, the collapse of the Communist ideology in this seemingly obscure area of the world, the Pan-Asiatic States simply did not have the ethos to perpetuate the dying ancien régime of Comrade Kaspar Turaniski.

But as the economic development and mass industrialization of the Tosdodan Kingdom began to interfere with the interests of the popular masses, and with the Pan-Asiatic States holding hostage to some of the crown's most valuable economic sponsors, the embers of discontent with the monarchy slowly fanned into a wildfire. The people fought the law, yes, but still the law was winning. Dissenters were arrested en masse. Vocal critics of the dictatorship were being silenced. The Pan-Asiatic States began to take notice.

Weeks earlier, the Executive Council of the Pan-Asiatic States, the nine head-honchos of each Socialist Republic that composed the People's Federation, deliberated the South Reinkalistanian matter in a closed-doors conference. The collective consensus among the State-Presidents was that they could, probably, get away with whatever subversion they could propagate in the Kingdom. If the World Assembly asked questions, the administration could simply hide the issue under the guise of a Human Rights crisis as they had done in the now-dismantled State of Israel; and obviously, they had already known the Pan-Asiatic States' allies in the International Socialist Congress (ISC) would look the other way. The only real threat which posed itself against the Pan-Asiatic States' unchallenged rising hegemony over the world's markets was the new CAPINTERN bloc being set-up by the Free Kingdom of Allanea, and officials doubted whether they were willing to cooperate with the savage and brutish reactionary dictatorship of South Reinkalistan. But there was nothing to fear about the squabbles of the small, was there?

Pan-Asiatic States wrote:
"Let me be clear about one thing, and one thing alone.

All of you are dead.

...

You will stand as the barrier between the People, and the enemies of the people.

...

You will all melt your youth into the waters of the Fatherland."

South Reinkalistan

067 snapped out of his lucid flashback. He found himself awakened by the ominous squawking of South Reinkalistan's indigenous birds. It would not be long now, the ship would soon near the coast of one of the nations' port cities.

Agents of the Ministry of State and Public Security had hidden themselves among the influx of Asian tourists pouring into South Reinkalistan to experience the wintertime. The nation's tourism department had probably expected high numbers based on the trends in previous years, but the sheer unusual and abnormal circumstances surmounting the number of ethnic Asians seeking a break in the nation was nonetheless unprecedented, and would likely raise some security concerns.

Thus the MSPS hurriedly deployed its agents, scattering them throughout the country, before the gates to South Reinkalistan inevitably closed down.

by **United Avon** » Tue Aug 27, 2019 12:47 pm

Allanea wrote:For this purpose, we propose the following courses of actions:

1. The creation of a belt of fortified villages, protected by village militias (trained with our aid), in those areas where insurgents are most likely to strike. Moreover, we are willing to secure some funding, from the CAPINTERN alliance and from private charities, in agricultural grants and infrastructure grants in those areas.

2. The organization – with Allanean aid – of regular raids into insurgent-held territory, to erode their offensive ability and their morale. This is in fact the most straight-forward action and can be done soonest.

3. The collection (by Allanean forces) of intelligence on Red Band operations.

4. The interdiction – by your Navy – of supplies to the rebels.

5. Joint PSYOPS/explanation operations to target the Red Band's legitimacy and the confidence of its members.

For these purposes, we wish to send a small group of professionals to Insulindia. As of this moment we plan on a team of approximately 110 professionals (10 Operatives, who will engage in training those individuals you select to be the core of the village militias, 90 Long-Range Reconnaissance specialists who will aid in the training and engage in kinetic actions, and 10 intelligence/cultural analysis professionals). These individuals will have light military equipment (motorcycles, reconnaissance vehicles, etc. in this vein) as you may permit.

However, to further refine this proposal, it would be superior if you supplied us with more information about the Red Band and its tactics. What is known, at this stage, about this group? Are there any estimates of its size, its weapons, its sources of funding, and most importantly, the tactics it has selected?

If you feel that the aid we have proposed is excessive (or, contrarily, insufficient) please feel free to add any comments you feel are appropriate regarding my message.

Sincerely yours,
Peter Nizhinsky

Galion

Governor-General Darby, remarkably, looked annoyed to be here. The man responsible for maintaining law and order on Insulindia, a task which was being monumentally botched, somehow managed to exude a sort of regal disdain that suggested that somehow it was Prime Minister Richard Pitt who should be making apologies. Part of it, Pitt suspected, was his own lack of any sort of noble title. Pitt was hardly a commoner himself but neither he nor his family had not purchased its way into the ranks of the nobility. The other part of it was the sudden interest of the royal government in the affairs of Insulindia. The island had been left to run itself for many years; Avon had been more concerned about Kambezi and Panab, both of which faced more constant trouble from unstable neighbors. The sudden attention of everyone from the Daily Express to the King had disrupted what Pitt suspected had been not only a pleasantly peaceful tenure for the Governor-General, but also a profitable one. A small team in the Audit Branch of the Ministry of Realm Security was beginning work on an investigation into whether Lord Banten or any of his appointees had used their position to skim off the top. That investigation, of course, was not yet known to William Darby.

“Perhaps if the recommendations from the Eastern Department had been followed more promptly, we would not be in this situation,” Darby said icily.

“Perhaps if the problem had been more fully understood, this situation would have developed more favorably.” Pitt shot back. “The forces under your command underestimated the enemy, even while Amberly was spewing out his laundry list of straws to clutch at. Now, more troops are on the way. As is a contingent from Allanea, to advise and assist in this matter.”

“Allanea!” The Governor-General sputtered. “I hardly think this is a matter that requires bowing to foreign ‘advice,’ Prime Minister.”

“His Majesty has approved the request for Allanean assistance,” Pitt explained in a hard voice. “He has done this because it is clear that your island currently lacks sufficient expertise and experience. You will, of course, extend them your fully hospitality and render all necessary aid.” Pitt waited for a response, but the Governor-General merely rose from his chair. Pitt also rose, giving the man a quick emotionless handshake and walking him to the door of the office.

OFFICIAL DIPLOMATIC CORRESPONDENCE
FROM THE FOREIGN MINISTRY OF THE UNITED KINGDOM OF AVON
TO GRAND AMBASSADOR PETER NIZHINSKY, FREE KINGDOM OF ALLANEA

Grand Ambassador,

On behalf of His Majesty William the Third, King of Lorain and Elyria in Union, and the Government of the United Kingdom, and the People of Avon,

I wish to thank you for your willingness to assist Avon in combating the terrorist threat in Insulindia. I have submitted your proposals to the Prime Minister and he in turn has consulted with His Majesty the King. Both of them have agreed that your proposed courses of action, and the group which you wish to send, are not only acceptable to the United Kingdom but would greatly aid our forces in countering the Red Band.

I have dispatched an official assessment of the Red Band to your office. This document has been compiled by a cooperative effort among several government agencies and should provide useful information.

I have also included the relevant codes and protocols that your professionals will need for entry and identity confirmation when arriving at Insulindia, if they are arriving via official military or some other form of governmental transport. They should report to Major General Ambrose Hugh, commander of His Majesty’s troops on Insulindia, who has been told to expect their arrival.

I hope that this marks the beginning of a long and fruitful relationship of mutual benefit between our two kingdoms.

Yours,
William Chester, Lord Amberly, His Majesty’s Minister of State for the Western Department

by **Allanea** » Tue Aug 27, 2019 5:20 pm

Liberty-City, Free Kingdom Ministry of War, offices of the Organization for Armed Shenanigans, General Alexei Kalugin's office

"There are things in this report that do not match," – said Alexei Kalugin, as he raised the cup of hot tea to his lips. Across the desk from him, his friend – almost his colleague, although both of them would have rejected this description – was seated. Peter Nizhinsky would have said I am a diplomat, not a spy. Kalugin would have answered I am a soldier, not a diplomat. But it would not be the first, nor would it be the last time, that the two had lunch together in this office, or perhaps in Nizhinsky's office, discussing the state of affairs in some foreign country.

"Please, do go on." – Nizhinsky said. "Does it have to do with the fact that the Avonians have fucked up several times?"

"In the broadest terms, yes. Consider: this group, the Red Band – I'm still not certain about the etymology, do they mean band as in a band of brothers, or a band, as in a red sash – at any rate, this Red Band, it was prohibited several decades ago, and it went underground. And it turns up now, and it can pull off those vast actions. A terrorist attack with seventy fighters, Peter, do you understand what that means?"

"That sounds like a lot for a terrorist attack in a country that's not in the midst of a civil war – which I suppose Avon now is. They've just not fully caught on to it, have they?"

"That's exactly the thing. If you have a gang of seventy trained insurgents with mortars and heavy weapons turning up, there have to be literally thousands of them under arms. Not "mobilization potential", but likely under arms even now."

"This doesn't seem likely." – Nizhinsky said.

"Why isn't this likely?"

"Where would they train? Where would they shoot off all those rifles and machineguns and mortars? If you have a small group of people they can I suppose go abroad and have a foreign country train them or something. But you can't ship an insurgent movement across the sea, train it, and ship it back, and not have anyone notice."

"You can't. Or rather, it would be even more difficult than training them in some… deep jungle camp or something."

"Where nobody would hear you firing off the mortars and RPGs?"

"That's very much it. Well not literally. There might be someone hearing you, but not a cop. Or not the sort of cop that is not already on your payroll, or comrade, or maybe the cop is afraid of you because you know where their children go to school or some shit." – said Kalugin – "In other words the poor areas of Insulindia are a dark, humid, overheated, festering fifth-world shithole where the light of law and order does not shine. And like in any dark, humid, and hot place left unattended, it has begun to rot."

"Urgh." – Nizhinsky said, "that is quite the visual there."

"If anything it's a compliment to the Red Band. They are worse than most of the creatures you'll see if you roll a rock in the jungle."

"Fair."

"The substantial problem, Peter, is that we must know more. I've already ordered a satellite reconnaissance mission to take as many photos as possible of the suspect areas, both regular visual and infra-red. Obviously the weather is not always going to be good for us but we try our best. I've also asked the Naval Reconnaissance Office to lend us a surveillance ship but that might take time before it's approved. We must show that the situation is difficult enough to require more resources before we get more resources."

"Annoying. Do you need my help with that?"

"Not at the present. I hope my men will be able to gather some information on the spot."

"Alright then. Regardless I'll see what my research guys can bring up."

"That'd be a big help if they can, thank you."

*

General Ambrose Hugh's Office, Insulindia

"Greetings, General." – the man at the entrance was doubtless an Allanean, wearing a mossy-green field uniform. Those familiar with Allanean ranks would have identified him as a Major.

"Greetings." – the man repeated saluting the General. "I am Major Dinesh Agrawal. I'm in command of the Allanean assistance mission. I hope the broad details of our assistance plan have been relayed to you? I would like to have my Operatives to travel to whichever villages you wish us to fortify first, as soon as possible. And of course I would like to start the rest of the operations as soon as possible, as well."

by **United Avon** » Wed Aug 28, 2019 8:42 am

Insulindia

The top echelon of the Red Band leadership met rarely. It was dangerous to gather the full Supreme Collective together for a prolonged period of time: while the imperialists and their running dog lackeys were totally ignorant of the true strength of their enemy, all that was necessary for the reactionaries to strike a mortal blow against the revolution and decapitate the Red Band Movement and Army was a bit of luck. So the Collective’s members usually stayed separate and distant, communicating infrequently using coded messages mentioned in passing by sympathetic announcers on radio stations or a chain of trusted messengers. But sometimes decisions needed to be made by the full body, and urgently. This was one such time.

Three people sat at the center of attention, even if physically they were part of eight people seated in a circle. The other five in the room, theoretically equal, deferred to the leadership of the three. Lu Zhuang and Darma Sudirman Lesmana, the son of Chinese immigrants and the son of a native Insulindian family who traced their lineage all the way back to one of the ancient dynasties overthrown by the Avon Royal Trading Company. Between them sat Jewel Sinabariba, the woman who had brought them together and helped forge their intellectual and ideological partnership into the foundation of a movement that now seemed poised to topple the hated colonial order. When they spoke, the orders from the Supreme Collective usually echoed their words.

“The battle was a great victory,” Lu Zhuang pronounced. “The Avons thought that they could dispatch their thugs and swat us away like flies. We showed them we are wasps, with a powerful sting!”

There were murmurs of assent among the others. The short skirmish against the Paras had been a success beyond imagining. The ambush had intended to merely slow the enemy’s advance while the camp had been evacuated, but instead it had pinned Avon’s vaunted elite like animals to a dissection table. The camp had been fully evacuated and then re-occupied once the enemy withdrew, scurrying back to the city. Now next steps needed to be considered. The campaign of assassination and attack on the running dogs, the despicable Constabulary and other collections of class and race traitors, would continue and accelerate where possible.

“I suggest that we reach out to the Pan-Asiatic States,” Jewel Sinabariba proposed. “Avon will react to their losses like a drunken husband reacts to a wife shunning his touch. They will send more soldiers, and lay a heavier hand upon the people.”

Darma Sudirman Lesmana, often called simply by his middle name, visibly furrowed his brow. Sudirman was the least pleased with the propaganda and rhetoric coming out of the Pan-Asiatic States. He worried, Jewel knew, about the implications of that rhetoric for the native population. He still harbored doubts about Asian immigrants, a product of his upbringing in privilege and something he had worked to overcome and combat since his enlightenment as a disciple of the revolution. But he raised his doubts nonetheless.

“I worry that this will turn our cause from liberty for ourselves, and towards the larger geopolitical conflict between the Pan-Asiatic States and Avon,” he said. “I do not wish to become merely some appendage of the foreign policy of Neo-Manila.”

“We need the resources they can provide,” Jewel insisted. “They are not the Astorians, who manipulate movements of national liberation to suit their needs and then dispose of them. They are true agents of liberation.”

The debate went on, with some of the lesser members of the Collective chiming in occasionally. But this was obviously a contest between Jewel and Sudirman, and everyone knew the outcome. The Collective decided to send a two-man delegation to travel from Insulindia to a state neighboring the PAS, and from there into the States themselves. Charles Abi, an Insulindian, and Feng Xue, a Chinese immigrant, where chosen as the pair to make the case for Asiatic aid to the Red Band.

Allanea wrote:General Ambrose Hugh's Office, Insulindia

"Greetings, General." – the man at the entrance was doubtless an Allanean, wearing a mossy-green field uniform. Those familiar with Allanean ranks would have identified him as a Major.

"Greetings." – the man repeated saluting the General. "I am Major Dinesh Agrawal. I'm in command of the Allanean assistance mission. I hope the broad details of our assistance plan have been relayed to you? I would like to have my Operatives to travel to whichever villages you wish us to fortify first, as soon as possible. And of course I would like to start the rest of the operations as soon as possible, as well."

Queenstown

Major General Ambrose Hugh was, to put it nicely, in over his head.

He had seen combat, and held combat commands. He had participated in the last multinational intervention in Aldastan, commanding part of the scratch force of Paras, Royal Marines, and Panabi sepoys the United Kingdom had scraped together and added to the expedition. The intervention had been one-sided and, though not admitted by most of its participants, largely pointless. The regime had been toppled, militias disarmed, and then international patience for extended occupation had ended and so did the mission. Most of his combat experience was in Kambezi, fighting raiders crossing the border from neighboring failed states. In short, he had little experience with an organized enemy who not only stood and fought against Avonian troops, but did so in a competent and well-armed manner. He’d been given command of the Insulindian garrison as both a reward for his service and a political favor to his patron in the House of Lords.

So while the details of the Allanean assistance plan had indeed been relayed to him, and he had looked them over, he was not really in a state to think about them with much close consideration. Ever since the failed raid on 19 August, he’d been more concerned with fending off the numerous inquiries – from the press, from the Ministry of War, from Parliament – about what exactly had happened and how he had allowed it to happen. As if he could have predicted the damn coolies would have heavy machine guns and mortars laying around!

So the man in charge of all Avonian military forces on the island seemed somewhat distant as he greeted the Allanean commander.

“Yes, I’ve seen the plan,” Hugh affirmed as he returned the salute. “I understand you’re going to try and train the locals to fight. I just hope you’re not handing more guns over to the reds. Anyway, the Ministry is sending over additional royal troops, so hopefully we’ll not be needing any sort of militia.”

There was a knock on the door and the Major General barked a short order to enter. Another officer, this man in the uniform of a Colonel, was shown in by a secretary who closed the door behind him.

“This is Colonel Richard Bradstreet, my second in command,” Hugh said. “I’ve asked him to read you into things. Good day, gentlemen.”

Once they had made their exit, Colonel Bradstreet waited until the door had firmly shut behind them and they were out in the hallway connecting Hugh’s office to the rest of the military command post before scowling.

“The Major General is most concerned, in my opinion, with covering his arse from the press. I’ve read your assistance plan, and I think it’s the sort of thing we should have started doing weeks ago.” Bradstreet gestured in a sort of what-can-you-do fashion. “We’ve got transport ready to take your men to the villages – the lads in Intelligence have marked a few between Queenstown and Wemberly as the best places to start. As for the other operations, I’ll introduce your own intel people to ours, and get you and your staff read in on the current planning for the next operation.”

by **TURTLESHROOM II** » Wed Aug 28, 2019 9:53 am

The weaponry promised to the Sum Ting Wong Tong was delivered without incident and by rail. The Pan-Asian States correctly guessed that the Realm Border Patrol of TurtleShroom would open the crates, see the Kalishnikov-style rifles, and fail to differentiate them before TurtleShroom's AK-74 arms. Kalishnikov guns in TurtleShroom came in versions for both civilians and professional soldiers; this meant that a shipment of such fine automatic and semi-automatic machines, as well as the unusual importation of manual guns, did not raise alarm.

The Border Patrolmen at the railyard's customs wrote thus:

Code: Select all: [DATE SHORTHAND] THE ROYAL BORDER PATROL OF THE GREAT BOUNTIFUL EMPIRE OF THE UNITED TURTLES, MUSHROOMS, AND MEN OF TURTLESHROOM MANIFEST OF ARMS TAKEN ON BOARD THE [TRAIN CAR NUMBER] ON THE [TRAIN ID/DESIGNATION AND NAME] TRAIN OF [OWNING COMPANY OF TRAIN], WHEREOF [NAME OF ENGINEER] IS MASTER, BURTHEN [WEIGHT] TO BE TRANSPORTED TO THE RAIL PORT OF JONESBORO FOR THE PURPOSE OF BEING SOLD OR DISPOSED OF AS ARMS, OR TO BE HELD TO CIVILIANS FOR PERSONAL USE FOREIGN TRANSFER MANIFEST OF BAGGAGE DECLARATION: INTENT TO IMPORT GRANTED TYPE: ARMS PORT OF ORIGIN: ANONYMOUS INTERNATIONAL SHIPMENT DESTINATION: POINT AUTOMATIC SYSTEMS, INCORPORATED DESTINATION CLASS: FOREIGN ARMORY BASED IN TURTLESHROOM* OBSERVATION: ONE THOUSAND AK-74M** ARMS, VARIES BETWEEN AUTOMATIC AND SEMI-AUTOMATIC OBSERVATION: FIVE HUNDRED MODEL FIVE*** HEAVY REVOLVERS, MANUAL NOTICE: AMMUNITION FOR THE LATTERMOST INCLUDED AMMUNITION TOTAL: FIVE THOUSAND AK-74M MAGAZINES' WORTH, OR EXACTLY [NUMBER] BULLETS EXAMINED AND FOUND CORRECT, [PRIMARY BORDER PATROLMAN SIGNATURE], [CUSTOMS WITNESS SIGNATURE] I, [BORDER PATROLMAN NAME] DO SOLEMNLY, SINCERELY, AND TRULY SWEAR, TO THE BEST OF MY KNOWLEDGE AND BELIEF, THAT THE ARMS ABOVE WERE NOT IMPORTED OR BROUGHT INTO THE EMPIRE FROM ANY NATION UNDER EMBARGO, SANCTION, OR PROHIBITION IN TURTLESHROOMIAN LAW WITNESSETH: I, [CUSTOMS WITNESS NAME] DO SOLEMNLY, SINCERELY, AND TRULY SWEAR, TO THE BEST OF MY KNOWLEDGE AND BELIEF, THAT THE ABOVE DECLARATION AND INVENTORY IS CORRECT SWORN TO [WITNESS], THIS BORDER PATROLMAN BEFORE COLLECTOR [FIRST BORDER PATROLMAN] BEHOLD: THE IMPORTATION REQUEST IN RBP DISTRICT [NUMBER] ON RAIL [NAME AND NUMBER], AFFIRMED BY [ENGINEER NAME], MASTER OF THE [TRAIN ID/DESIGNATION] TRAIN, HAVING SWORN AS THE LAW DIRECTS, TO THE ABOVE MANIFEST, CONSISTING OF THE CARGO AS ABOVE NAMED, AND SUBSCRIBED, AND DELIVERED DUPLICATES THEREOF, PERMISSION IS HEREBY GRANTED TO THE SAID TO PROCEED TO THE RAIL PORT OF JONESBORO. GIVEN UNDER OUR HANDS, CLAWS, OR TELEKINESIS AT RBP DISTRICT [NUMBER] ON RAIL [NAME AND NUMBER], ON THIS TWENTY-SECOND THURSDAY OF AUGUST, IN THE YEAR OF OUR LORD TWO THOUSAND NINETEEN, AT [HOUR:MINUTE] PM. -[FIRST BATROLMAN SIGNATURE], COLLECTOR -[WITNESS SIGNATURE], WITNESS FINAL IMPORTATION REQUEST: GRANTED!

GREAT BOUNTIFUL EMPIRE OF THE UNITED TURTLES, MUSHROOMS, AND MEN OF TURTLESHROOM
PRIVATE SECTOR
SUM TING TONG HALL
[ADDRESS]

{ OOC: Everything that follows is in Japanese. }

RUSH TO SENDER; PRIVATE; ONLY INTENDED FOR RECIPIENT

TO THE PEOPLE OF THE PAN-ASIAN STATES AND THE ORIENTALIST MOVEMENT
TO THE SECRETARY-GENERAL OF THE PAN-ASIAN STATES
TO THE RELEVANT FOREIGN AFFAIRS AND ESPIONAGE BODIES OF THE PAN-ASIAN STATE

HONORABLE CHAIRMAN:

Your response to our declaration and the shipment of aid in reply has humbled us, and we are truly thankful for your response and donations to our noble cause.

We are pleased to announce that your shipment was cleared for importation into this country. The shell company we created to "buy" the arms worked without issue, and we are currently stockpiling and studying the weaponry provided to us that we may enter into a class struggle against the reactionaries and robber barons of our homeland.

We will keep and touch, providing notice and word to you on the successes and failures of our struggles.

SERVE THE PEOPLE!

Thank you so much.

Peace and honor to your enlightened nation.
-THE HONORABLE BROTHERHOOD OF THE MEN OF THE SUM TING WONG TONG

P.S.: You will find a copy of the importation manifest included with this communique, showing successful delivery.

by **Allanea** » Wed Aug 28, 2019 10:14 pm

Official Message from the Greater Prussian Empire and the Capitalist International

By the Grace of the Gods and the Will of the People, We, Cassiopeia Blaken-Kazansky, Empress of Greater Prussia and the Thousand States, Queen of Allanea, Reichskamphen, Leipzig-Island, Tsarina of All Russia, Moscow, Vladimir, Novgorod; Kazan, Astrakhan, , Siberia, Chersonese Taurianl Lord of Pskov and Grand Princess of Smolensk,; Prince, Karelia, Tver, Yugorsky land, Perm, Vyatka, and others; Lord and Grand Prince of Nizhny Nogorod, Ryazan, Polotsk, Rostov, Yaroslavl, Belozersk, Udorsky land, Obdorsk, Kondia, , and all of the northern countries Lady; hereditary Sovereign and ruler of the Circassian and Mountainous Princes and of others; Lord of Turkestan; Archduchess of Free Dragkon, Duchess of Leyfield, Blaken-Island, Schleswig-Holstein, Stormarn, Dithmarschen, and Oldenburg, Countess of Centreville, Protector of Snoghosia, having consulted the appropriate CAPINTERN and Greater Prussian officials, hereby approve the use of the purse of the Greater Prussian Empire and the Capitalist Internationale to hereby support the creation of community development grants in those countries that are most affected by the threat of Maoist and Pan-Asianist terrorism, and as an initial sum We hereby authorize a sum of 100 million New Dornalian dollars.

Furthermore, We hereby issue, from Our personal Royal purse, which has of recent months been made quite plump by the sale of various weaponry from Kazansky Heavy Industries, a sum of equal value, lest it be said the Blaken-Kazansky family does not put up its own money to defend the civilized world against the onslaught of World Communism.

Furthermore, and separately from this fund, We issue an additional grant, to the sum of 25 million New Dornalian Dollars, from our own Royal pocket, to the benefit of the Asian immigrant community in Insulindia, in the form of education grants for persons from that community who would be willing and qualified to enroll in engineering, management, and other college courses, in the Free Kingdom of Allanea. I hereby call to those individuals in Allanea and elsewhere who have been blessed by the Horn of Plenty and the generosity of the Gods, to enlist their resources in assisting law enforcement and the armed forces in combating the Red Band.

I believe that strengthening the civilian infrastructure of those parts of the world most affected by terrorism plays a key role in defeating it as a threat. The voluntary cooperation of civilians from all walks of society – rich and poor, the well-educated and the illiterate – is the key to the enemy's defeat.

And since we refuse to die, since we refuse to be defeated, since we refuse to go gentle into the good night, therefore we shall establish us just such a cooperation.

In those places in the world where the Maoists might attack, let each man reach out to the other. Let us aid those who need and deserve our aid.

The Marxist imagines that the world is a zone of inherent, inevitable conflict of rich and poor.

The Pan-Asianist believes in a global conflict based on the color of people's skin.

We imagine that it is only through cooperation that we stand strong, a cooperation which in peacetime is implicit – but in wartime it must become explicit.

Let each wealthy man's estate be a fortress. Let every poor man's hut be his castle. Let every farm be an outpost.

The enemy menaces us with the twin blades of class war and race war.

They wish for us to be afraid of their bombs and assassins.

They wish for us to be restrained in our action.

They wish for us to be ashamed of our wealth and success.

Against these, let our brotherhood be both shield and sword, with which we shall both repel their attacks and strike back – fearlessly, ruthlessly, and shamelessly.

That is all.

May the Gods bless all free people.

May they forever continue to bless Allanea.

by **Allanea** » Wed Aug 28, 2019 11:48 pm

“The Major General is most concerned, in my opinion, with covering his arse from the press. I’ve read your assistance plan, and I think it’s the sort of thing we should have started doing weeks ago.” Bradstreet gestured in a sort of what-can-you-do fashion. “We’ve got transport ready to take your men to the villages – the lads in Intelligence have marked a few between Queenstown and Wemberly as the best places to start. As for the other operations, I’ll introduce your own intel people to ours, and get you and your staff read in on the current planning for the next operation..

"Consider the situation," – said the Allanean to his counterpart, "from a point of view of both tactics and strategy. On the tactical level the issue is simple. It is far easier to murder a man than it is to kill him in a fight, even in a lopsided fight. If you attack a thousand men and they cannot fight back, this is called a massacre. I would prefer to have battles and not massacres. Now," – he continued as the two men walked towards their vehicle. "On the strategic level."

"In the Maoist guerilla warfare doctrine, the revolutionary is a fish, and the people are water. Now, those Red Band fellows look like they are a very serious fish, a barracuda, perhaps, or a bass. Put your hand in a bass hole, and you might lose a finger or two. Drain the lake, and the fish die."

"Our proposal is not going to be as simple as "hand out a few hundred rifles from the back of a truck, let the people defend themselves", although obviously that's a good start. What I propose is two layers of defense."

The Allanean raised his hand and waved it in the air, as if to make a small circle. "First there is an inner circle. These are people who have some knowledge of the local area, and who are trusted by the local authorities – community leaders, hunters, loggers – tough sons of bitches to start with. We are going to pay them a small wage, and they're going to take turn guarding the village, or patrolling around it in the woods. These are guys we're going to train of course, but they're not going to have as much training as a soldier, nor will they have the kit soldiers had – perhaps a helmet and a ballistic jacket and a good sturdy rifle."

With his hand, he drew a larger circle.

"Then there'll be what they call the unorganized militia – young men and women whom we'll give a rifle or a shotgun and a loadbearing vest, and maybe they'll use that to hunt rabbits, and if some shit-eating commie bastards actually raid the village, they are going to help the first guys fight. And naturally we work with the village elder to help them build fences or fighting positions or whatever. That's going to definitely be a thing."

He paused. "Moreover we need to work with the wealthier sorts, with the guys who own the factories and logging businesses and lumber mills. We should encourage, or even require, that every one of them has a record of the factory, and its layout, and blueprints and photographs of the place, available on site. And at a minimum, we shall give the factory a locker full of rifles. Let whoever is in charge of the security be in charge of that – if the Red Band comes, these guys will be the first to fight. They don't need to be super-good at it- just make sure it's not a fight and not a massacre. And when the real soldiers, or cops, or whoever, come, they can give them the blueprints and maps and tell them how to find their way around the place."

"Same shit for schools and hospitals. A guard with a rifle or a pistol at every school, and if we can arm the teachers, so much the better. " – the Allanean paused. – "This all does three things."

"On count one, as I said, it obviously helps people shoot the terrorists."

"Count two, it shows the people we trust them. There's no gesture more powerful in these terms than putting a gun in a man's hands. I am giving you the means to kill me and would I do that if I did not trust you? Now, some people are going to betray our trust. Most won't, though. Which brings us to three."

"Count three is this – now, obviously, some of those people will be traitors. But by and large, the Communists will look at this and they'll think, here's a man who betrayed our glorious Asian movement, he's drawing wages from the imperialist. Look at me. To the Pan-Asianist's mind, someone like me is a worse man than any European Colonizer, because my name is Dinesh and not John, because in his mind, he already owns my loyalty. If a terrorist were here now, he would shoot me first and you second." - Major Agrawal spoke with increasing agitation. "So by arming and preparing the people whom the Red Band thinks they already own, we are driving a wedge between them and the farmers and the loggers, a wedge that will only grow with every man killed on either side."

"So to do all this we should have a meeting with the factory owners and large landholders about better security at their facilities, and a series of meetings with the farmers and loggers about fighting the Communist. Moreover as you said we need to talk to the intelligence people. Most importantly we must know how to gather the information. Ideally if you could introduce me to your SIGINT guys and maybe they can tell me what gear they have, that would be the best start."

by **Routcher** » Thu Aug 29, 2019 11:33 am

Zhu Kong, Imperial Colony

For centuries the Island City of Zhu Kong has been a colony of the Routcherian Empire, after being won from the Chinese in a war in the early-1800s. Today, it is known as the "Imperial Star of the Orient", "The Venice of the East", and "Las Vegas on Water". A city of rampant capitalism controlled by an elite class of foreigners and an organized crime syndicate, "The Jade Conglomerate". For the average Zhu Konger, your options for making a living involved serving one of these two masters. Entrepreneurs often didn't make it, being shaken down by the illegal organizations or bought out by the super corporations. Many have begun to feel as if they have lost their identity.

In the strip, bright, flashy signs and rich, stunning resort casinos dominate the night (making it hard to sleep without black out curtains), offering pleasure to traveling foreigners that can afford it. None of the money goes to the lower class, the struggling natives. In downtown, tall, domineering skyscrapers conquer the skyline, showing the supremacy of the bankers, the brokers, the CEOs, and the real estate titans. While many people are able to find jobs and make a comfortable living here, it is near impossible to become anything more than average here. It is impossible to not feel like their culture is being erased by global capitalism. For those who are not well off, they cannot even find jobs here. They have nothing, in a city full of riches. In the canals, roads are replaced by waterways, an ancient Chinese equivalent to the city of Venice. Although long part of the identity of Zhu Kong, the natives haven't been able to afford living there in decades.

The Empire had no official statement to make in the wake of the Secretary-General's State of the Nation Address. Were they afraid to provoke trouble? Are they plotting in secret? Could they just not be bothered to address a situation with major implications for Zhu Kong, one of their colonies? It didn't matter, because at the Imperial Academy of Zhu Kong, and the College of Zhu Kong, many professors and student leaders had long been influenced by Orientalism, and their time was coming. Massive student demonstrations began on campus, and soon after poured unto the streets. Any police response made the protesters more popular. It wasn't long before there was a real crisis in Zhu Kong, one that the Empire responded to with military action.

At first, it was somewhat peaceful. The military would try to break up protests, and the protesters would start up somewhere else. But then, 10 hours ago, a soldier, acting on orders or not, fired into a crowd, killing three and injuring 10 protesters. things were spiraling out of control, and fast.

The Strip
Bryon Hunter, a man from mainland Routcher and a gambling addict, walked into the Jade Star Casino and Resort, owned by the Jade Conglomerate. He headed to the main elevator and went to his usual room on the 10th floor, carrying two bags with him. After some time unpacking, Mr. Hunter poured himself a glass of wine and started playing himself some soothing music. He took a steaming hot shower and when done with that he got dressed into some comfortable clothes and sat down to watch television, a feeling of anxiety washing over him and almost making him sick. His phone vibrated soon after. A text from an unknown number, saying simply, "it's time".
He closed the text and went to the gallery of his phone. A picture of his daughter sitting on his shoulders, both smiling and enjoying a great day together. Tear gushed down his face as he closed the phone and threw it away.
"I'm sorry."
He opened the sliding door to the balcony outside his room, and looked at the bright lights put off by the Casino. He took it all in one last time, his tears drying slowly, before turning back into the room to grab an AK-47 from his bag, assembling it, and loading it. He walked back to the balcony, and began firing into the other hotel buildings, into the casinos, and into the bury streets below. He had enough ammo to do this for 20 minutes, and by the time police were able to get to his room, he had fired all that he could. He went back into the room, sat on the bed, and closed his eyes.

He could hear them coming, and he tried to remain calm. It would all be over soon. The police burst open the door, triggering a bomb he had set up, and blew up the room, the surrounding rooms, and caused severe damage to the hotel, making a collapse possible. The situation was beyond saving. Zhu Kong was starting to fall into civil war.

by **TURTLESHROOM II** » Mon Sep 02, 2019 10:48 am

"Ah'ight, if y'all got any requests, shout 'em out!"

Three TurtleShroomers sat at two instruments. The first and the one who spoke, a TS White human, turned on the bench to face away from the upright, saloon piano he was playing. The second was a tortoise, sitting on a stool behind a cheap end table, or some sort of television tray. A machine that looked like a boxy, old-fashioned, clock-radio combination with a giant antenna sat on the end table. It was a theremin. The third, also a human, had a simple triangle, hanging from a pole with a top that stretched outwards, like a real estate sign. Sitting in a worn, cheap armchair, a balalaika was in his lap, clearly held there by the guitar strap over his shoulder.

None of them allowed anyone in the audience to pitch a request, as the tortoise had already pulled her head into her shell and expertly thrown her voice.

"Play that same song!*"

"AH'IGHT! Same song, here we go!"

They resumed the song- again -as every TurtleShroomian speakeasy had for centuries, continuing the festive, warm atmosphere of the underground club.

Clearly the speakeasy of the lower classes of TurtleShroom, the sawdust on the floor in the bar area, the neon signs depicting moons, the CSA battle flags, Imperial Russian banners, and the occasional Japanese or Tsao decorations and statuettes scattered on shelves betrayed that no one of high status was going here to get illicit alcohol. In the "proper" seating area, old-style, dark-hewn wooden booths and wooden tables lined a barn-style hardwood floor and a wall with a wooden panelling dado. All of these were made in the rich tropical jungle wood that TurtleShroom was famous for. With sustainable logging being a domestic staple, the gorgeous, deep brown hardwoods that made up the floors, tables, panelling dado, and benches were considered mundane in TurtleShroom. Indeed, the ease of access and low price was betrayed by the peeling paint and lighter colored splotches indicating the wear and age of the furniture. It had likely been passed around between garage sales and flea markets for generations.

In the corner of the sitting area, portals to other rooms could be seen. An open archway was divided by drawn "old lady", Waverly style drapes. It was lit behind the openings the pooled drapes allowed with the soft, dim glow of both candlelight and dimmer switches. The distinctive low lighting of an illicit bar or a straight, quiet meeting spot provided warm mood lighting that gave off the "The Firm" style atmosphere endemic to most older type establishments without a reputation for glamor, modernity, or straight-laced compliance. This was the curtain behind which the pleasure of old-timey, smoked opium from converted tobacco pipes was partaken.

To its left were three pocket doors, made of that scratchy, thin, dirt cheap laquer wood that no one likes (and is possibly fake). A concave hole the size of a thumb allowed them to slide. One had two holes, the second being near the ground. These were for the three bathrooms: male human, female human, and unisex turtle, which had the custom fitted floor squat-toilets and sinks that turtles used.

To its right was the end of that wall at the corner, and then another hinged door with peeling paint on its face and threshold. Approaching the door, one could hear the muffled pounding of intense hard bass house music coming from somewhere behind.

The rough, wooden bar, akin to that of any poor man's dive bar, illicit or otherwise, hosted a smaller than normal mushroom. Although TurtleShroom's famous talking mushrooms normally resembled traditional mushrooms with defined fruiting bodies and curved, bulbous, round caps (like portobellos and death caps), this bartender had a flat red cap with small white spots covering it, almost completely resembling a flyseat mushroom. This unfortunate appearence is a rare occurence in TurtleShroom and is considered a sign of being a "bad seed", germinating from an unscrupulous mushroom of low character; it was the same ghetto pigeonholing that (accurately) gave snapping turtles the stereotype that they were (accurately) crooks and gangbangers.

The odd shape of the bartenders cap meant his eyes and mouth, normally formed on the cap's downward curve and faced forward on a sapient mushroom like an animal's face, were instead lined up with each other like a hammerhead shark. Needless to say, this crossed the Uncanny Valley for anyone not born in TurtleShroom, Asian immigrants included. No wonder he was working in a criminl establishment. This poor mushroom was telekinetically rubbing a glass that a customer had just finished drinking vodka from.

In walked multiple customers, mostly human and male. Some TS Whites, several Asians, and a turtle couple wandered in and split up, some heading to the bar, some heading to the hard bass or opium, and others heading elsewhere.

One man in the group stopped in the center and looked around. Another quietly surveyed the room and slipped into the opium den.

The first man was Asian a tall man whose greying haircut was befitting the trends without befitting his age. Ethnically, he was far more Japanese than most former GEIJD "mutt" subjects, and his pale skin and facial features pointed this out. While "scene hair" and long hair in those boy band and Bryan Leeper styles had been popular in TurtleShroom for around two hundred thirty-five years, long before they had either a name or culture to define it- for Jones Found himself had hair instantly recognizable on unpopular Brancaland nuisances, alongside his full Orthodox beard -it was definitely an attempt to look cooler than it was simply having a popular hairstyle. The gel and yellow, frosted tip bangs made sure of that.

No one should be wearing frosted tip bangs. Especially not at fifty-one.

He must have been a fan of one of the various "Oriental ~~Bangtan~~ Backstreet Boys" groups, as the old folks defined them, that had metaphorically invaded TurtleShroom hoping that their catchy, J-Pop music wouldn't be subject to totalitarian censors of a psychotic police state demanding the inclusion state propaganda and a laundry list of nonsensical requests. (They just got subjected to moral guardian censors that demaned no cursing or sex. It was a fair trade in exchange for a higher degree of political freedom and individual rights.)

Correction, his boy band affection was clear and present. The "Righteous Sons of the People's Republic of Korea's Delegation to the Greater People's Imperial Revolutionary Huangdiist Akatsuki-Kairoshuu Regime Politburo" (or RSKDP for short) T-shirt, the full title written out in Japanese and emblazoned with the four GEIJD-Koreans on the front (and the acronym on the back), was all that was needed to make such a full-throated declaration. Khaki "Dad shorts" held up by a brown belt and Western tube socks on his rail thin body completed the look. Like any good Asian (and even some younger TS Whites), he had taken off this shoes in the mudroom by the speakeasy's stairs and was walking around in sock feet.

He was on a mission, and this time, it wasn't hunting for boy band autographs or tossing beach balls in a concert.

Taheiji "Jiji" Inaba was once a rebel-rouser in his homeland, actively following the rumors of a corporatist, kleptocratic rebellion in the Indian and African holdings of the GEIJD**. He wasalways asking too many questions. As a kid, he was caned consistently in school for the same reason. His "uppity" behavior, as a TurtleShroomer would call it (although most TurtleShroomers would sympathize with him and not the GEIJD), cost him dearly. Indeed, the stainless steel, true pirate hook prosthetic ending his right arm was a testament to the brutality of his homeland's regime.

He was hunched over slightly, clutching his old-fashioned wooden cane, deftly hiding his limp in a stride of a man who was content with his life. The ornate cross necklace he wore on his neck was as sign that either the Protestants or the Taiping heretics got him. Based on the "What Would Jesus Do" bracelet on his good wrist, it was the latter.

Jiji took an empty booth off in the corner of the speakeasy's seating area, where the mood lighting provided both darkness and warmth befitting a speakeasy establishment. He ordered some White Lightning for the table and sake wine for himself. A

The merry piano and accompanying instruments, played at a volume that allowed for easy speaking, set the scene for his secret contact.

What a contact it was.

{ OOC: Allanea, this is where you would intorduce your character and analyze the scene. }

= That is, the Greater Evil Imperial Japanese Dystopia- TS was an ally who rescued its royal family and its entire court -which was ultimately conquered and overthrown in a colonial rebellion by the man best known as the "Coup Kid". As the newly proclaimed Shogun, he failed to administer the country, leading to an immediate collapse of the entire empire and a loss of all contact with Nationstates by the end of that year..

by **Allanea** » Mon Sep 02, 2019 11:37 am

The man had many names. Only one of them was his real name, given to him by his mother and father – and this was not the one he was known by here – which was, quite simply, Ivan Petrov, which was just about the same as having a paper that said your name was John Smith. Officially speaking, he was a businessman from the Free Kingdom – and, unlike many Allaneans, a practicing Christian, although an Orthodox Christian, not a protestant. His clothing was a humble type, unlike the colorful outfits often worn by his people, and he would not stand out much in this country, except for the fact that he was of much healthier build than most of the residents of Turtleshroom, partly due to the fact that he had enjoyed a much better diet as a young man. As he sat down with his contact, he ordered vodka in that way in which Allaneans do. "Please, a hundred grams of vodka."

Upon the arrival of the glass, the man downed it rapidly in a single movement, a Russian tradition that the Allaneans had inherited. "What swill do they serve here," – he said, "but I guess it can't be helped. In some ways a better place that I expected."

OOC: TS, I am assuming for the purposes of convenience that our characters have some secret handshake or something that lets them identify each other.

by **Delmonte** » Mon Sep 02, 2019 7:16 pm

Paigino Norde

Luca winked at his erstwhile colleague. "We're a pretty cosmopolitan bunch. We make our homes wherever the wind carries our seeds. This isn't the mildest climate we've settled, but it's not the harshest either. The winters on Isola Bonossa, I'm told, are incredibly fierce. And the people who inhabit the Batoryan Empire where it resides are fiercer still. Why, I've been told that when their warriors come of age, they... Well, nevermind. In all honesty..." Luca gestured around, "The warm climate will probably attract some Delmontese to retire here. Maybe not as much as the more tropical enclaves, but some will come here to be sure."

Luca's relief at Qiang's suggestion of heading indoors was palpable. A rain was bad enough, but this place's rain was a warmer rain that clung to you and he was eager to be out of it.

"Yes, we actually have a car that will take us where we need to go, if you'll follow me."

The pair made their entrance into the automobile and it began speeding off along the wet pavement laid down mere months prior. Luca tapped the plush interior of their carriage. "This was made here, you know. That is to say, in the Pan-Asiatic States. One of the uhh... the mainland ones, I think? Sourcing locally is very important to us. A damn fine car, as well, if I do say so myself. And the windows afford us an excellent view of the different offices and high rises going up around the harbor... we'll get a better look at them when we go up this hill."

by **TURTLESHROOM II** » Tue Sep 03, 2019 10:34 am

{ OOC: For the purposes of this article, text in which the character is speaking a foreign language, in this case, Japanese, is highlighted in pink. }

"One hundred grams." the mushroom repeated. "Y'all excuse me for a moment."

"Daggum foreigners," he whispered in his softest voice after he turned his back.

Reaching into the apron pockets tied around him, he pulled out what looked like a small pocket-sized abacus sitting on a box with buttons. It looked similar to a mechanical tabulator. That is because it was.

Moving the ball-point sized beads and pressing the tabulator's button to increment numbers, he turned back to his guest.

"Got it."

The mushroom went back to the bar and poured the vodka. He presented it to Ivan and departed for other tables. That was Jiji's cue to speak.

Jiji was not a good English speaker. At his age and perhaps due to a concussion from the beatings, he never learned more than broken English. As such, his Japanese accent was so thick that it sounded comedic: he used one sound for every vowel, and only one sound.
Natural-born TurtleShroomers were so confused that he was just asked to stick to his mother tongue.

Although he knew full well that the man across from him was fluent in Japanese and understood the old-style "court Japanese" mixed with Chinese words that the GEIJD had mandated, the TurtleShroomian government was hard-set on assimilation by English. He'd practiced this for weeks. It was time for the code phrase.

"Deh-mee-tree crah'ked...... coern. Doe yoo keh'r?"*

"No."

"Ah'nd why ees thaht?"

"His master's run away."

"Too wear?"

"Trick question. He didn't actually run away. He was abducted by Necrons."

"Hai."

Jiji said with a sigh of relief, switching to Japanese. With his affirmation, Jiji knew this man was his contact. Pouring the sake wine into the goblet and taking some sips, he smiled, revealing his tooth gap in his front teeth and the missing tooth on the bottom underneath one of his incisorr.

"It's a pleasure to meet you this fine afternoon, Ivan-sama**. I wore my favorite shirt for this meeting. See? Anyway, before we begin, I ordered something for the table."

He gestured to the sealed Mason jar holding what looked like water and the two shot glasses.

"This is a form of whiskey. It's called 'White Lightning'. The peoples of Turtles Mushroom*** dub illicit alcohol 'moonshine'. In the lands that influenced Turtles Mushroom culture, it's normally made of a mash primarly consistent of corn. However, due to the fact that corn isn't a major focus of TurtleShroomian farmers, it's instead made of a mash of rice and corn. What makes moonshine unique is that the fermented alcohol is skimmed off the mash and put straight into containers."

{ OOC: Allanea, if the next scene counts as god-modding, let me know. For the purpose of the narrative, I was going to have your character and mine drink it together. You can post Ivan's reaction in your next piece. }

He poured two shots.

"You think you can handle one hundred ninety-one proof?"

On the count of three, they drank simultaneously.

"Banzai!" Jiji said in an inside voice, resisting the urge to shout it, throwing back the shot and slamming it down to the table.

There was a reason he used a battle cry. Ten thousand years of life is something you wish you'll still have after surviving this whiskey.

After a few moments, he shook his head left and right violently and leaned back on the booth, messing up his hair somewhat.

"Ahhhhhh!" he sighed, laughing. "They didn't make this back in the fatherland. You know, it took me years to be able to drink this stuff. I used to moan and fall to the ground. I still prefer sake wine.

He looked to see how his contact had handled the stuff, still smiling.

by **Allanea** » Tue Sep 03, 2019 11:50 am

For the briefest moment, Ivan seemed disoriented as the near-pure alcohol scorched his throat. His eyes glazed over at the shock of the strong drink. But the initial burn was replaced with something different, something much better – the aroma of corn, stone, spring water and hay. In that moment, Ivan's eyes widened with surprise, as he savored the taste of the unusual, and supremely strong, drink. No, this was no ordinary alcohol. Momentarily, the spy mouthed a pair of Russian expletives, which could roughly be rendered into English as Oh! Amazing!, except that they were far stronger words.

Then, of course, Ivan transitioned into Japanese, although his hold of the language was substantially worse than that of his local acquaintance:

This is some of the finest liquor that I've tasted in years, Jiji-sama! I commend your taste. But naturally one must be careful with a strong drink… – momentarily, he had difficulties with words, his Japanese was hardly the best, nor did he want to outright state that he was a spy on duty, just in case that the conversation was, somehow, being recorded – I of course will be working on my documents later today, so I probably won't be drinking much more – this is nothing against you personally, Jiji-sama, you are an upstanding citizen and one with a very good taste in liquor, I have to add.

For a moment, he pondered what to say next, his face the expression of absolute and implacable calm.

[i]"You know, Jiji-sama, sometimes the words 'fishing expedition' are used when people are not quite certain what they are looking for but they hope that if they continue prodding they'll find something. But there is another way in which the metaphor is sometimes used. If you remember, in Matthew, Chapter Four, there is an interesting parable, where individuals who are bringing forth the Gospel of the Lord are referred to also as fishermen, except it is not fish they are after, but men. And so for many centuries the metaphor, 'fishers of men' was used, sometimes for preachers, but sometimes also for police and inquisitors – probably not exactly what was had in mind in the Scripture, but perhaps more relevant to us."

"Because sometimes there are some really nasty fish. Invasive fish, if you will, which hide among the regular schools, and corrupt them with their plots of sin and violence. For example… the koi, the Asian Carp. A lot of countries are having problems with koi."

"And then the question is, how do you separate those invasive fish, those no-good fish, from whatever regular fish you have in your lakes and rivers? There is no problem in killing a koi – you spear it, or perhaps shoot it. The problem always is, how do you find them, and how do you get at them without stripping the whole river free of life?"

"It's a question of information, Jiji-sama. Information is absolutely vital. It does not matter what you are fishing for. Knowledge is a fisherman's tool, before any boats, or poles or hooks."

by **TURTLESHROOM II** » Tue Sep 03, 2019 6:56 pm

Jiji loved fishing with his family and would often spend his time out in the rich jungle waters just outside of this one-horse town.

"I'm a fisherman myself, Ivan-sama." Jiji replied, smiling. His good hand reached to his "Kirishitan" pectoral cross, as he gently held it in his fingers. "That metaphor, and the Bible reference, wasn't lost on me. In all my years of fishing, though, never once did I ever approach or consider your statement."

Jiji leaned back on the bench and outstretched his arms to his side, laying them upwards and on the top of the bench.

"Knowledge." he whispered back.

The comment was remarkably deep, and so intelligent. Jiji finished his goblet of sake wine and, when the waitstaff mushroom returned, handed him the sake bottle, thanking him in his poor English as he did so.

That same song continued to play, adding to the casual mood the two gentlemen were enjoying. Jiji didn't expect the man he was going to report as the equal TurtleShroomian authorities to be such a welcoming, calm person.

"Maybe Slavs were just neighborly men." Jiji thought to himself in Japanese. "That would explain the Turtles Mushroom peoples as well. Although they have a second cultural origin..."

Thinking of Ivan's kindness was funny, though, because the Slavs in GEIJD's outer lands, the former Soviet unions that GEIJD ultimately absorbed in the early twentieth century, were cruel men, cold like Siberia and just as harsh. That limp he covered up was gained from a run-in in GEIJD Tannu Tiva from a Russian who really didn't like seeing a purer Japanese man who was such a cynic about the the Huangdiist Teikoku.

"A kind, foreign Slav... maybe Marxism just drains the sou-" Jiji gasped softly, realizing he had said that out loud. His arms, hook, and good hand were casually on the table. They weren't now, as he quietly yanked them off the table. Act smooth.

He wasn't a spy by trade, just an old man reliving his glory days when he was the free-thinking radical, wanting to serve his new homeland that he had come to love so much. In his fear, he realized

Jiji's slanted eyes embiggened for a split second as an unseen bead of sweat ran in his hair and down behind his ear. Act smooth. Like he had for all those decades in the GEIJD, he knew how to quickly assume a poker face. Act smooth. It was near instantaneous. Act smooth. As a spy, Ivan would notice. An average man would not.

ACT SMOOTH. Scrambling in hopes that Ivan didn't notice it- he did -his mind raced as his GEIJD upbringing him brought up fears of dishonoring his authorities. Especially Slavic ones. While being Japanese obviously meant honoring authorities and neighbors was as important to him as breathing, his concerns were far more physical.

The amputated hand that his shiny new TurtleShroomian pirate hook replaced wasn't a fashion statement.

Act smooth.

by **Allanea** » Tue Sep 03, 2019 11:23 pm

"The answer, of course, is that it does." – Ivan said. – But this is an unfortunate truth of the world – it's nothing to do, particularly, with the ideas of Marx, or any other such awful pseudophilosopher. Consider what we know – doing evil destroys the soul. You can see this in Tolstoy's writings. If you've ever read The Forged Coupon, that is in a way what Tolstoy talks about, there. It's worse still when the acts are ideological in nature – a person who commits an evil act, and then figures out a justification for it, will find it easier and easier to go down the stairway, if you will, towards ever-greater cruelty. Now, in this way, all the murderous totalitarian ideologies are alike – whether they use the name of Karl Marx, or Mao, or pretend to be anti-communist or even capitalists. Sometimes – and this is the most blasphemous of all forms of blasphemy – you will see evildoers invoke the name of Our Lord Jesus Christ to justify their acts." – upon saying this, Ivan crossed himself – "But yes, you're correct, evildoing destroys the soul rapidly. So does being a victim of torment. Few are so strong and saintly as to be improved by suffering, and you often see those whose minds and souls have been weakened. Unfortunately this does mean that those who have escaped the chains – whether those are Marxist chains, slaver chains, or whatever other chains – sometimes have a difficulty in the outside world. Now as to our subject…"

Ivan paused, studying his contact.

"I have a strong belief that this country is safe, or at least I believe that Turtleshroom will not be successfully overthrown. There will be, I believe, moments of terror and bloodshed, and hopefully the authorities here can figure out how to minimize those. But there are three differences between Turtleshroom and those countries where it might be easy for the rot to prevail. One, geography. Turtleshroom doesn't really border any nation that would be willing to function as a launching and training ground for terror – this means that at best they can smuggle in a few weapons. Two, Turtleshroom is a functional society, for all the flaws its government is not corrupt nor is it particularly sadistic. There are some laws that might be stricter than in other countries, but few people will argue that Turtleshroom is run by maniacal tyrants. Three, Turtleshroom is famous for its people's strong Christian faith, which is relevant in two ways. One, of course, strong Christians are unlikely to accept Communist ideas or accept a system of rule that prevents mothers from bearing children, which is against the very basic Divine commandments. Two, Christianity teaches people a spirit of charity and mutual assistance. This is a valuable thing in times of crisis. The tool of the terrorist is to sow division, to separate the rich from the poor, and to make the poor disaffected, so that they feel society itself is their enemy. The community, the church, the parish are in such a circumstance powerful fortresses, because they assist those in need both in spirit and in coin."

by **United Avon** » Wed Sep 04, 2019 10:14 am

Allanea wrote:"So by arming and preparing the people whom the Red Band thinks they already own, we are driving a wedge between them and the farmers and the loggers, a wedge that will only grow with every man killed on either side."

"So to do all this we should have a meeting with the factory owners and large landholders about better security at their facilities, and a series of meetings with the farmers and loggers about fighting the Communist. Moreover as you said we need to talk to the intelligence people. Most importantly we must know how to gather the information. Ideally if you could introduce me to your SIGINT guys and maybe they can tell me what gear they have, that would be the best start."

Queenstown

Colonel Richard Bradstreet listened attentively to Major Agrawal as he outlined the plan for the militia. It was an ambitious undertaking, and the sort of policy which would have likely never been discussed in the highest echelons of the Avonian military-political establishment. Avon’s empire had local troops, but these forces were highly regulated and generally officered or otherwise led by Avonians. Efforts were made to assimilate those indigenous peoples who served the colonial administration into Avonian culture as much as possible. Areas where this had proved too expensive, difficult, or outright impossible had been spun off into “independent” states which could be managed from the sidelines. Here on Insulindia the populace hadn’t been restive for decades, not since the last Emergency when the People’s State of Comorostan had gotten into the revolution exporting business. That had been a relatively easy insurgency to suppress; this Red Band had already proven more difficult.

“The Board of Trade should have a lot of the information you’ll need to get that process started,” Bradstreet said once the Major was done speaking. “Information on businesses, landowners and such. And then the sul—the local government would be the best ones to set up the meetings in the villages. As for who to recruit, I think maybe the Royal Insulindian Constabulary would know best.” The means of contacting those offices would all be delivered to the Allaneans as part of the intelligence packet which the Department of Overseas Affairs had put together for the Major and his staff.

“As for signals, it’s a bloody mess at the moment,” Bradstreet opined. “This way.” He led the Major down the corridors of Banten Castle. Along the walls were portraits of past Governors-General, dressed in their formal uniforms and posing behind romanticized backdrops of Queenstown or the island as a whole. A few paintings depicted scenes from the colonization of the island or its history, including a few lurid depictions of redcoated Avonian soldiers overrunning native Insulindian warriors, depicted in naught but lionclothes and wielding wicker shields and spears. The paintings were an exaggeration; many of those battles had been fought against Insulindian kingdoms armed with gunpowder weapons. As they passed through the halls, more military checkpoints began to appear, with uniformed men standing as sentinels to block those without authorization from entering secure areas. A few gave Major Agrawal a second glance, unsure of his uniform, but Colonel Bradstreet preempted any questions with a curt nod, signaling that the Major was permitted.

At the office of the head of the Signals Branch detachment, a harried looking aide showed the Colonel and the Major into the office of Major William Chess, who looked equally harried. He rose and saluted when the pair entered.

“A few weeks ago our unit could have fit in a large conference room,” Chess said. “We’d gotten lucky with a phone intercept that gave the analysts enough to go on to locate a Red Band base. But however they planned that ambush, we didn’t get any warnings. I said that we were low on resources and personnel, and now the Home Island seems likely to try and drown me with them.”

“We have authorization to intercept phone and internet communications of any kind, though we’re still working on getting enough personnel onboard to actually do it effectively. The post office has its own team going through the mail, and that’s been sanctioned for years. The big problem is that we think a lot of the big communication is done by runner or messenger, and you obviously can’t intercept that from a wiretap.”

Victoria Bay

While the officers in the capital discussed intelligence-gathering, the first troops from the Home Island were about to arrive on Insulindia. The Navy roll-on/roll-off transport vessels pulling in Victoria Bay’s harbor carried a battalion of the Highland Rifle Regiment, tough men recruited from the mountainous northern region of Elyria. The Highland Rifles had a reputation for toughness; they had one of the most distinguished service records of any regiment in the Royal Army after the unification of Lorain and Elyria. Along with them was a battalion of the Queen’s Own Rifle Regiment, which was scheduled to be joined by the rest of the unit shortly. Finding sufficient dock space to get these troops off their ships without causing gridlock in the harbors had required no small amount of to-the-minute planning by the military and civil authorities, and ultimately the decision had been made to split the destinations among the three main port cities on the island. Not only would this prevent traffic jams, but it might deceive any Red Band observers as to the full strength of the reinforcements that Avon was sending to the island.

by **TURTLESHROOM II** » Wed Sep 04, 2019 11:48 am

Jiji audibly let out a long sigh of relief, replying in Japanese and place his hand and hook back on the table.

"You are truly a honorable and intelligent man. I apologize for my dishonorable behavior, Ivan-sama, and mean no ill-intent. I panicked for a moment because the last time I dishonored Slavs outside of Turtles Mushroom..."

He tapped the stainless steel pirate hook on the table a few times. Then, he decided to change subjects to something happier.

"Oh, and by the way. You probably noticed this hook looks like Ching Shih* on the high seas. That's because it is. I know your nation probably has fancy prosthesis hooked to the brain or something the gaijins** see as disturbing like that, but you should know that in Turtles Mushroom...

He smiled and grasped the pirate hook with his good hand, turning it left until it came out. Holding the hook in his left index finger and thumb, he grinned that cheesy grin again.

"We're not as dumb as Nationstates thinks we are."

We are, Jiji said. Identifying as a TurtleShroomer was a matter of pride for Jiji and his family, as it was for most of the other GEIJD Asians, even those large ranks who remained authoritarian or loyal to the People's Comrade-Emperor in some form. TurtleShroom had rolled out the red carpet for them, and Ivan could tell he was proud. Ivan watched the demonstration.

Jiji placed the pirate hook in his pants pocket and pulled out another one. It was a split hook design alongside one of those oval hooks with the clasp, although it used stainless steel. He screwed it into the pirate prosthetic covering the stub of his right hand. It came with a leather strap, which he placed over his head and onto his left shoulder. He put his right arm and hand behind his back.

"Watch this."

Manipulating his shoulder strap and using only this second hook, he picked up the wrapped silverware and napkin by grasping its paper seal. Using his left arm to provide force, he released the silverware, tossing it into the air, still wrapped. Through a series of elaborate movements, he reached his arm up to the tossed silverware, catching the napkin by grasping it again with the hook. The napkin unfurled and the silverware clanged onto the table. Jiji twisted the napkin to make a full vertical circle and hit it onto the table, reaching again to pick up the fork, holding it up with a smile that looked like he had just won a marathon.

"Allanean prosthetics can probably do that as naturally as my left hand because of their computerization and brain up-link, but the Turtles Mushrooms peoples don't trust machines of a certain advancement, especially in the body. People say we are fools to stay in the past. I say... thah Fooch-arr Eese En thah Pahst!"

A few TurtleShroomers of different ethnicities and species, most only speaking English, in the benches near them turned to look at Jiji's normal volume recitation of TurtleShroom's first of two mottoes and smiled.

"Here here!" they replied, as Jiji removed the grasping hook and screwed the simple pirate hook back on.

Using his left (good) habd, Jiji poured another shot of White Lightning and threw it back. Rapidly haking his head left and right again, he placed the shot glass down.

"That's the last I'm drinking of that tonight, Ivan-sama. I ordered the whole jar. The rest is yours."

He paused for a moment.

"I believe I have been stalling for long enough. Allow me to present the information I managed to gather."

Using his good hand, he grasped a file folder he had sitting to his side on the bench.

Opening the folder revealed a greyscale satellite photograph (like this) of the Great TurtleShroom Jungle. It was intensely zoomed in on a white square carved out of the endless grey blob that made up the lush rainforest. On that white blob were several rectangular splotches of grey and a darker splotch indicating a sizable pool of water and a freshly erected water filter and pumphouse.

"The Sky Busters*** and their private satellites are often loaned to the Empire for surveillance. They normally make space billboards and commercial launches for hire. The military has their own branch for space exploration, but they mostly deal with blunt ramming satellites, asteroid migitation, space weaponry, and so on. For national security, the former rents or buys satellites from the latter."

He put the tip of his hook on the first spot, showing several rectangles close to each other. They looked like rows of chicken coop houses.

"This was spotted a distance out of this very town. The Crown suspects these aren't chicken houses. They certainly aren't mine shacks or mine housing; the closest registered mine is seven hundred miles west-northwest. That means they are either an undergoing pagan reservation construction****, an illegal mining or logging operation, some Western Yazuka***** spot, or............. our target."

He put the tip of the hook on the body of water.

"This is proof that they are taking up permanent residence here. In this country, we almost all get water from wells and deposit waste in septic tanks, even in the cities. However, we have also developed extremely advanced filtration technology in the process of making clean water universally available to the poor. Using the right filters, any standing body of water can be made pure. That's what that building is on the base. The gaijins call it a 'pumphouse'. You likely know it as a 'pumping station'. It provides drinking water and indoor plumbing."

"Back to the 'coops'. The largest buildings are either industrial, storage, or something else. The skinny buildings are almost certainly residential."

Jiji looked up to Ivan.

"This is the mission the Empire is outsourcing to Allanea. We don't need this compound blown up. We could do that. What we need is infiltration. The Crown can't send a gaijin Turtles Mushroom human, or a turtle or mushroom for logical reasons. They could send an Asian like myself, but the scars of the Civil War and the fact that, first, the Huangdiist Teikoku was more fascist, monarchist, and corporatist than Marxist (though it had Soviet elements, central planning, and commissars), and second, that the country does not have the stomach to lose another million souls in a new war. The Crown, and the Empire all over, is literally taking a break from any Red fighting until the next Heavenly Sovereigns****** are crowned and the confederation is finalized."

"That is where you come in."

-

* = In RL, Ching Shih was the greatest pirate in human history. She won at piracy. As history bloggers noted, "she got history's high score". Not only did she survive her plundering to die a natural death, White China could not defeat her in naval warfare. Her fleat consisted of around one thousand eight hundred ships. She defeated the whole Asian dispatch of the navy of Portugal chunk, the Qing Dynasty, AND the British East India Company. She was offered amnesty in 1810 AD in order to stop her. In the GEIJD universe, however- the GEIJD united Japan around or before 1000 AD and owned China by the end of the eighteenth century -I like to imagine that the GEIJD Emperor hired her instead.

** = In RL Japan proper and in GEIJD, "gaijin" (a non-Japanese person, or in GEIJD's case, a non-Asian) is a slur. In TurtleShroom, it is an ethnographic denotation used by Asiastic meaning no disrespect.

*** = Actually called "Firmament Busters", but the Japanese language does not have an equivalent to this word. Heaven and sky are the closest I could find.

**** = The turtles and mushrooms that comprise the remnants called the Native TurtleShroomites worship Tengri, the Altatic/Turkic/Mongolian sky god and its pantheon. They are fiercely anti-human and true to the old ways, prior to the arrival of the Missionaries. They launched the initial movement that led to legalized gambling in the country.

***** = Not the actual Yazuka, although a form of it, alongside Tong halls and even Triads, exist in TS. GEIJD TurtleShroomers refer to organized crime itself as the Yazuka.

****** = "Heavenly Sovereign", which is the official manner of address and a title of the Emperor of Japan, is one of the titles of the Tsars of TurtleShroom, as is "Son of Heaven". Asians in TS prefer these terms, especially those who have trouble speaking English, as the Japanese language does not have a direct translation for "Tsar", which is itself Russian for "Caesar".

☯ Orientalism Rising! [IC][MT/PMT][CLOSED]

ATTN.: South Reinkalistan

Who is online