In the Mad House [PMT] (CANCELED)

A staging-point for declarations of war and other major diplomatic events. [In character]
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The Rapture Republic
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Founded: Dec 07, 2017
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In the Mad House [PMT] (CANCELED)

Postby The Rapture Republic » Tue Jul 14, 2020 2:31 pm

OOC Thread
In the Mad House

Palace of the Worthy, WonderTech Industries,
Phantom Street

“You honestly are considering to oppose the Chancellor, Chairman? He is what made your industry great. He can undo it, if you truly believe you can resist his supreme authority. You are a servant of his will, and a servant we all remain.” Voiced, vice chair, Arkham Holmes. “A servant we remain? I think not. It is true, the Chancellor has been a grand help in forging my corporate enterprise. We rule the world by the markets. Governments are dependent and fearful of us, they can’t do anything without risking a depression or unforeseen accident. However, my Industry has been faced with more needless encroachment by the government, undermining my governance and the company’s independence from the state. This is traitorous.” Replied Andrew Mercer, seated at the head of the WonderTech Corporate Board with a stain glass miral dedicated to the dominance over the planet by commercial means. “Traitorous, indeed, Chairman. The Government has become tyrannical it is suffocating us, and we must resist it, at once. Or else, our fruits of labour will mean absolutely nothing, and my investments will be worthless.” Stated a Board member. “Yes. I agree with my friend here. We cannot allow your empire to be chained by the government. It will be destroyed as bureaucrats no nothing of doing proper business.” Stated another board member. “So, we are all going to disobedience the Chancellor’s commandments for the sake of securing our own ends?” Questioned Arkham. “Of course not. We are defying him for a purpose that doesn’t involve money. It involves our right to work as freeman, and as freeman to command our own destiny without state interference.” Andrew stated, reaching for a cup of tea, and taking a sip of it.

“This will hurt our margin in the short term. As we’ll be draining much of our revenue to rebellion, but in the long run. Once the tyrant has been overthrown. We’ll be richer than ever before, and so will those who thought they can be reliant upon the government to earn their keep.” Andrew said, resting his drink in hand.

“Long term prospects? I don’t not see it happening.” Stated the Vice Chair. “Do you have such little faith in the Chairman’s plans? We shall come on top in the end, regardless of what occurs. As you must recognize we can use hostile states to our advantage that seek the Chancellor to be dethrone and tried for his crimes against the alleged free world.” Voiced back a board member, donning the name of Mason Mercer.”There is no need to question Arkham’s loyalties, Mason. He is justifiably concern as this is a major risk to pull off, and the consequences are great. We will all be losing something. If your father doesn’t eat a bullet.” Interjected Andrew. “You have suffered far more than us, he taking your syndicate to be his own. He sees you as no longer worthy to lord over the Black market. Despite you as a patriot proving yourself over and over again. He has become jealous of you, and his envy will be fall of him, and drunk for power by his actions against us.” He added.

Arkham looked at the board council seeing it in their eyes, they were fully on board with the Chairman’s rebellion. He still feared the results from this blatant treason against the government but his voice of protest was futile, and he decided to concede to the will of the Board. “You speak with truth, Chairman. I can not oppose a child who has been wronged by his father. You have my support in topping the hero turned villain.” He said, standing, and making a fist to his heart (being the Wonder salute). “Your sympathy to my pain is appreciated. The Syndicate shall reward you handsomely, when the guns go quiet.” Mason said, smiling. He would lead forward with determination, looking at the Chairman. “When shall we begin?” Mason asked.

“When? We commence at once, the placements have been made, and Wonder Guards are awaiting my signal.” Andrew answered. Showing he already set the stones for the rebellion of the Corporatists. “Hearing that, I guess, this board is dismissed.” Mason chuckled, leaving his seat. “I concur, board dismissed, and may this revolution bring us great wealth.”

Rules, Discord & Applications

In the Mad House is a Civil War Roleplay set in the Rapture Republic, a nation based off Bioshock made into an abomination by me. That initially averted a civil war during the crisis of the 1950s, thanks to Chancellor John Mercer, who convinced Andrew Ryan to abandon his philosophy of an anarcho-capitalist utopia that caused the crisis in the first place. It would be replaced by a system of a centralized, over-arching surveillance, technocratic, and meritocratic state to hopefully prevent another potential civil unrest in the country. Only for that hope to fall to pieces as the government grew corrupt, hypocritical, elitist, and lenient on monitoring entities within its borders that could oppose a threat to social stability and national security despite them being beneficial to its interests such as WonderTech Industries. That started out as a online bookstore to turn into a mega corporation made reality that controls a vast portion of the global economy and holds several governments in its pocket to secure its revenue, and from this, when the state tried to fix its leniency.

It leading to WonderTech Industries chaired by founder and CEO Andrew Mercer to finance a revolution against the government to maintain his free reign status as a corporate juggernaut, followed by numerous anti-government groups coming out of the woodwork after being suppressed and hiding for so long. To seize the opportunity, they all been waiting for, and strike back at the administration that has since lost all of meaning of its original purpose, and change Rapture for the better under a new banner, or remain the same. If the Mercer Administration can overcome the ensuing chaos.
Last edited by The Rapture Republic on Tue Jul 21, 2020 7:33 pm, edited 3 times in total.
[|Rapture Tribune|] vonstein and mercer is kill. praise be to allah for this moment. sharia law will be officially instated.

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The Rapture Republic
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Founded: Dec 07, 2017
Iron Fist Consumerists

Postby The Rapture Republic » Tue Jul 14, 2020 2:37 pm

Kashmir Resturant

All the greatest minds of Rapture have gathered together at the ever glorious Kashmir restaurant on Diamond Street. Kashmir was famed for its diverse menu, live music, galas and various parties for the upper levels of Aquarian society, and here today. Kashmir will serve as host by the Chancellor’s decree to celebrate the anniversary of Rapture’s establishment on November 9th, 1946.

Chancellor John Mercer would be seen conversing with Blackwell and Elfdark. “Long live the Fatherland, my friends.” He stated, taking a drink of wine. “If course, Chancellor. Glory to Rapture and long may he reign, thanks to your noble wisdom.” Blackwell, complimented, hiding the fact. He wasn’t pleased being here, as he must preferred his laboratory rather than in a crowd of lesser minds with the exclusion of his excellency, and the Minister for State Security. Blackwell as John drank, looked at Elfdark, curiously. “You seem troubled, Minister. It is the issue with Andrew’s outbursts about the state reigning him in? He was becoming too much of problem, and it was right on the Chancellor’s part to bring a firm reminder to Andrew, that his company and as well as any business is state property.” He said. “His talk of rebellion is nonsense. Nobody is dumb enough to defy the Chancellor’s will. Relax, yourself. “ He added.

The only elf on the room, Minister Elfdark, effectively glowed form his fair white skin. His face, however, was indeed contorted in deep thought. "Yes, you're right, Doctor Blackwell." Elfdark said stoically before sipping some of his drink. "I do so want to believe that Andrew Mercer wouldn't be so rash as to start a full blown civil war and spill Aquarian blood over some regulations on WonderTech. Though, in the back of my mind, I know that Andrew is a Mercer, and just like our Glorious Chancellor; a Mercer would stop at nothing until anything he sees as unjust is extinguished." Elfdark set his glass down and turned to John directly. "I don't leave anything to chance, and certainly not Andrew backing down from this. I'm afraid to say a civil war is in the wind."

“If that is true, my loyal servant. Andrew and any opportunists that follow suit. Will be crushed by righteous steel. Defying the Administration will always end in death, as I was chosen by Ryan in his will to ensure Rapture continues to survive be it hell or high water. Otherwise, smile for me, if you can, and enjoy the festivities.” John replied confidently. “If what Elfdark says becomes reality. It will serve as a opportunity to test out our latest project in anti-riot enforcement.” Blackwell, smile widely, beneath the medical mask, halfway hidden by his jacket’s collar. “You have my authorization, Doctor. I have seen the tests, and it will serve as an excellent warning to those, who seek to disturb the peace.” John commented. “Indeed it will.” Blackwell responded.

In the meantime, the group of three, would remain close together, conversing about day to day life, political drama, and chuckle about a comical news report about a doctor’s apprentice somehow managing to turn himself into a goose. However, this friendly commence would quickly come to an end, and have their sharply turn towards a cry. “Oh, what’s that?! By the Scientist...Everybody run!!” Cried a women, followed with panics, and a guards barking orders for an orderly evacuation as a big black object grow closer, and closer upon the large window, peering out into the oceanic cityscape, and within seconds, a loud crack, shatter, and storm of water rushing into the resturant. Blasting guests away, and the most unfortunate ones being pulled into the deep blue, or crushed by the black object, turning out to be a colossal submarine, with a WonderTech logo on it. “So it begins....Damn fool.” John remarked, being pulled to the exit, and ten minutes after, explosions rattled across the city, fighting breaking out on the streets between the Wonder Guard and Republican Defense Forces, as the government declared a state of emergency, and a massive crackdown on the insurgent forces. And with this, the world would soon take notice of the first corporate rebellion against the state, as global economy and the stock market went up in flames as this could only be caused by the Global Conglomerate, WonderTech Industries that has reigned with an iron fist over the international market to cause a unprecedented worldwide collapse. As it rebelled against the Mercer Administration attempted to tighten its chains, only leading to breaking it, and dealing with a civil war that shall put the Chancellor’s will to the greatest test, imaginable, with the only outcome being victory or death.
[|Rapture Tribune|] vonstein and mercer is kill. praise be to allah for this moment. sharia law will be officially instated.

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Posts: 171
Founded: Jul 31, 2019
Psychotic Dictatorship

Postby Khoronzon » Tue Jul 14, 2020 3:25 pm

Rapture Republic
Lower Hive | Blackburn Residence

Deep beneath the waves of the Atlantic, through untold, crushing volumes of ocean water, the colossal hive-city of Rapture stood upon the floor of the abyss. Its thick walls and steep, jagged surfaces dotted with buildings rose up into the sea like a great, impenetrable fortress, a veritable mountain of metal and concrete. And yet, within this seemingly immovable stronghold, chaos had broken out. The violent split between the Mercer administration and WonderTech Industries, the immensely powerful corporate giant born from within the heart of the Aquarian state, had sent shockwaves throughout the Republic. In the midst of the unrest, a window for change presented itself. Opportunists rose up, seeking to use this instability, this fracturing of Rapture's central power structure, to build a new order and topple the old.

Among these pretenders, a long-hidden face saw fit to reveal itself once more.

In the shadowed reaches of the city, within a suspiciously vacated housing complex, numerous silhouettes toiled with great fervour through its dimly-lit chambers, revolving around two distinct figures. Sitting at his study, hastily typing away at his desktop as he ran his fingers through his long, wild hair, was Dr. Aloysius Blackburn. He had waited for this day for decades. A disgraced former politican, he had been forcibly removed from his position in the Aquarian Senate nearly fifty years ago over "un-Aquarian" beliefs and ideological radicalism - namely, his fervent advocacy of "Aquarian Socialism". On its own, socialism had long been considered anathema to the society of Rapture even after its break with its laissez-faire hyper-individualist past - combined with a degree of nationalism deemed excessive and "barbaric" even by Aquarian standards, along with a disdain for the human traditions that Rapture still clung to, he had earned himself permanent exile from political life lest his dangerous ideas "undermine civilisation". With his respected career as a geneticist being the only thing standing between him and the dreaded Laughing House, he had kept a policy of laying low ever since his ejection, pursuing his research as independently as he could while occasionally attempting to publish his works, with varying degrees of success largely depending on subject matter. Yet now, at long last, his ideas had been vindicated. An ingrate corporation propped up by the misguided state, now openly rebelling against the nation for the sake of lining its already-bloated pockets - the situation could not have been more perfect. Fully capitalising on this moment, he had taken to writing a new piece - a manifesto, intended as a founding document for the Revolutionary Movement for Aquarian Socialism. By now, it was nearly complete; soon, he would broadcast it all across Rapture and rally the nation's truest devotees to his cause.

Elsewhere in the complex, poring over maps while swiftly writing out notes and battle-plans, was an uncanny, slightly crooked figure, clad in an Aquarian naval uniform - or rather, an imitation of one, for he had long since lost the right to have said uniform in his possession. Vladimir Skullus, a former Commissar of the Republican Navy, later hired as a security contractor by WonderTech Industries after a series of clashes between him and naval command resulted in his position becoming tenuous. Following an incident eleven years ago in which the protection of a WonderTech shipping convoy near Turkey spiralled far out of control, leaving hundreds of civilians dead, earning Skullus the moniker of "the Butcher of the Black Sea", damaging the goods in transit, and creating a PR disaster for the company, the Chairman had him fired and driven to bankruptcy to compensate for his losses. Forced into retreat in the depths of Rapture's Lower Hive, he spent his days hiding from the continuous, merciless threat of being either subjected to indefinite penal labour or abducted and mutilated under the guise of scientific research - that is, until he was picked up by Dr. Blackburn, who initially had him serve as a personal assistant before gradually subjecting him to an increasing amount of experimental procedures as Aquarian scientists are wont to do. Nonetheless, he came to develop a sense of loyalty towards Blackburn and found himself drawn to his worldview, and though the aforementioned procedures were indeed often painful, they left him with capabilities well beyond the average Aquarian. And now, with the nation on the verge of civil war, he would finally be given a chance to do what he had been waiting for over more than a decade - getting his revenge on Andrew Mercer, and casting the fractured remains of WonderTech into the depths.

Shugara | Sanctum Sector | Nexus Cathedral

Far away, under hundreds of metres of stone in the Ural mountains, another fortress-city stood in the stygian depths of the Earth. Reaching through unending expanses of solid rock was the Khoronzonite capital of Shugara, a dark, tightly-packed labyrinth of tunnels, buildings, and supports, forever sequestered away from the light of the sun. And within the heart of this gargantuan, layered complex lay the central citadel of all of Khoronzon - the Nexus, the administrative nervous centre of the vast Supremacy. Within its walls, the scores of bureaucrats overseeing the byzantine machinations of the state were rarely if ever idle, and today was no exception. War was on the horizon, and the nation of Khoronzon was not one to abstain from shaping the events that would ensue to its will.

In the core of the Nexus, through its sprawling, intricate maze of tunnels, corridors, and offices leading up to the Cathedral, Emperor Narcissus sat at his desk, receiving the news on his screen. It seemed the Aquarians were at each other's throats, to a slightly more severe degree than usual. With WonderTech seeking to break free of the state to form its own world-spanning empire, and Rapture seeking to regain control of the corporate behemoth and restore stability among its populace, the path for Khoronzon to take appeared obvious. As bombastic as Rapture could be, it remained an insular city-state, blocking itself off from what the Aquarians termed "surface-dwellers". WonderTech, on the other hand, sought nothing less than total financial dominion over the world. Should it establish itself as an independent force in the aftermath of this split, it would inevitably seek to add the Supremacy to its corporate holdings one way or another - as such, nipping this potential adversary in the bud while it was still weakened seemed the most efficient course of action. He began typing up orders to send through the Ministry of War; as he did so, his door silently slid open, and a small, black drone lazily hovered through. A proxy of Isidor IFX97, Minister of Order and Director of General Intelligence - presumably, judging by circumstances, acting upon his duties as the latter. It came to a stop in front of the Emperor's desk, and a flat, tinny voice rang out from it.

"Before you throw your lot in with Mercer, I've uncovered some details from within the Aquarian populace that may be of interest."

"Enlighten me."

"As you may already know, the Aquarians are in a state of havoc. Rebels springing out of the woodwork, left and right, like maggots from a corpse, all seeking to claim Rapture for themselves."

"Is that not how they always are? ...But please, do continue."

"Well, yes, I suppose... In any case, one such faction, calling itself the Revolutionary Movement for Aquarian Socialism and headed by one Dr. Aloysius Blackburn, appears to have a particularly beneficial platform. One that could align with our goals in the long term. Though it has yet to gain significant traction, perhaps, with a little outside assistance, it could be made to... influence Rapture's politics. Push them in a more productive direction. I've sent you further details - I'd suggest you think on the matter."

"Very well. You may leave."

As the drone turned back and hovered out through the doorway, Narcissus opened the new dossier he had been sent. Within it, he saw an opportunity. Despite the occasional alignment of values and goals, Mercer was merely the lesser evil in this conflict - he remained a potential rival, a distant obstacle in Narcissus' future plans. This Blackburn, on the other hand, could become a valuable ally - all he needed was the right backing.

Rapture Republic
Lower Hive | Blackburn Residence


That was the number of Aquarian men and women now gathered in the complex. That was what Rapture had to offer Blackburn, after he broadcasted his manifesto to the entirety of the city, hoping to stir up the masses. After he reached out to the hundreds of millions within this supposedly proud nation, presenting to them Rapture's true calling. And this was including the handful of assistants he had already been sharing his residence with for years prior.

Ninety-seven faithful Aquarians now stood before him.

He almost wished to flee with them, to let the city burn like Sodom while its last true visionaries prospered away from its crumbling ruins. But that would not do. Rapture was more than a mere city - since its inception, it had been a symbol of defiance and enlightenment against the pettiness and cowardice that reigned on the Earth's surface. To abandon it was to give in to despair, to resign himself to irrelevancy. Chastising himself for even entertaining the thought, he gathered his resolve. He would not leave. Against all odds, he would take Rapture by the reins and awaken it by force. Clearing his throat and straightening himself, he gave a speech, hoping to raise his own spirits as well as those of his followers.

"My comrades, Rapture's true sons and daughters. I am honoured to have you all here. Our numbers may be slim, and our task great and daunting, but does that not make our struggle all the more necessary? Within each of us is a dream - a grand vision of Rapture's future, one which we must pursue with utter devotion, for it is our most precious possession in this world. With this resolve in our hearts, we will shield ourselves, and drive our cause forward. For what force can possibly overcome that of an Aquarian filled with the undying will for eternal glory? Know this, comrades. The trials ahead of us may be vast and treacherous, but we will fight nonetheless. We will not tire, we will not slacken, we will not lose faith. And for the sake of our nation and its people, we will prevail."

He gave a salute, which was returned in kind among cheers by all present. In the midst of the commotion, one new figure approached Blackburn from the crowd. A young Aquarian, like most of the others, clad in a slender, entirely black suit. His straight, reddish-black hair framed his youthful face, reaching down to his chin. Blackburn recognised him from his personnel database as one "Icarus Hawthorne", but very little other information on his person appeared to exist. Despite knowing he was on his side, being in his presence gave Blackburn a somewhat uneasy feeling. Hawthorne smiled, and spoke to him in a calm tone.

"I know what you're thinking, Doctor. We may have courage, ambition, and mental fortitude, but there are nonetheless fewer than a hundred of us trying to overthrow a city of countless millions. I know that speech you gave was for your own morale just as much as ours. But please, don't worry. I'm afraid I'm not at liberty of disclosing all the details at present, but... I have friends in high places. Soon, so will you."

He motioned towards his silvery lapel pin - a small, circular medallion, depicting a great eye projected over a pyramid - before turning away with a knowing smirk. Blackburn was left even more suspicious. For what reason could he keep such secrets? Who were these "friends" of his? Did his loyalties truly lie with the RMAS? Tired and confused, Blackburn sat back down at his desk, resting his head in his hands. Whoever this Hawthorne character was, he figured it would be wise to reserve judgement. After all, he needed all the help he could get - where that help came from, and whatever else it could want, was but a secondary concern.
Last edited by Khoronzon on Tue Jul 14, 2020 4:42 pm, edited 1 time in total.
"Gaze into what lies beyond. Behold its vast desolation, its seas of madness. Tell me if it pays any heed to what you think you deserve."

Theocratic quasi-eusocial ethnostate of anthropophagic transhuman supremacists in the scarred, isolated wastelands of Siberia
Ruled by an all-powerful part-man, part-extrauniversal-larva, and part-artificial-superintelligence worshipped as a messianic demigod
With human civilisation falling into atrophy, the Supremacy bides its time to sweep it all away
quirky compass meemay #1 & #2
Does Khoronzon represent my views?
kiu's inspired me to do something horrible, stay tuned

Q&A thread | Flag credit | Theme | CHALICEwave

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Yegla Islands
Posts: 240
Founded: Oct 19, 2016
Scandinavian Liberal Paradise

Postby Yegla Islands » Wed Jul 15, 2020 5:06 am

Chernograd Governmental Complex
Black Wing
08:15 AM

"Rapture's at it again."

It was a simple statement. Taken matter-of-factly, passed from functionary to functionary through the labyrinthine byways of Yeglan bureaucracy. Within the winding halls of the CGC, it elicited feelings of... resignation, mostly. As it reached the Vozhd's own desk, it had already been circulated so widely that along with it came notices signalling the preparations that had already been undertaken to deal with it. For such a complex, multifaceted system, the UYP worked with surprising speed when it needed to. Just as Rasputin finished leafing through the relevant communiques, a gentle knock on the door prompted him to look away from them.

"Come in."

Ebonwood swung aside, admitting the black-clad figure of the Minister of the Interior. The two greeted each other with curt nods, before jumping directly to the matter at hand.

"I'm assuming you've read the missive?"

"Yes. There isn't much to be said, really."

"Beyond action."

"Naturally. Though I suppose it's worth mentioning that this goes against certain conventions in our plan-making."

"Ah, yes, because we would typically account for a suitable internal resistance movement seeking to overthrow Mercer. Which hasn't really happened, so we'll have to settle for babysitting him and keeping his city from imploding. While also contending with the very much undesirable primary resistance movement, plus the gamut of foreign-instigated and backed splinter groups that will undoubtedly spring up."

"Of course. The tried and tested approach. A peacekeeping action to end all wars, as it were."

"I've already taken measures to modify Saturn, and to gear everything towards independent operation. Details will be forwarded as we proceed - there's a few practical hurdles, but nothing we don't have the base assets for."

"Excellent. I trust you'll keep me posted. If you'll excuse me - unsurprisingly, this has already started to generate Void-knows how much paperwork."

"I'll leave you to it."

With another nod, they bid each other farewell - as the door shut once more, Rasputin allowed himself a sigh. Leave it up to Mercer to generate such idiocy wherever he went. Now he couldn't even keep the corporations under his command under his... well, command. If such trends continued, a more permanent solution would have to be found. To the problem posed by the existence of Rapture itself, should the need arise. But those were considerations for another day - with his usual, stony-faced look, the Vozhd set about working through the page after page of red tape that had come to be called due process.

Outer Yeglan Archipelago
YCV Lermont
12:06 PM

As the nominally Adrianna-class cargo skimmer made its way towards the outer island ring, the impromptu war room behind its bridge remained abuzz with activity. Friendly waters wouldn't call for much alertness, and yet there was still so much planning to be done. UYDF Expeditionary Force Saturn had barely been restructured for its current task prior to deployment - now, with the primary task elements working on ahead of the mobile command center, the time had come to plan their approach in more detail.

"-you call that having the basics covered? How in the Vozhd's name are we meant to get into the damn thing? From what I can see, there's mobile elevator platforms, but we'd need to enter hostilities and initiate boarding to even attempt to get our hands on one, and-"

The angered officer was cut off with a sharp clearing of the throat. Rear Admiral Bezrukov tapped his fingers on the polymer table at which they had all assembled - the de-facto command council of Operation Saturn.

"Аs I understand it, the insertion team had already worked out a method of independent breaching that didn't run detriment to the city's integrity. Correct?"

"Correct. Untested, but with the mod packages we've applied to the transports it should be doable. The real issue is getting close enough to do it."


"Lots of them. That, and a network of submersible drones - whose control they are under, exactly, isn't currently clear, but since we've not actually been granted official transit permits in and out of the city, we'll assume that they'll attack on sight. Given that it's Aquarian engineering."

"Ah, yes. No doubt their mines have already claimed the lives of many a passing whale. What do you propose, then?"

"Well, we don't really have the time to conduct conventional de-mining in hostile waters. Nor do we want to deal with the drones at present. Ideally we could probe the area with Domovoi units before sending the transports through, but we'd be wasting assets while still running a risk to our troops."

"If I may make a suggestion?"

All present heads turned towards this new spokesman - a rather unassuming individual in formal, civilian dress. Among the men in regalia, he looked rather out of place - more of a bureaucrat than a soldier, at first glance. The admiral addressed him wearily.

"Commissar Čalić. I presume you have a more refined solution?"

"Not as such. At least, nothing concrete. But tell me - do we currently have direct access to oceanographic surveys of the opzone? Seafloor mappings and the like."

"Of course. The records are still synced. But the minefields cannot be mapped succinctly without direct access."

"Oh, I wasn't referring to the mines."

The Commissar produced a compact, PDA-esque device, into which he promptly tapped a complex series of inputs. After a minute or two of examining the screen, he turned once more to the assembled personnel.

"The USCGC Alexander Hamilton."

"Excuse me?"

"Treasury-class cutter of the United States Navy. Torpedoed off the coast of Reykjavík in 1942 by a German U-boat. Currently resting at-"

"How is this relevant to the current issue?"

"How many TDUs do we have collectively installed on our fleet detachment?"

"Naval-caliber? A total of four. Six if you count Shubin rigs."

"Then I believe we may have a way in. Of course, I'm no expert on the matter."

His attention was turned towards a hard-faced woman in loose-fitting fatigues. She tilted her head in bemusement.

"What is it that you want to do, exactly? I can't provide advice on our equipment without knowing how it is to be used."

He told them. The room was filled with a silence borne from equal parts thoughtfulness and confusion - and was broken immediately with a tirade of the latter.

"This is an entirely theoretical maneuver. The sheer amount of precision required to actually pull it off would be-"

"-the international reaction wouldn't be favourable in the slightest, just think of-"

"-even have the capacity for this? Half of those constructs are express-designed for-"

"Ladies and Gentlemen."

Bezrukov certainly had a grasp on when and how to slip into a commanding tone. Everyone fell silent once more, as he turned to the fatigue-clad woman.

"You know the limits of our equipment. Could this be done?"

She seemed somewhat unsure - her eyes kept flickering to a PDA of our own, the screen of which seemed to be laden with reference tables and calculations.

"Theoretically? We don't have much mass to work with, but the path we'd be clearing would also be for limited-mass vessels, and we can probably get sediment agglomeration to do half the work for us. I've also received some technical data packages from the Commissariat with regards to a few... shall we say, novel implementations of existing techniques. Something we can use to supplement the effort."

She turned away from the device, and stared intently at Bezrukov.

"Am I confident it will work? No. Am I confident enough to attempt it? Certainly."

"Then, if nobody has any more effective suggestions, you may begin preparations. This element of the proceedings is hereby designated sub-initiative Saturn/Sweep."

Murmurings came from clerks and data-management officers the room over.



"Synced up with central op-block."

"Excellent. Now that we've got immediate entry requirements out of the way, I suggest we set our sights on internal directives."

And so they toiled in their impromptu logistical workshop. The Lermont still had a ways to go before it could draw close to Rapture. Far above, its triangle-formation of escort craft drew lazy arcs over the vessel they shadowed.

Dictator-backed dedication to absolute civil freedoms, ultrabureaucratic pseudo-socialism and heavily-armed neutrality.
Fueled by PMT*/FanT nanopunk schizotech, eldritch red tape and snazzy neo-cold war aesthetics on a broken continent.

Our HistoryOur MilitaryOur GovernmentOur CitiesOur GeographyOur LeaderOur "Magic"Themes & TunesWar Guide
This nation uses NS stats. Sort of. In a general kind of way. Canon policies may be found in this outdated, ugly dispatch that I will probably fix at some point.
*Definitions of "Post", "Modern" and "Technology" may vary

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South Reinkalistan
Posts: 1234
Founded: Mar 12, 2019
Psychotic Dictatorship

Postby South Reinkalistan » Thu Jul 16, 2020 1:25 am


Against all odds, they'd made it. Roughly one and a half thousand men - two battalions - had landed in the Rapture Republic. It was a precarious journey, no doubt. Twenty submarines, each bearing the eight-point star and sword of the P.F.R., had managed to ever-so-slowly evade and make their way through the swarm of mines that enveloped the underwater city like a protective field. Of course, these vessels were not being used for their intended purpose. Once simple combat submarines, they had now become a form of naval interceptor-cum-transport for the soldiers and equipment within. Now, having docked in what was tentatively receptive territory - it was hard to tell among the chaos that the Republic was currently subject to - men began to unload heavy machine guns, medical equipment, bicycles, rifles, and ammunition.

Among these new arrivals were two distinctively-dressed individuals that stood out from the rest of the men. One of them bore the green uniform of a Red Army Officer; the other, dressed in the unmistakable red-and-black cladding of a Political Commissar. Stepping out of the stifling atmosphere within their submarine, they now observed the sickly turquoise landscape of Rapture with a sort of morbid curiosity. These men were Lieutenant Ostok Veraskavich and Commissar Duva Hirek respectively. The men were well-acquainted from the precarious journey down, and seemed relieved to be on dry land -- if a little more distinguished than the giddy excitement of the regular troops having finally reached "dry" land.

The Commissar, an aging yet ostensibly perceptive man, nudged Veraskavich with a smile. "Here we are, Comrade Lieutenant. At long last, Red Army troops have landed in Rapture." He had a soft, almost kind manner to him. But any who had encountered a man of his rank before wouldn't miss the deadened steel in his eyes. He was a man who had killed in cold blood, and would likely do so again. Veraskavich had since elected to keep this in mind. The two may be on the same side, but they were by no means to be friends.

Regardless, Veraskavich returned the smile. "Indeed. Predictions are that both battalions shall be ready in around a half-hour."

Hirek seemed impressed. "Quick work, it appears."

"Not even the depths of the ocean are a fair match for Reinkalistani vigour, Comrade Commissar."

"Indeed. In other news, and between you and me, C5C has determined that civilian casualties take second priority to fulfillment of strategic objectives."

This seemed to mildly shock Veraskavich. His next words were spoken with a tone of concern. "Would recklessness not damage our international reputation?"

Both men laughed at that. The P.F.R. had long ceased to possess an international reputation worth mentioning. "In all seriousness," Hirek continued, his mirth swiftly subsiding, "I believe we should notify Comrade Blackburn of our intent to aid him." For the sake of security, the Aquarian socialists had not been informed of Reinkalistan's involvement beforehand. If such a communication were to be intercepted, they would not have experienced as 'smooth' a journey down.

As his soldiers moved out, Veraskavich sat and began wiring a message.


To: Doctor Aloysius Blackburn
From: Lieutenant Ostok Veraskavich

    Comrade Blackburn,

      It is with the utmost humility that I notify you that two battalions under the banner of the "Red Army Expeditionary Force" [R.E.A.F.] under my command have arrived in the south of the Rapture Republic. These forces are primarily concerned with aiding your movement against the tyrannical forces of both WonderTech and John Mercer's administration.

      We aim to establish occupation in the immediate urban area that we have reached. Our force, while well-trained and ready for combat, is not particularly numerous, and we would appreciate a consolidation of whatever mutual forces we may possess. If you require assistance from the R.E.A.F., please notify us posthaste.
    Yours, Ostok Veraskavich


The People's Federation of Reinkalistan
Official Statement


Sent on behalf of the Prime Commissariat.
Authorised by the Commission for Political Loyalty.
16TH JULY 2020

    This address is released to notify the world of the not unprecedented event in which the P.F.R. has elected to intervene in another nation's civil conflict. At approximately 10:10AM, a submarine group designated the "Red Army Expeditionary Force" docked in the southern sector of the Rapture Republic in aid of the "Revolutionary Movement for Aquarian Socialism". The imperialist civil war between the Aquarian government and the ruthless WonderTech industries has given way for the rise of this movement, and the P.F.R. will not stand by whilst the fledgling flame of the Aquarian revolution is at such danger of being snuffed out.

    It is not, of course, missed that until recently Chancellor John Mercer was a vocal supporter of the P.F.R., with the Rapture Republic serving as a close potential ally to Turaniskidak. It is with no regrets that this potential has been dashed, and along with it the deluded Aquarian fantasies of a cordial relationship with Reinkalistan. I speak on behalf of every Reinkalistani when I say that the key attribute of John Mercer's influence is danger. The psychotic crimes and so-called "experiments" that have been executed under the Mercer regime shall be stopped, and the P.F.R. shall do everything it can to ensure a victory for the workers of the Rapture Republic.
Theocratic cyber-communist superstate. You have been warned.

Every disappointing F7 response will see the PEOPLE'S AIR FORCE fly and OBLITERATE A COLONIAL SETTLEMENT WITH HEAVENLY FURY.

Regarding "Proof"I, too, now have a funny compass factbookSR now has a theme!

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Posts: 2386
Founded: Mar 21, 2017
Democratic Socialists

Postby Arkeyana » Thu Jul 16, 2020 8:42 am

Somewhere off the coast of Iceland

The looming bulk of a submarine breached through the waves, settling on the surface. Formerly the Aquarian Cargo-Sub "Pearl of the Sea", it had since been renamed to "This Side Up, Carry Gently" at the behest of her rather enigmatic, new captain. His name was Robin "Riding Hood" Nero, nicknamed so after the iconic red cloak he seemed to have adopted, alongside a theatrical mask carved of pure, flawless ivory, an empty smiling face the only feature on the otherwise pure surface. Robin himself was 180cm tall, and incredibly lightweight at around 78lbs. He was an Aquarian Transhumanist, having been resurrected as per his will. Shortly after being resurrected, he dropped from the public spotlight for a while for unknown reasons, although people often would see him, or some other figure, staring out of the windows of his residence. Eventually he resurfaced and began gathering a political following, casually throwing around the idea of Rapture returning to an isolated state below the waves. He was shockingly charismatic and convincing, able to sway even those who had glued to the current ways to his cause, and eventually he ended up with almost a thousand followers.

They ended up purchasing a cargo sub and setting off on an "expedition", although the aim was officially stated as "exploration of the sea floor and its ecosystem", the Sub had eventually vanished a few days before Rapture had collapsed into civil war. The Pearl had remained hidden, until now, as it sat on the surface as though waiting for something. After almost half an hour, the air was split by a sonic boom as a wavering silhouette of an aircraft made itself clear. Moving without a clear means of propulsion, the wedge-shaped vehicle lowered itself to the Submarine, tentatively setting landing legs on the forward stretch of deck as a ramp lowered, a large group of people exiting moving several containers out of the aircraft and into the submarine's cargo holds. Nero silently observed the procession from the deck, seemingly in a wordless conversation with each and every person aiding in lowering the goods through the hatches of the This Side Up. Soon after the last container was lowered in, a different batch of people arrived, armed with various tools and towing two large gun-like apparatuses on trolleys, some clambering into the sub to perform internal refits as the on-deck crew worked on installing the apparatuses into the Sub itself.

It would take most of the day, yet by nightfall the This Side Up, Carry Gently would become something more than a mere cargo submarine.
Lore Consolidation in Progress

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Yegla Islands
Posts: 240
Founded: Oct 19, 2016
Scandinavian Liberal Paradise

Postby Yegla Islands » Thu Jul 16, 2020 8:59 am

Approximately 27 nautical miles off the coast of Reykjavik
YCV Lermont
07:14 PM

The seas were calm, and the Adrianna-class command center floated low in the surf. Atop its gently-rolling deck stood Major Snežana Dorofeyeva, PDA and binoculars both clutched tightly in-hand. A short distance away, the three remaining surface vessels of Expeditionary Force Saturn bobbed in unison - technicians could be seen scrambling around and between conspicuously-deployed… things. Like cannons, but not quite congruent with how conventional guns should look. Even the relatively exotic kinetic battery patterns normally employed by the UYDF looked more mundanely gun-like. As the Major passed her gaze over them, a few began to unfold into even stranger shapes - like agglomerations of radio antennae, fused and intermixed with strange, blocky machinery.

Bezrukov joined her on the deck. Between his teeth, he held a blackwood pipe.

“Is everything in order?”

“More or less. We’ve got the exact coordinates and mass-data up to scratch, and diver teams have mapped the target object directly. Routes have been charted, for both the projectors and the vessels bearing them. Now we’re just undergoing final calibration prep.”

“And you’re reasonably certain that this will work?”

“Void, no. This is the first time something like this has been done. For all we know, it could just implode into a scrap-ball and launch itself into the stratosphere.”

“You’re being facetious.”

“Somewhat. In truth, the calculations seem sound. The international view on this… less so.”

“Ah, come now. What will the Americans use to rationalize it? Ghosts? Abnormal currents? A very large hermit crab?”

“Point taken. We should be reaching a ready-state right about… now.”

She glanced down at her PDA - a number of indicators had turned a vibrant green. Silhouetted against the evening horizon, the antenna-esque devices were wreathed in their own personal coronas of twisted air.

“Alright. Everything is in place.”
She sighed.

“We’re about to make either department history, or a whole lot of scrap metal. Possibly both.”

“I like our chances. You may proceed.”

A light tap on the touchscreen, and the proverbial wheels were set in motion. Within moments, the on-deck devices began to crackle, their inherent electrical hum intensifying a hundredfold. Arcs of light flashed over the metal, and a cold glow began to emanate from within. On the surface, a lightshow. But the surface wasn’t where the main event was taking place.

Approximately 95 meters below sea level
Wreck of the USCGC Alexander Hamilton
07:19 PM

It took a few seconds for anything to actually start happening. And the happenings started small - a strengthening of the current here, a subtle vibration there. The barnacle-encrusted wreck shifted ever-so-slightly in its bed of assorted sediments, rocking back and forth as if at the behest of some unseen force. Until finally, a notably more violent tremor ran through its rusted hull. Fish and crustaceans alike swarmed away from what had, for some time, served as a de-facto home - as the water surrounding the long-stricken vessel began swirling with a frenzied rhythm, their instincts told them that it was no longer suitable for shelter. As the seabed silt began to flow towards the wreck in lazy streams, they were proven right. Even the rock beneath cracked and twisted, drawn into the bowels of the ship-husk as if by an invisible hand.

And what rose from the seabed a few minutes later was not the same gutted wreck - at least, not entirely. Still rusted through, still ragged and scratched, but now somehow more solid. Reinforced, almost - the holes in its hull now filled with an assortment of compacted sediment and seemingly-solid, fused rock. Its contours, outlined with a ghostly, crackling light. It floated amidst a localized maelstrom of swirling water, held aloft with almost perfect steadiness. And, thus having risen and righted itself, the newly-raised USCGC Alexander Hamilton set off due west.


Dorofeyeva nodded to herself, examining the screen.

“Looks like everything’s stable. We’ve reached the guidance phase.”

Up ahead, the three warships had begun their journey west, the devices they bore still crackling. The Lermont followed suit, sliding into a casual thirty-knot cruise with little more than a whisper of the engines. Bezrukov puffed on the pipe, sending ember-motes spiralling off into the twilight.

“Now we move it towards the opzone and hope that it doesn’t collapse along the way?”

“More or less. Integrity readings are stable across the board, and we’ve test-fired all the aux-constructs in bursts. They’ll be reactivated once we actually need them, hopefully without too much strain on the core cohesion module.”

“We’ve certainly come a long way since the first Zhivas.”

“That we have. I suppose you have our actual insertion to go coordinate.”


He sighed.

“More fussing over logistics than anything else.”

“Hey, I’d rather be fussing over logistics than trying to keep our very own miniature flying dutchman up and running on little more than maths and prayers.”

“Hah. I’ll leave you to it, then.”

He strode back towards the bulkhead doors - pausing with his hand on a polymer handle, he turned back to address her.

“Do update me on any pressing developments.”

“Will do.”

And with that, he reentered the ship. Dorofeyeva was left staring out into the evening skies, PDA in hand - somewhere beneath the surface, their impromptu mine-clearing tool sped its way over the seabed.

Dictator-backed dedication to absolute civil freedoms, ultrabureaucratic pseudo-socialism and heavily-armed neutrality.
Fueled by PMT*/FanT nanopunk schizotech, eldritch red tape and snazzy neo-cold war aesthetics on a broken continent.

Our HistoryOur MilitaryOur GovernmentOur CitiesOur GeographyOur LeaderOur "Magic"Themes & TunesWar Guide
This nation uses NS stats. Sort of. In a general kind of way. Canon policies may be found in this outdated, ugly dispatch that I will probably fix at some point.
*Definitions of "Post", "Modern" and "Technology" may vary

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Toad Isle
Posts: 32
Founded: Jul 10, 2020

Postby Toad Isle » Thu Jul 16, 2020 3:43 pm


Caviar LeMand warmed his feet upon the whirling projector, causing his slippers' pointed toes to singe, like cigarrette butts. On the chrome wall, Caviar LeMand smiled a waxen smile at the camera, his eyes black and his gloves white. The camera bobbed, as though hypnotized, through restaurant doors, entering Long Pig Beach. In his chair, the solid Caviar dared not breathe. In his element, the flickering Caviar twirled passed tables and waiters.

Caviar toasted his past, and sipped deep of merlot. A frown melted his face. Once upon a time, bottles of wine had come from the surface, strapped to the outside of Mark II bathyspheres. Despite their best efforts, saltwater always seeped through the cork. Like so many of his generation, he was accustomed to the taste - but mixing salt into wine was no easy art, even for a master chef. A tad unsteady, silver hair askew, Caviar made for his kitchenette. Swaying with intent, Caviar unplugged his toaster, brushed it aside, and leaning against the counter, slowly pulled a wall socket free. His hand fumbled among the wires, and pinched out a bag of finest Russian salt.

The spoon swirled, clinking. Caviar idly gazed through his reinforced window. Before the window, a crescent balcony, bristling with kelp and coral. Around the balcony, a dome of clear crystal, like a greenhouse. At its peak, a sizable fan, spinning old water out and fresh water in. Floating amid the plants, a gardener pruned, clunky in his dive suit. Beyond the dome, fish darted like shooting stars, scales pulsing with crystal distortion.

Darkness rippled, and a vast octopus coiled against the dome, tentacles sprawling across its outer shell. Caviar rattled his spoon, dropping it in the wash basin. When he glanced up, the octopus was ballooned at the fan, prodding it with a tentacle, and then recoiling from its blades. Meanwhile, the gardener scrubbed a coral, oblivious. Caviar nosed his drink, wafting berries and brine. Glinting out the window, a pair of waxen smiles: one raising a glass to his lips, another projected on the wall behind.

In the gardener's grip, a coral horn snapped. Caviar coughed, spraying the countertop. Moments later, he was wrist deep in the wall socket, thumbing old wires. The socket sparkled, and as Caviar sucked his burnt thumb, the fan slowed to a stop.


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