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

[Vancouvia]

LORD BARTHOLOMEW MONTAGUE, NORONNICAN COMMAND, and THE NORONNICAN GOVERNMENT,

We enthusiastically and wholeheartedly praise our combined efforts to reunite the failed state of Arván with its home country and rightful rule. Although the costs we have had to bear to fulfill this outcome cannot be truly measured, we do know that these brave and bold sacrifices were significant yet necessary. VANCOUVIA remains, as always, a friend to NORONICA, in times of peace and war, strife and stability, triumph and tribulation.

Our forces engaged in Operation Melting Shovel under command of VSF Major Joseph Malcolm have successfully established a zone of control stretching across the western half of the Arván peninsula and have already begun humanitarian efforts to aid the native population and ensure a peaceful conclusion to this conflict. Although our casualties continue to mount, our soldiers and citizens yearn for a stable and successful Arván, one where the residents can safely live and work without fear of violence. It is for this reason that we offer our armed services and humanitarian agencies towards a consolidated effort to peacefully transition and aid the government and its people through the subsequent months. It would be our pleasure, our duty, and our honor to remain by your side as we work together towards this noble goal.

Our condolences for the loss of your fallen and our deepest wishes for the continued PROSPERITY, FREEDOM, and EFFICIENCY of both of our countries,
VANCOUVIAN CONGRESS

[Noronica]

Agreed Meeting Place, Arván

Colonel Gregor Grayson felt giddy as he glanced around the car. He felt as if he was in an authentic spy movie, what with all the bodyguards and him, a military officer with sunglasses, carrying a black briefcase. His mind was drawn back to his earlier days as a young child playing spies. It appeared that his guards did not feel the same sentiment as they all carried their weapons tightly next to their chests and their eyes were darting outside the windows every so often. The Keomoran Foreign Legion were not ones to trifle with, especially not with the number the Noronnicans were taking, therefore it was perfectly normal for Gregor's guards to look slightly perturbed, even just for the sights they were taking in.

Gregor felt the jeep fall to a halt, so he calmed himself and stepped out of the car with fluidity. Seeing the Keomoran Foreign Legion representatives, he let a small smirk grace his features and strode meaningfully towards them.

"Colonel Gregor Grayson of the United Noronnican Army. I am here to consolidate negotiations for the manner the Keomoran Foreign Legion leaves Arván."

---

Governor's Office, Liberation Palace, St. Recont

"Xavier Jacques and my business partner, Jean-Charles Frère, at your service Monsieur Montague." The two men in question smiled graciously at Lord Montague, their chests puffing in false authority. They sat in adjacent chairs in front of Lord Montague's desk and proceeded to pull a cigar out of their pockets.

"Ah, my apologies gentlemen, I have a strict policy of no-smoking. Bad for the lungs, as they say." Lord Montague said, his face calm and collected, his voice drawling as he gave an apologetic gesture.

"Mon ami, we will follow your instructions immediately, this is your house after all." Xavier exclaimed, his exaggerated French accent pushing the boundaries of realism. The two reluctantly got rid of their cigars, smiles still evident on their faces. As much as the two seemed to have a certain imbecilic nature, it was obvious to Montague that they were putting on a show in an attempt to placate any feelings of worry he might have. The two were the heads of the largest crime families in Arván. Their influence stretched into the wider reaches of criminal activity on the peninsula, therefore they were some of the most important men to contribute towards the continued corruption of Arván, and they needed the support of the new administration.

"My house is your house gentlemen. Now, I must ask that we divert into more 'pressing' matters." Montague said, eyeing the growing grins on the men's faces. They believed this exchange would be fruitful.

"Ah yes. Now, if we are being blunt, we would like to continue payments to our corporation to ensure our continued support." Xavier said, his gaze reflecting that of a shark's.

"No." Montage said, his voice dead and his face blank. The two men began spluttering, their smiles contorting into stressed grimaces. It truly is amazing how one word can send a person's mind into total disarray. "I believe that to continue such payments would show us to be weak, to show the Overlordship of Noronica to be a complete farce. Gentlemen, now that Noronica has cut away the disgusting weed that was the prior government and its insufferable leader, it now seeks to ensure total control over the peninsula," his smile grew, he was enjoying the squirming, "which includes obliterating any ties to criminal or rebellious activity, such as the ones you are promoting. Therefore, I think it prudent to cut away more of the weeds, don't you?"

Xavier was on his feet now, his face purple with anger, "You realise that with one word, one fucking word, I could have half the peninsula against you?" He pulled his pistol from his pocket, "You realise how easy it would be, to cut the Noronnican weed from the earth right -" He never finished his sentence, two gunshots rang out and the two men fell to the ground, a bullet in both their heads.

Montague grimaced, he hated blood on his carpet. Pressing a button on his intercom, a team of guards opened the door and started taking photographs of the scene. The police and the press would be here soon, he needed to recite his story. The Noronnican 'patriots' were being rather radical? Or was it a 'rogue Noronnican soldier'? He glanced towards his monitor, a notification popped up informing him of an email from the Vancouvian Congress. A smile graced his lips.

[Jahe Davmwoem]

Somewhere in Arvan

Lhawang Drakpa observed his intended victim. It was an Athara Magarati soldier. He looked conveniently very similar to Drakpa, and was typically a loner. He never joined fellow soldiers at camp, preferring to walk by himself. Also, he was mearly a private, or whatever the Magarati called their lowest rank. He would not be missed, with a few altered papers. He had the mob on those. For now he just waited, and observed him.

[Noronica]

St. Recont

Louis Bernard was always the first to wake. He had a strict alarm system to ensure that he woke up exactly when he needed to, in an attempt to combat his sleeping tendencies which used to mean him sleeping until lunch. This alarm system was found as very amusing for his wife who made sure to rib him at every opportunity about his 'military schedule' which he was so fond of, and yet he found the timings helped, so he ignored the light-hearted jabs.

This morning however, the alarm did not go off. When he was woken by a bleary-eyed wife, he was sent into a panic, hurling himself into the shower and just about ripping his clothes in the clothing process. As he pushed his tie through his shirt collar, he glared contemptuously at the clock, all the while trying to figure out why his alarm clock hadn't woken him up at the time he was meant to. It set automatically and it wasn't wireless, so the issue couldn't have been the battery unless by a rare event that the cable was broken or the wiring was faulty.

He left the house in a flurry, his wife having already left to her workplace, which meant that he was at least half an hour late for this meeting of his. He rushed towards the bus stop a few metres away from his house and tapped his feet impatiently as he waited for the bus, ignoring the sniggering and glances from other around him. When the bus finally came, he made sure to get on first, rudely pushing past a few teenagers in school uniform to get to the counter. He thrust his bus card out to the driver who smirked, a knowing look on her face.

"Little late for work are we?" The driver asked, grabbing hold of the offered bus card. She swiped it with the bus' card system, an odd look on her face. She gave it a couple more attempts before handing the card back, "Sorry mate, it's not working."

Louis' face contorted into a look of confusion and mild annoyance, "It worked yesterday, do you think the system is faulty?" At the clueless look of the driver who seemed to be a little impatient herself, he sighed and attempted to fish out coins from his pocket, eventually pulling out a couple of Norons to match the fee. He threw the coins into the counter and yanked the ticket away from the driver, trying to find a seat amongst the sea of people. He thanked his lucky stars when he saw a vacant seat at the back of the bus. He sat on the chair, seeing that the occupant next to him was a young woman in her early twenties dressed in casual business attire. Irritated and bored, he tried to initiate conversation with the woman.

"Do you have a bus card?" The woman didn't respond, so he tried again, a little forceful this time. When she didn't respond yet again, rudely turning her head out to the window, he blurted out, "Look. I am trying to talk, could you at least have the dignity to respond?" It was perhaps quite tactless, but he was tired and really not in the mood for bullshit. However, he did not expect a heated reply, at least not the response he received.

'What the fuck? Get away from me you bastard! You can't just do that!" The woman's face suddenly crumpled into anger, her emotionless façade being broken by the ugly look of disgust. The woman stood up abruptly and roughly pushed past Louis who was now sinking into his chair, a look of horror and shock evident on his face. It seemed that the interaction had brought quite a bit of attention as soon the whole bus was turning towards him, a look of contempt on their faces. even the bus was looking back at him through the mirror, evidently annoyed at Louis.

Louis endured pointed glances as the bus journey continued. It seemed to go on longer than normal, the feeling of dread burning within him as he looked down at his phone. There were several missed calls, all from his boss. The messages he received were quite cryptic, mostly just, 'I'll meet you in my office Louis.' This was odd as Louis expected anger from the boss of an employee who was at least forty minutes late. He was content however as his morning was hectic enough.

When he did finally arrive, he was greeted by the oddly quiet receptionists. They signed him in albeit seemingly quite reluctantly, their eyes fixing him with odd looks. He glared back at them, ready to blow up if anything else happened to him today because of some trivial matter. He snatched up his identity card and stepped into the elevator, waiting until he finally reached the fourth floor, just about ready for a nice shot of caffeine mixed with cyanide. When the doors opened, he stormed into the shared kitchen, ignoring the glances from some of the interns mingling there as he made coffee.

He walked through the office blocks to get to his Boss' office, feeling extremely worried as all of his coworkers gave him some sort of glance. Even his closest colleagues had a look of resignation on their faces, all of them grimacing as he passed. He had a burning desire to climb onto one of the desks and scream 'WHAT?' at all of them, the need to know about the situation swiftly becoming unbearable.

He knocked on his Boss' door and cracked it open to see that his Boss wasn't occupied, so he let himself in, "You asked to see me Garrett?" He asked, his voice shaking with confusion, frustration and worry. Garrett glanced up at Louis, a sad smile on his face.

"Good Morning Louis. I hoped I would never have to have this conversation with an employee, but it seems I have to. Yesterday night, I received a notification from the tech guys downstairs that told me about some images that have surfaced. Do these images mean anything to you?" Almost his entire private search history was presented before him, some worse than others, but it was all the same. Garrett then put a few more photos on the table of him at an illegal brothel and of him shaking hands with members of one of the most influential crime families in Arván. Records of bank transfers fell onto the table as well, detailing Louis' special payments that he assumed had been laundered correctly.

Louis' face was bleached and his throat grew dry. His mind was reeling from the information and it was likely that he would be entering a panic attack soon, but he had to know, "How did-"

"How did these images appear? Well firstly, you have obviously been abusing the company's internet contract. VPN's can't hide that much you know. Secondly, someone has been doing some digging, obviously the Rebultar Family needed some insurance to ensure you didn't spill. I'm sorry Louis, but this is a disgusting breach of our policies and this blatant corruption... I thought we were meant to fight against this shit Louis! We have survived countless attacks on our company by Sartin's police and various cartels, and we continue to post free news. I'm afraid we cannot tolerate this behaviour." Garrett grimaced, a look of regret on his face.

Louis scanned the images again. His life was hanging on a knife edge. He knew that all the evidence was real, he remembered most of them. It was true that he corrupt. He had begun enjoying the secret payroll, the constant excuse ever prevalent in his head, it's for the family. Now he had no excuse, nothing to fall back on.

"Garrett, look. I... these images are fake! You said it yourself, we are a controversial group, someone has got to have faked these." He felt faint, "they've got to, I-" he needed alcohol, coffee, anything that would help the headache, "I-" He slumped into his chair, his eyes wide, paralysed with fear.

Garrett slammed his fists onto the table, "Get out, I am not harbouring a criminal." He got up from his chair and stood by his window, ignoring the quivering man in the guest chair.

Louis' body turned to automatic while his mind continued to race. It was obvious now why his coworkers were being strange, rumours spread like wildfire in the office. He tried to summon any dignity he had left by packing his desk up and swiftly leaving the building, ignoring the multiple glances.

When he exited the building, he caught a bus home, luckily not with the same driver as the last one. When he arrived back home, he violently threw his jacket on the rack and stormed angrily to the kitchen, grabbing a beer bottle and, not bothering to fetch a glass, downed the entirety in two swigs. He slammed the empty bottle onto the floor, bursting into hysterical tears. His life was ruined. Many of his colleagues knew him and his family personally and soon they would pass the message on. He vomited on the floor and staggered into the living room, slumping into his armchair.

When he finally calmed down enough to formulate sensible thoughts, he glanced around the room, noticing an odd smell. It was a hint of aftershave. He also noticed that some of his paintings were placed wrongly. Some had swapped from where he last remembered them. He looked at the bookcase and thought there seemed to be less decorations than normal. Something was messing with his mind. He heard a soft thump, his eyes turning feral as he swung his head around, body moving into a defensive position.

"Who's there! Get the fuck out of my house!" He ran from room to room, noticing that some of the furniture had been moved slightly, he noticed even the small details such as different brands of products and his personal belongings looking strangely out-of-place.

He heard the door slam shut, sending him rushing into the main hall, fists raised. He growled at the figure at the door, unable to hear what they were saying, the noise of his thoughts encasing his mind in a war of emotion. He shoved the person aside and crashed through the door, gasping for air. He was delirious and knew he had to get out. His body was seized in a raptus of emotion and he sprinted out onto the road, shouting for help as his mind became simply too much to handle, not noticing the oncoming car.

His article on the Occupation of Arván remained untouched, especially the photographs of various Noronnican operations.

[Athara Magarat]

Molung Khola Village

The war seemed to have ended. Sartin's regime was gone but in the rural villages of the Arván peninsula, there was a different war going on. Now that their prime enemy had been rid of, the various ethnic organizations claiming to fight for the rights of the minority Kirat-Sunuwar people were drowned in each other's blood.

"Namsewal. Gopuki Kirat-Koinch Majduur Daal." Chandra Bahadur Wangde shouted in his Sunuwar tongue giving greetings that roughly translated to "Hello everyone! We are the Kirat-Sunuwar Workers Party."

However the woman holding an assault rifle and standing next to him did much of the talking after that. Everyone present there knew who she was. She was Comrade Mirak. She was clearly venting her anger at SHOCK for being a bunch of "upstart assholes who had no respect for the Khas-Kirati culture". Mirak's words were met with loud applause from the villagers and her comrades.

"...They are psychopaths who only know how to blow up things. We will not be defeated in our quest for a prosperous Arván even if we have to spill Kirati blood..."

The reality was that SHOCK was rapidly growing in power whereas the Kirat-Sunuwar Workers Party was losing its numbers to the newer group. And the two groups who had made an uneasy alliance when Sartin was in power were now sworn enemies. And it did not help that the SHOCK was led by radical conservatives with religious support brainwashing dissatisfied and unemployed youths from nations with minority Khas-Kirati populations. And its opposite Kirat-Sunuwar Workers Party was based on socialist ideology for a prosperous state in the land of Arván where any citizen could live in equal rights.

Hence SHOCK was more concerned with revenge against the "oppressors" (a term which had no fixed meaning and was used by SHOCK to define their enemies in various Isles nations) while Kirat-Sunuwar Workers Party was all about equality. And communist leaders like Comrade Mirak were not going to let a bunch of newbies make their efforts for a long socialist revolution become nothing.

And now, after secretly becoming a member group of the Communist Internationale of the Isles led by New Aapelistan and the far-left social charity organization ( and communist party fund provider) Yakhoya acting as middle men (a fact which most villagers and not even members within the socialist party's ranks knew), the older group's leaders had belief that they could take down SHOCK's branch in Arván before it developed into a strong tree.

However the enthusiasm was fading as news came that powerful Western nations such as Vancouvia and Ostehaar would be joining Noronica in military drills. That means another military campaign against us. Now we have enemies on all sides and our allies are just money-lenders outside of Arván.

Comrade Mirak was secretly cursing her group's luck as she kept a brave face and delivered a rousing speech to the villagers and her party's cadres.

[Ventlimer]

The city of St. Recont had, to say the least, seen better days. War had damaged it, crime had ruined it, and occupation was now defacing it. In every street, a Noronican Patrol was marching. In every airbase, a Vancouvian drone awaited launch. In every corner, an Oster spy lurked. The population, though technically safer than it had been before the invasion of the combined forces, was more tense than ever before. Much had changed for them in the year since the invasion. Markets were different, laws were different, and, besides the roaming groups of armed and maniacal men or the corruption of the new occupiers, more was tolerated. However, there were things that never changed.

Valec Nuller was appreciating this fact as he sat in a relatively nice house in the suburbs of St. Recont. Around him at the wooden dining table were his men, each delivering the monthly reports from the various divisions of his company. Despite the war, his business had remained profitable and was seeing growth. At least that's what they told him as they ate his steaks and drank his wine.

"Mr. Vasthmud, Please tell me of how things go in Rippen," Valec said slowly. "You have been so quiet tonight, I would have thought that you had lost your tongue."

The young, smartly dressed man finished chewing his steak, then placed his knife and fork on the table. "It goes well. We opened a new club last week in the center of the city." He took a sip of wine, enjoying the luxurious taste of it. "It has been a good source of revenue, better than any we've had since the invasion."

"What is the nature of this clubs operation?" Valec asked.

"The product is good, and stable. Most of them are dependent, others are in the process of becoming so. But, overall, the soldiers there have enjoyed it. Especially the shows."

Valec raised an eyebrow. "Shows?"

"Well, yessir," the young man said nervously. "The market there has been steady, our contacts have proven to be faithful as well. Though the Noronican presence there has caused us to reroute our supply lines, we believed the time was right to open a proper club like in the days before the invasion."

"Hm. Very well. I will have to request that you stay in town until I finish reviewing the status of that club. There may be some.. changes that need to occur in Rippen if I do not like what I see." With that, he motioned to a man standing in the corner of the room. The man wordlessly came behind Vasthmud and placed his hand on his shoulder. The young man's face became a sheet of ice as the cold barrel of a gun was placed against his neck. Slowly, he stood and left under the guard's direction.

The other men at the table watched the exchange, but continued eating once he was out of sight. The man to Valec's right, though, simply ignored it all. His report had been good and he had been there for quite some time. Swallowing the last bit of food on his plate, he put his silverware down and leaned forward.

"So, Valec, I just got word from a new supplier in Ventlimer."

Valec took a bite of his own food as the man spoke. "Is he as good as the last one you got, Artemis?"

Artemis grinned and nodded. "Yep. Their first shipment arrived two days ago. Some Taurotian product."

"When will I see them?"

"Tonight if you wish," Artemis said before he swallowed the last of his wine. "They'll be waiting for inspection from me in an hour's time. You could ride along."

Valec thought for a moment. "I'll do that. Need to get out of the house for once anyways."

Another man at the table, Valec's chief of Security, grew uneasy. "Sir, I'm not sure that is altogether wise. I still think you should move to the mountain base-"

"And join in with all those club managers that sit around, do drugs, and fuck the product up?" Valec said angrily. "I'd rather be killed by some hotheaded Vancouvian soldier than live for a day with those pigs."

"Sir, we can clear them out-"

"And ruin the Nuller name?" Valec laughed. "This is why you're my security chief and that kid upstairs is the manager of Rippen. You know nothing about maintaining a brand such as this one, but all about knocking skulls. You'll get there, though."

The large man grunted. "Well, if you are going out, I can only suggest that it be 3 vehicles. Anymore would get you stopped by a patrol or something."

"No convoy is needed for such a short trip." Valec stood. "I say we go now."

Artemis stood as well. "Don't worry, Thomas, I'll keep him safe. Have since we were little."

Valec eyed him, but let a smile slip. "Give me a minute to change and I'll be ready."

---

An hour later, Valec and Artemis were riding through the city, keeping to backroads and avoiding patrols. People were the only real traffic for the pair, with throngs of people moving to and fro, most of them homeless and needy now. Instead of government soldiers harassing them like before the invasion, now it was just gangs and thieves. None of this affected Valec, though. He didn't care much for the people of St. Recont.

Soon, they arrived at a small warehouse in the poorer district of St. Recont. Two guards watched the gate to the warehouse, but immediately let the car in as it drove up. The doors opened and the car drove into the main part of the warehouse, which was lined with shelves and boxes. They got out of the car and walked to a door in the center of the warehouse guarding a 200 square foot block in the warehouse. Artemis opened the door, revealing a dark room with chains hanging from the walls. In the center, four women were standing with their arms crossed. Though mostly dressed, their fear and exhaustion shown clearly through the dark room. Lights came on and they blinked, but slowly adjusted. Along the walls, expensive cameras and photography equipment hung from walls and shelves. At the back of the room, a large, well made bed lit by studio lights and flanked by cameras contrasted with the purple walls on the other half of the room.

"Well," Artemis said through his Arvan accent. "This the product. Young, between the ages of 16 and 23, dark haired Taurotian women. Mostly from the city of Ventliri and the surrounding towns."

Valec slowly walked up to them, his hands clasped behind his back. He looked each of them over, enjoying the site of the long, black hair and dark skin of the Taurotian girls. Still, he didn't touch them nor order them to remove clothing. They had had enough of that by the time they got here.

"So?" Artemis asked.

"Alright," he said finally. "They'll do. Standard dependency. Start small with the younger ones. No stimulants, either." He looked back at Artemis. "Make sure you make plenty of videos before you market them. They'll be a tough sell in Arvan. But, depending on the price they fetch, we could have a good supplier on our hands."

"You're the boss," Artemis said. He clapped his hands loudly and two men came in and escorted the girls out of the room. Artemis and Valec followed.

"You know, we should be trying to reopen the main clubs again. They were excellent ports of international business. Drew some girls in willingly, too."

Artemis nodded slowly. "We could start in Rippen, like the boy said. Low key, stable market. Combat isn't too bad there. And everyone needs a little something, especially soldiers far from home."

"I'll look over the reports tonight and see how stable the market really is."

"Alright, well, I'll see you tomorrow, then. Say hi to Elenor for me. Your kid too."

Valec nodded. "See you tomorrow, Arty." With that, the men shook hands and parted for the evening.

[Ostehaar]

The 711th airborne infantry brigade handed the Alban district over to the Noronnicans back in April, after completing most scouting and clearing missions around bases Rouge and Fleur. That was the end of the Oster ground forces' involvement in Arvan, after which only the special forces remained, officially, in a small base in St. Recont. Unofficially, the OVAST began its own operation in Arvan. The Oster agency placed three top-level agents to lead a team of around 20, using a few apartments around Alban and Rippen, courtesy of the Noronnican Bureau of Internal Security.

---

Ron Vandisj looked up to the sky in anticipation, brows furrowed, breathing almost silently and only hearing the low-pitched wind around him. The sound of helicopter engines gradually became noticeable, making Ron turn his head slowly to the side. As he expected, Noronnican Valkyrie choppers appeared from the east, passing through some low clouds on their way back to Base Fleur from another quick night assault. He smirked as he followed the roaring aerial predators crossing above him.

"We have a go," Ron radioed in satisfaction. He dropped to a prone position, readjusted the sight on his sniper rifle and turned his aim towards a point far away down the scrubland. "I'm on," he reported when he shut his right eye and gazed with the left one through the scope. At that moment his target was still not visible - all he saw was a steel plate about a kilometer away, covering an opening of what was probably an underground tunnel.

"There in twenty," his radio relayed, and Ron began counting the seconds in his head. When he reached twenty, a loud burst of gunfire echoed from the area of his target and he could hear shouts from a place he did not see. Still, he kept his aim fixed on the steel plate.

The patience paid off - less than a minute into the event, the plate was jolted open. The barrel of a Kalashnikov was raised up slightly and then a few rounds were fired, as if the person holding the rifle wanted to scare away any potential hostiles. Eventually that person began stepping out of the opnening, at which point his head was clearly visible to Ron. The Oster released a single bullet and splattered blood all over the downward side of the steel plate.

"Ginger down," Ron announced as he pulled the bolt back and recocked the rifle.

"One more coming," he heard, and indeed in seconds another person tried to climb out of the tunnel. Another large caliber bullet made the way from Ron's position, and this time the blood left small stains on the bushes around the opening as well.

"He's down."

"We're finished here," the man in the radio reported. "Thanks, Rabbit."

Ron chuckled. "Always a pleasure," he replied, and started packing his equipment. When he glanced back at the area where the steel plate covered the opening earlier, he could see his friends from the special forces climbing out and carrying the bodies he created away with them. They were Unit 51 operatives - the Oster airborne commandos - and that was roughly the tenth time he had assisted them in operations around the Arvanan countryside. Cooperation between them and the OVAST field agents who knew the area was more efficient than sending one or two of their own to do the job.

"Got reports from the Noros?" Ron asked when he made his way towards his jeep. The Noronnican night raid was against a group which should have come to the help of the people he just helped kill. The success of the Osters' operation was only possible given the success of the Noronnicans'.

"Not yet, but we'll get full details by evening."

"Great. White Rabbit out," he signed off.

---

Back in an apartment in Alban, Daar Gehlig went through photographs delivered by the Noronnican intelligence. Most were taken by Yukon UAV's but some where taken from a a lower perspective of a small hill or the roof of a structure, allowing for many angles of viewing. The pictures clearly showed what must have been the opening of another underground tunnel.

"Shit," Daar spat, "there must be hundreds of them."

Ron sat in the corner of the room and waited for Daar to finish reviewing the pictures. "That's what I think," he said. "The one we closed this morning was a rather large one, so we actually had to work with the Noros on flushing the bastards out from the entire network."

Daar sighed. "A maze."

"And not only that," Ron continued his explanation, "any tunnel could have dozens of openings in places we don't know, and before we're cleared for an assault we have to map all of it and identify all openings and underground hiding spots."

"Are they Cartel?"

"We have no idea, to be honest. I'd assume that the Cartel uses tunnels since this seems to be working well. It could also be a great place to hide smuggled or illegal merchandise."

"Like girls." Daar wondered audibly.

"What, sex slaves?" Ron narrowed his eyes in question.

"Sure, why not? I heard that has been going on around here. It's Noros' business, not ours, but still..."