Blackfire Protocol [IC | Open | MT | Sign-ups Required]

[Guavalandia]

Blackfire Protocol

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• OOC • Theme •

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War does not determine who is right, only who is left.

- Bertrand Russell

John savored the serene and tranquil morning in his suburban house in London. He watched the golden rays of the sunrise from his window, then sat on the couch with a steaming mug of coffee and turned on the TV. He liked to watch BBC Live, especially the stock market news. As a successful businessman, he prided himself on being well-informed and savvy.

“Good morning, darling.” His wife, Susan, joined him soon after. She kissed him on the cheek and poured herself a cup of coffee. She cuddled up to him on the couch and smiled at each other, sipping their coffee, enjoying the warmth and coziness of their home.

Nothing could disturb their perfect Saturday morning.

Or so they thought.

Suddenly, the TV screen changed. The numbers and graphs disappeared, replaced by a red banner that said “Breaking News”. A deafening and alarming music played, followed by the voice of a news presenter.
“Welcome to the BBC news desk, I’m Alan Carter, we bring you breaking news with a serious incident between Russian and NATO forces near the coast of Estonia.” The presenter said, his tone grave and serious.

“What?” John exclaimed, dropping his mug on the floor. Susan gasped and clutched his arm. They knew what this meant. They knew that this could be the start of something horrible.

They turned their attention back to the TV, where a map of Europe was shown, with a red circle around the Baltic Sea. The presenter continued, “Although the details are uncertain, early reports indicate that a Russian Beriev A-50 airborne early warning and control aircraft was fired upon by naval vessels of NATO forces operating in the Baltic Sea after apparently straying into Estonian sovereign airspace.”

The TV displayed an image of the Russian aircraft—a sizable, imposing plane featuring a prominent radar dome atop. Its appearance conveyed a sense of menace and foreboding, resembling an airborne fortress.

“Is this for real?” Susan asked, her voice trembling. “Are we going to war?”

The presenter said, “It’s unclear at this stage whether the Russian aircraft was shot down or not. We’ll continue to update you on this unfolding situation as more information becomes available. Stay tuned to BBC Live for the latest developments on this breaking story.”

John and Susan felt a cold sweat on their foreheads. Their hearts pounded and their stomachs churned. They looked at each other, their eyes wide and terrified. They held each other tight, as if they could protect each other from the impending doom.

“Oh god…” John whispered, praying for a miracle.

The Concept

This is a long term RP that will be set in three major trigger events, Europe, the Middle East and the U.S., manipulated by the deep-state which will eventually lead to a full blown global conflict. Civil war may ensue, elections could get rigged, cyber attacks against entire governments and eventually potential global catastrophe, you name it. This RP is inspired by multiple sources, such as: the Netflix film Leave The World Behind, a fictionalized YouTube BBC report on a NATO-Russian conflict and the recent IRL developments in the Middle East. I expect a rather collective effort between players and the NPCs (which will be controlled by me), the universe is set in a 1:1 recreation of IRL earth, so you can either integrate your fictional nation to the map or enter through portals, details in Rule 4. This will be my last war / conflict RP on thy account, so, just have a good time.

The gameplay is quite simple really, just a normal crisis / conflict RP where you either lead your nation… but with a twist! You can lead your character, yes, a character in this RP. There will be two separate applications for the ones that want to RP as a nation and for others who want to RP as characters (you can apply for both), just figure out the introduction of your character and it should be fine (can’t be a character of an existing NPC nation, though RPing as an NPC nations normal citizen is allowed). You can do diplomacy, war (and fight on multiple fronts), espionage, any of the thing I mentioned (cyber attack, rigging elections etc) or just observe the situation as a nation, involvement isn’t necessary.

Direct military involvement is prohibited until all 3 trigger events happen, you better lay down a path for your future involvement instead of directly invading the NPC nations, bombing them or drone striking them etc. But aside from that, all other actions such as cyberattacks, espionage, minor skirmishes are allowed in the first few pages of the RP.

Note: every event is IRL up till 2012, borders included (mostly). Russia and NPC’s equipments will all be IRL to 2024, including national data (except for government officials, but royal families are exempt from this). Non of this is canon to the NPC (alt) nations, and II except for me (Russia). But you can also choose to make it canon to your nation.

The Map

Higher Resolution

[Guavalandia]

Ivanovo Severny Air Base, Ivanovo Oblast, Russia | 6:35 am | 2 hours before disaster

The air at Ivanovo Severny Air Base was charged with the freshness of a new day as the early morning mist lifted, revealing the promise of dawn. The sun, still low on the horizon, cast a golden hue on the tarmac, where thin sheets of ice were surrendering to its gentle warmth, forming small, shimmering puddles.

Exiting the barracks, Vladimir Zinovievich, a seasoned pilot with countless flights etched in his logbook, strode purposefully alongside Nikolai Yaroslavov, a novice pilot on the cusp of his maiden voyage in the formidable Beriev A-50 aircraft. As they approached the hangars, the anticipation was palpable in the air.

"Excited?" Vladimir inquired, his eyes crinkling with a knowing smile as he glanced at Nikolai.

"First time for me, y'know? Gotta be. How many times have you flown that bad boy?" Nikolai replied, raising an eyebrow in genuine curiosity.

"Oh man, I think at least 30," Vladimir answered, a chuckle escaping as he playfully hit Nikolai on the shoulder.

Passing through the hangar doors, they beheld the colossal Beriev A-50, a legendary aircraft with an imposing presence. Engaging in camaraderie with the ground crew, they exchanged nods and brief conversations before boarding the aircraft. The crew responsible for managing the intricate equipment onboard joined them, each member carrying the weight of their responsibilities.

"Roll out!" The ground crew signaled a tow truck, attaching it to the Beriev A-50 to guide it out of the hangar. As the massive doors slowly opened, revealing the expanse of the airfield, the aircraft glided onto the tarmac, gracefully freed from the tow.

"Check flight instruments," Vladimir instructed Nikolai. It was a pivotal moment for Nikolai, his first time as co-pilot of this heavy aircraft. With a mix of excitement and nervousness, he navigated through the myriad buttons and notches, ensuring everything was in order. After receiving taxi clearance, they taxied towards runway 29, where Vladimir meticulously aligned the aircraft.

"Palona 25, you are cleared to takeoff, wind 040 at 10 knots," echoed the voice of air traffic control. Vladimir confidently pushed all four throttles to the maximum, and with controlled power, the Beriev A-50 ascended into the vast sky.

Sky over Koskolovo, Leningrad Oblast, Russia | 8:05 am | 30 minutes before disaster

As the aircraft soared above the picturesque landscape, Vladimir turned to Nikolai, inquiring about his state of mind.

"How you feeling?" Vladimir asked, his gaze fixed on the horizon beyond the window.

"Great, man, simply great," Nikolai replied, attempting to mask his nervousness with a hint of sarcasm.

"It'll be fine once you get used to piloting heavies like this," Vladimir reassured, offering a comforting pat on Nikolai's shoulder.

"So, we'll be flying over Estonian waters for an early warning exercise?" Nikolai inquired, seeking assurance in the details of the mission.

"Yes, that's the plan. The crew in the back will handle the equipment," Vladimir explained, a sense of routine in his experienced voice.

Sky over Estonian Waters | 8:35 am | 0 minutes to disaster

With the exercise concluded, Vladimir announced, "Alright, we're done here. Time to turn around and RTB." However, as he reached for the yoke to initiate the turn, the onboard radio crackled to life with an unexpected interruption.

"Russian aircraft, this is the NATO vessel HMS Duncan. You are flying over NATO area of operations; revert now, or defensive measures will be taken," a stern voice declared through the radio, injecting an unforeseen tension into the cockpit.

Vladimir and Nikolai exchanged uneasy glances. Despite fervent inquiries, the crew operating the radar reported an inability to detect any NATO presence - an eerie silence on the frequencies, as if they were being deliberately jammed.

"This is Russian Air Force aircraft Palona 25; we are conducting lawful operations above international airspace, over," Vladimir asserted, attempting to maintain composure.

The HMS Duncan's response was swift and resolute, issuing a final warning that hinted at impending defensive measures. Tensions rose as the crew grappled with the realization that their routine mission was evolving into a precarious situation.

"Whatever man, just turn around!" Nikolai urged Vladimir, their voices betraying a mixture of urgency and anxiety. Frantically pulling the yoke, they wrestled against the resistance of the stubborn 170-ton aircraft.

"Missile warning! 2 projectiles heading from 305 and 306 straight at us!" a crew member shouted, sending shockwaves of panic through the confined space of the cockpit.

"Brace for impact!" Vladimir yelled, his command cutting through the chaos. In the crisp morning sky above the Estonian waters, two thunderous bangs resonated, leaving a plume of smoke in their wake. Fiery debris cascaded down, marking the tragic initiation of an unforeseen disaster that would reverberate far beyond the cockpit of the ill-fated Palona 25.

[The Grand Economic Consortium]

HQ of the Ministry of National Defence, Strada Izvor 13–15,
Sector 5, Bucharest, 9:10 a.m.

The halls of the large building were quiet. This apparent tranquility, contrasting the currently urgent situation, was disturbed solely by the steps of the Minister of National Defence, Angel Tilvar. The gentleman was walking towards the chief of staffs room. He was planning to meet with the high command of the Romanian Armed Forces and the President to discuss the crisis. It was an urgent matter, and a response could not be postponed. He opened the oak doors to the room in order to be greeted by an oval table where the leadership of the General Staff of Defence waited impatiently. The Chief of General Staff, Gheorghita Vlad, started speaking in an urgent tone.

"Good. Now that you are finally here we can get down to business."

The minister sat down and the TV screen in front of the table lit up, displaying the President, Lucian Petrescu. With a somewhat tense voice, he began speaking.

"I think you know why we have all gathered here. The incident in the Baltic Sea must be adressed right away. I fear that it may be the catalyst for a series of future escalations. This can be considered an act of war by Russia. What do you think?" He asked the General Staff

"Agreed. This is a serious escalations. I suggest increasing the readiness for our army. Mobilise some reservists to fill in some gaps and prepare for the worst." Said the Director of the General Staff of Defence

"Understandable, but we have to assume that Russia does not want a war which will cost countless lives. They must have some sense of morality or obligation to their people to save as many lived. I suggest not increasing tension and escalating the situation further." The Minister of National Defence said

"No way. The time has come to take a firm stand against Russian agression. If they do view the incident in the Baltic as an act of war, we should stand united with our NATO allies and prepare our infrastructure and economy for war. " The Chief of General Staff, Gheorghita Vlad said

"How about we tone it down a little. Currently, there has been no official response from Russia. We should invoke Article 4 of NATO and deliberate on this matter with our allies. We do not want to cause mass hysteria." Spoke the Deputy Chief of the General Staff of Defence

The men in the room stood quiet for a second, thinking about his proposal. Silence dominated the tension-filled chamber. The hearts of the high command members could be heard beating, but eventually, the The Chief of General Staff broke the ice.

"I agree. Article 4 should be involved. It should also be an emergency invocation, so that we do not require parliament's approval." He said

"Agreed." Spoke the president.

Eventually, everyone in the room agreed to the proposal, and NATO Article 4 was to be called. This would be done through a public written announcement. As the meeting ended, the command of the General Staff of Defence left the room, and the president exited the online call. Only the MoND, Angel Tilvar, remained in the chamber. He contemplated the future of the situation. There were so many chances that this could go wrong, and that this sole event be the catalyst for a third world war. God forbid, he said to himself, as he remained seated at the table. For all he knew, these may be the last days of Romania, and the world.

Official public announcement

Dear fellow citizens,

Today, I address you with a heavy heart as we grapple with an alarming incident that unfolded over the Baltic Sea. Reports suggest that a Russian Beriev A-50 aircraft was allegedly shot down by a NATO warship, raising concerns and underscoring the volatile nature of international relations. In light of this, I want to assure you that our government is actively engaged in seeking the truth behind this incident. Given the gravity of the situation and in adherence to our commitments as a member of the North Atlantic Treaty Organization, I have invoked Article 4. This article emphasizes the need for consultations among NATO members when the territorial integrity, political independence, or security of any member is threatened. Our alliance is built on the principles of collective defense and mutual support. We stand united with our NATO partners in pursuing a thorough investigation and maintaining peace and stability in the region. I urge our citizens to remain vigilant, stay informed through reliable sources, and trust that our collective efforts will lead to a resolution. Do not fall victim to the trap of despair or panic. Remain calm. Everything will stabilize.

May our commitment to peace guide us through these challenging times.

With utmost sincerity,

Lucian Petrescu
President of Romania

PRO-TV studios, Bucharest, 9:45 a.m.

The studios of the large news agency was buzzing with activity. The recent downing of a Russian AWACS aircraft created a wave of panic and anxiety among Romanians, as this could be seen as an agressive move by Russia which could lead to a larger war. Yet, no large Romanian news agency reported on it yet, and it was time to shed some light on the situation. The chief editor assigned to cover this story, Paul Anghel, was sitting in his office, collecting whatever reports existed about this situation. He was dressed in a beautiful grey suit, the one he always wears to work. The color of his clothing now signfied the clouds gathering over Europe and the rest of the world. He was able to write a story for the reporters to present. It was written as hastly as possible, so that they could be the firs major Romanian outlet to report on the situation. He looked around at the rest of the studio. Despite the heightened activity on set, nobody dared talk. It was a morbid silence, with the only sounds being made by equipment being transported and by footsteps. This event could prove to be the catalyst to something larger, a nightmarish scenario. All that the people on set could do is report on the situation and ensure that the people get the best quality information. Paul delivered the story to the reporter assigned to present the news on this situation. "Is this really happening?", "May God safeguard our peace.", "This is just a dream...", were the whispers heard all over the studio. Everyone was frightened. A war between NATO and Russia could prove destructive to everything the world held dear. Suddendly, the lights weny on and the reporter began speaking.

Ladies and gentlemen, we will be interrupting the original programming to bring you urgen news.
In a staggering turn of events, an imaginary scenario has plunged the Baltic Sea region into a state of urgency as reports surface indicating that a Russian Beriev A-50 reconnaissance aircraft was allegedly shot down by the HMS Duncan, a NATO warship of the Royal Navy, mere hours ago. The incident supposedly unfolded in international waters, amplifying concerns and leaving the global community anxiously awaiting official statements. Both Russian and NATO officials have maintained a conspicuous silence, intensifying the enigma surrounding the circumstances of this event. The airwaves have been abuzz with speculation, as analysts and experts attempt to piece together the puzzle. The identity of the warship involved and the events leading up to this tragic incident remain veiled in secrecy, prompting widespread debate on the geopolitical implications for the volatile region. Our dedicated team shall be working 24/7, diligently investigating and seeking exclusive insights into this unprecedented situation. Our newsroom is in constant contact with international correspondents, providing viewers with real-time updates and in-depth analyses as the story continues to evolve. Stay tuned as we navigate through the fog of uncertainty, bringing you the latest developments on this dramatic and potentially explosive crisis over the Baltic Sea. Stay safe, do not panic. Everything will be OK.

Right before the mic turned off, the reporter could be heard whispering "And may God save us", before the report finally ended. PRO-TV journalists could be heard trying to get in contact with national security experts, making constant calls. They could only hope that a mass panic does not ensue. The beautiful streets of Bucharest were quieter than usual. A sense of utter tension floated in the air of the city. Intrigue and mystery surrounded the event. All that remained now was to wait for the situation to continue developing, and for everyone to monitor it with utmost interest and concern. This can be a pivotal moment in the history of the nation.

[Socalist Republic Of Mercenaries]

Tankery Range, Erlenberg Military Base, Glasburg Archipelago | 12:05 PM

In the lazy afternoon sun, an odd mix of five T-45Ms, five HT-5M Superheavy Tanks, flanked by a total of 20 T-78Ds, ten on both sides, sat out in the range Downrange, there were wrecked hulls of about a dozen old Centurions, five M60 pattons, a single captured M1 Abrams, and a congregation of old broken down T-62 and Type-59 hulls scattered among the overgrown shrubery. The rusting wrecks had been filled to the brim with Tannerite to simulate stowed munitions.

Many of the tanks have been evidently re-assembled, blown apart, and reassembled again and again. All except the Abrams. It was pockmarked with shell impacts, but never did it give in.

One of the T-45Ms turned its turret slightly, as servos in the panoramic commander's sight clicked and whirred, trying to find the range of the tank's new target, a Centurion Mk3 wreck.

"Tank, five hundered meters. Fire on command, got that Wenzel?" stated the commander,

"Jawohl." replied the gunner coldly. The mechanical buzz of the autoloader coming into loading position filled the turret.

The autoloader lifted up a KZ-51 APFSDS shell, along with a propellant case, and loaded both into the lemon-yellow breech.

"Feuer." muttered the commander.

Wenzel pulled the firing lever, the breech of the Kw.K. 64 12.5cm L/47 Trebuchet slammed backwards with a loud clang as the KZ-51 zipped through the engine deck of the Centurion.

Hit. The Centurion's turret flew into the air in a fountain of flame, sending the turret high into the sky.

The spent shell primer falling back out of the breech. He tosses the still smoking empty casing into a basket of casings. Each five spent casing could be exchanged for a bottle of beer at the in base comissary, more could be exchanged for other various prizes. It was a Stratusian incentive to recycle the electronic shell primers.

"Ausgezeichnete Arbeit" muttered the commander, Wenzel reached up and over the breech to give the commander a fistbump

"Haha, ja... " muttered Wenzel. The other tanks in line fired in volley, another two-minutes passed, and another volley, all into the evening, volley after volley.

Mess Hall, Erlenberg Military Base, Glasburg Archipelago | 18:45 PM

The mess hall was filled with the busy ruckus of dinnertime. Chatter from the soldiers and silverware clinking against porcelain plates, mugs and glasses clunking off tables.

The booming voice of a soldier rises from the cacophony,

"Ein Toast auf die Sozialistische Republik!"

"Prost!" replied over a hundered different voices in unison, glasses clinking. Shortly after, the men resumed eating dinner.

Soldier's barracks, Erlenberg Military Base, Glasburg Archipelago | 20:00 PM

The soldiers crowded around their single radio set. jazz music played over the radio. It was music hour. Lights out was in about two hours. They lazily played cards around a folding table, some wore their patrol caps, others wore TSh-4 Shlemofons, some wore no headwear at all. The card game they played was Dou Dizhu, as the PLA soldiers who taught them how to play called it.

"Haha, I got you, two beats ki-"

They are cut off by the radio announcer. The men groan in unison. Some curse under their breath.

"Achtung, achtung! Greetings, Kameraden und Landsleute! We bring you a live press confrence from the Beisinghausen Großhalle!"

The men immediately perk up at the notion. Some adjust their caps and others straighten up. The voice on the radio was immediately recognizable, coarse, yet loud and clear. Karl von Larenz

"Comrades, early this afternoon NATO agressors fired upon, and have downed a Beriev A-50 over international airspace. They think that we will sit idly by this time, but no, never again! They think, that because they place missiles along their borders, launch airstrikes against non-aligned countries, and trod upon the soverignties of Russian and Chinese Leaning nations, they can reign supreme. They have plundered in Iraq, Libya, and now have moved to take action against our longstanding ally, Russia! They seek to loot and plunder the east, as they did the Old Summer Palace in 1860! We will not take this lying down. Let us show them the strength of the Stratusian people! Let us wage a mother of all battles, and a greatest war of all wars against the armies of the west. Let us tear down the neo-imperialist facade of democracy and libert, and let them know of the wrath of the east!

May the sun shine on our revolutionary paradise for another two-hundered fifty thousand years, Glory to the party, glory to the people! URRRAAAA!"

The radio is filled with the shouts of hundreds thousands of people in the stands, the Beisinghausen Großhalle was designed to house thousands of guests. Through the walls, rallying cries and cheers can be even heard in the barracks.

Wenzel wrapped his arms around the shoulder of his commander, and pumped a fist into the air.

"We're off to war!" He shouted over the cheers.

Another voice came from the barracks hall across, muffled but intelligible.

"Let's kick some yankee ass!" there were elated jeers in response to the comment from the surrounding rooms. The soldiers went to bed excited yet nervous at the prospect of war in the coming days.

[Vadrana]

Santiago, Chile


Raymond listened to the news carefully, finally his plan could be realized, he went to the satellitar phone and digited a number

" Yeah, its me, you heard the news right? Its time to strike with Plan A, American consumes will start in 48 hours, prepare the explosives and your men, time to start "

He closed the call and prepared a bag, called a taxi directed to the airport with one direction: Louisiana, Baton Rouge

[Guavalandia]

Santiago, Chile


Raymond listened to the news carefully, finally his plan could be realized, he went to the satellitar phone and digited a number

" Yeah, its me, you heard the news right? Its time to strike with Plan A, American consumes will start in 48 hours, prepare the explosives and your men, time to start "

He closed the call and prepared a bag, called a taxi directed to the airport with one direction: Louisiana, Baton Rouge

OOC: you broke Rule 6, be careful next time.

[Americke]

The White House, Washington DC, United States of America | 9:05 am

Within the White House, the bustling sounds of hurried footsteps echo through the halls of this majestic structure, the residence of the POTUS. Secret service agents vigilantly patrol, journalists inquire about economic activities, and others attend to their affairs. While the role of POTUS might seem prestigious, in reality, it’s more of a pain in the ass.

The Oval Office, renowned as the executive domain of the POTUS, maintains its grandeur with a golden carpet adorned with an eagle and a globe beside the president’s exquisite desk. Behind the desk sits President Leland Hartley, a distinguished Sicilian-American man in his mid-50s. He struggles to comprehend why people yearn for the presidency, as it feels more burdensome than empowering. President Hartley, or Lee as he’s commonly known, sighs, fatigue etched in the lines on his face. Absentmindedly flipping through a stack of papers, the weight of the nation is palpable in the quiet rustle of each page. Lee yearns to gaze beyond the Oval Office windows at the sprawling White House lawn, seeking a momentary escape from the leadership burdens. Yet duty anchors him to the desk, the nation’s weight heavy on his shoulders—his contemplation, a fleeting luxury in the unending demands of his role.

Just as Lee reflects on his life choices, a knock on the door of the Oval Office interrupts his thoughts. “Come in,” he says, still engrossed in his papers. A man dressed in a well-tailored suit with subtle gray hair and holding a briefcase opens the door, entering the Oval Office – Secretary of Defense Garrett Sullivan.

“What is it?” Lee stands up, sensing an uneasy presence emitting from Garrett. He puts down his pen, looking straight into Garrett’s eyes.

“I wish this were fake, but…” Garrett’s tone is heavy and grave. He looks at Lee with a serious expression, signaling the gravity of his message.

“What? What happened?” Lee demands, trying to grapple with the situation.

“A British destroyer operating in Estonian waters shot down a Russian AEWC aircraft, Lee.” Garrett’s words escape through his mouth, devoid of any sense of relief.

“Oh god…” The president’s face turns pale. He looks down, contemplating how all of this is happening, unfolding, and how his fears might come to pass in his lifetime.

His mind goes blank. The U.S. president, the famously calm and sharp Leland Hartley, is left in a stunned silence.

“Summon my cabinet, I want them in the situation room. I’ll be there,” Lee continues, requesting Garrett to do so.

“Lee, they’re already in there, waiting for you,” Garrett replies.

“Alright, lead the way.” Lee takes a step, following Garrett out of the Oval Office and into the hall.

As they walk through the hall, people on both sides look at them. The president, known for never ignoring anyone in the hall, does so today. Whispers ripple through the onlookers, the gravity of their conversation apparent. The hushed tones and exchanged glances convey that something significant is unfolding, setting a tense atmosphere in the corridors leading to the Situation Room. They arrive at the situation room, and Garrett opens the door for Lee, who nods in return.

Lee scans the room, finding multiple members of his cabinet and other officials. There sits Vice President Victor Rodriguez, Secretary of State Olivia Marshall, Director of the CIA Harrison Blake, Chairman of the Joint Chiefs General Mitchell Harper, and many more officials. The officials exchange brief whispers before turning their attention to Lee and Garrett. Garrett then proceeds to close the door and gestures for Lee to sit down.

“Garrett, brief us,” Lee says, his voice resolute as he looks up at Garrett, who nods in acknowledgment.

“Alright, most of you are unaware of why you were all called in this morning. I will brief you on a serious development in the Baltic Sea. Thirty minutes ago, HMS Duncan, a British Type-45 destroyer operating in the Baltic Sea off the coast of Estonia, detected a Russian Beriev A-50 deviate into Estonian airspace. After multiple warnings without a response…” Garrett pauses, reflecting on the situation, “launched 2 Aster 30 Surface-to-Air missiles at the Russian aircraft and downed it. By the look of initial reports, it is hardly possible for anyone to survive the shoot-down.”

“Jesus Christ!” Exclaims Secretary of State Olivia Marshall, completely and utterly stunned.

“Romania has also just invoked Article 4 of NATO, so General Bradley Anderson, our ambassador to NATO, will have to deal with that,” Garrett says, nodding slowly.

“I see. I’ll contact my Russian counterpart and see if we can sort things out. Olivia, get in contact with our ambassador down in Moscow. I want any sort of information available. Victor, I’ll need your help with the press. Harrison, get as much detail and information out of Europe. Mitchell, there’s nothing much for you, so just keep our military posture well. Is that understood, everyone?” Lee says, his stance unwavering, still trying to hide that strand of unease.

Everyone in the room acknowledges and nods. Lee gestures, signaling that they are dismissed. As the officials leave the room, only Lee and Garrett remain. They exchange glances, and Lee stands while Garrett opens the door for him.

“Thank you,” Lee nods.

Lee and Garrett exit the situation room, walking down the hall to the Oval Office.

“Lee, I’m gonna head back to the Pentagon. Folks need me there,” Garrett informs Lee, separating ways.

The president walks into the Oval Office and sits down behind his well-polished desk. He stares at the phone on his desk, certain of his next course of action but still hesitating…

George Bush Center for Intelligence, Virginia, United States of America | 10:05 am

In the hallowed halls of the CIA headquarters, the rhythmic tapping of heels resonated as a young blonde woman in a formal black dress strolled down the corridor and entered an elevator. She waited patiently, occasionally glancing down at the folder she cradled in her hand. Who is she? Meet Camille Renée Blanchard, a French woman and a senior officer within the CIA Directorate of Operations’ Europe Division. She stands out as the sole individual considered attractive and charming within an agency predominantly composed of middle-aged individuals navigating midlife crises or recent college graduates, lauded for their perceived cleverness and intelligence—albeit often with minimal firearm skills, essentially deemed expendable resources.

As the elevator doors slid open, she traversed the brightly lit corridor and arrived at an office door. A brief pause ensued before a knock echoed.

“Come in,” a voice beckoned from within.

The door creaked open, revealing a tall man with gray hair, presumably in his 50s—CIA Director Harrison Blake. Camille placed the folder on his desk, patiently awaiting him to turn from the window.

“What’s with the dress?” inquired Harrison, pivoting from the window to notice Camille’s attire.

“Oh, it's nothing. Had plans for the evening,” Camille replied, offering a slight smile.

“With someone special?” probed Harrison, his veteran instincts tempting a peek into Camille’s personal life.

“Alone, actually,” Camille answered, a reserved smile lingering on her face.

“Hmm… alright. Anyways, do you know why I called you in today?” questioned Harrison, gauging her awareness of the unfolding situation in the Baltic Sea.

“You just got back from the White House, so it must be related to the Baltics, hm? A Russian aircraft downed by a British destroyer?” Camille responded, a smile playing on her lips, well-versed in the unfolding events sourced from White House channels.

“I see, you’ve been informed,” acknowledged Harrison, pondering how swiftly she processed the information.

“So, is this actually happening?” Camille queried, an inquisitive look in her eyes.

“As much as I wish it weren’t, it is. POTUS requested us to gather intel on this incident. Considering your connections to both MI6 and the DGSE, I’ll need you to go to Paris. The two agencies are currently holding a conference, and I need you to gather intel. Take as long as you need,” Harrison declared, opening his arms in a ‘what do you think?’ gesture.

“I’ll do it,” affirmed Camille, a pensive expression settling on her face.

“Great! Alright, chop chop, get going,” urged Harrison in a brisk tone.

Camille nodded and exited his office, bearing the weight of responsibility on her shoulders…

Washington DC, United States of America | 10:45 am

Official Press Statement From POTUS

My fellow Americans,

I stand before you today with a somber acknowledgment of a concerning incident that has unfolded off the coast of Estonia. Reports indicate that a Russian Beriev A-50 aircraft was shot down by a British naval vessel, prompting a significant escalation in tensions.

Let me be clear from the outset – the United States is not seeking conflict. Our principles have always been rooted in diplomatic solutions and the pursuit of global stability. In light of this incident, my administration is actively engaged in diplomatic efforts, working closely with our NATO allies to address the situation and find a resolution that adheres to international norms.

Our commitment to dialogue is paramount. I have initiated communication with the Russian president to establish a pathway for diplomatic discourse, understanding the urgency and gravity of the situation. We must strive for de-escalation and a return to diplomatic channels.

I am aware of Romania's invocation of Article 4 of NATO, reflecting the shared concerns of our allies. We are coordinating closely within the NATO framework, ensuring that our response is measured, thoughtful, and aligned with our collective commitment to the preservation of peace.

In times like these, it is crucial for our nation to stand united. We are navigating a delicate situation that requires patience, resilience, and a steadfast dedication to diplomatic solutions. I implore the American people to trust in our pursuit of a peaceful resolution and to remain vigilant as we work through these challenging circumstances.

May our commitment to dialogue prevail, and may God continue to bless the United States of America.

Leland Hartley
45th President of the United States

[Socalist Republic Of Mercenaries]

U.S. Africa Command HQ (Kelley Barracks), Stuttgart-Möhringen, Bundesrepublik Deutschland | 17:05

The Stratusian Intelligence Agency had arrived. Using a stolen Coca-Cola truck, they had loaded about 20 or so tons of PETN into a 40-foot shipping container, the sides facing the other side of the road, and back door were armored to exploit the Misnay–Schardin effect to funnel the blast straight into the barracks.

Eberhard checked the internals, there were fifteen 75-pound compressed CO2 cylinders inside, each filled to the brim with liquified, compressed Soman. Chemical weapons had always been a Stratusian specialty. He took the final pressure readings, and exited the container, and paid for a half hour on the parking meter.

After setting up the arming trigger, wired to a burner phone, they began to walk away from the site, to the rendezvous point.

A-8 Autobahn, Stuttgart, Bundesrepublik Deutschland | 17:28 - 2 Minutes before detonation

The mint green BMW sped down the A-8 Autobahn at, towards Switzerland, where they would sneak back to the Glasburg archipelago. The four nodded to eachother, and reached into the duffel bag each taking a single M50 gas mask, fastening it onto their face. There is a solid minute of silence, as they speed down the highway. Today, they would either make it into textbooks as villians, or heroes.

"Heh, as they say, 'And thus to the Tyrants'..." remarked the driver, checking his watch. He nods to Eberhard. Eberhard takes out his cell phone, and punches in a number.

17:30 - 0th second.

A signal sped from cell tower to tower, at 186,000 miles per second, towards the phone inside the container.

Electrons buzzed through the circut board at 2,200 kilometers per second, through wires, into the electronic blasting caps.

Ignition.

Suddenly, the inside of the truck reaches a sweltering 2.5 million degrees celsius, the flame deflagarating outwards towards the barracks, suddenly accelerating into a detonation shockwave, spraying all the barracks with sharapnel, and most importantly, scattering a half ton of now aerosolized soman over the entire barracks. Anything not killed in the blast would die of asphyxiation within minutes from acetylcholinesterase degradation.

A-8 Autobahn, Bundesrepublik Deutschland | 17:31

The BMW sped towards Ulm, where they would take the A-7 Autobahn to Switzerland. A column of smoke rose from the city as they drove away. Their job was done, it was time for them to leave.

[Njemacka]

Stuttgart, Germany | 5:05 pm

In the tranquil afternoon of Stuttgart, the sun bathed the city in a warm golden glow. Gentle breezes rustled through tree-lined streets, carrying the faint scent of blooming flowers. The hum of distant conversations mingled with the occasional soft hum of passing cars, creating a symphony of urban serenity. The city's architecture, a harmonious blend of historic charm and modern elegance, stood as a testament to its rich cultural tapestry. As shadows lengthened and the sky transformed into hues of orange and pink, Stuttgart embraced a serene stillness that whispered tales of a city at peace with itself… but the peace won’t last long.

Suddenly, the tranquility shattered as two thunderous explosions echoed from the distant Kelley Barracks, fracturing the peaceful atmosphere. Massive plumes of smoke billowed into the sky, staining the horizon with ominous darkness. The once serene afternoon was now cloaked in uncertainty as distant sirens wailed, piercing the air with urgency. The cityscape, once a picturesque scene, transformed into a surreal tableau of chaos and disarray. An unsettling tension settled over Stuttgart, a stark contrast to the serene moments that had graced the city just minutes before.

Witnessing the ominous explosions, police officers swiftly mobilized into action. Panic rippled through the ranks as they urgently notified the Command and Situation Centre at Stuttgart Police Headquarters. Recognizing the potential gravity of the situation, immediate communication was established with the USAG Military Police station, linking the incident to the U.S. military presence at Kelley Barracks.

With resolute determination, the Stuttgart Police chief wasted no time. In a rapid response, one-third of the city's police force was swiftly dispatched to the area of the incident. Sirens blared through the streets, creating a cacophony of urgency as police vehicles raced towards Kelley Barracks, weaving through the city's labyrinthine roads. The once quiet streets now echoed with the piercing sounds of emergency vehicles, underscoring the gravity of the unfolding situation.

The convoy of BMW and Volkswagen police cars tore down the Ob. Weinsteige road with a sense of urgency, their sirens wailing in unison. As they neared Kelley Barracks, the horizon revealed an inferno of colossal proportions, flames dancing uncontrollably against the darkening sky. The lead officer, his face etched with concern, approached the blazing scene, realizing the severity of the situation.

In a swift decision, he reached for his radio to notify HQ of the urgent need for reinforcements from the city's fire brigade. Midway through conveying the critical message, an inexplicable force overcame him. The officer, now unconscious, lost control of the BMW, careening into a tree on the curb with a sickening thud. The once cohesive convoy now faced a harrowing moment of chaos, as the flames continued to devour the barracks and uncertainty loomed over the city.

The abrupt halt of the police cars sent shockwaves through the convoy. Panic gripped the officers as they struggled to exit their vehicles, some fumbling with door handles in a desperate attempt to escape. Disoriented and gasping for breath, a few officers stumbled out, their movements uncoordinated, narrowly avoiding collisions with oncoming vehicles.

Amidst the chaos, an observant officer at the back of the convoy recognized the unfolding crisis. Swiftly, he radioed HQ, detailing the alarming symptoms gripping his colleagues. Before he could finish his report, a sudden wave of incapacitating dizziness overcame him, and he too succumbed to unconsciousness. The eerie stillness that settled over the scene was punctuated only by the distant crackling of flames and the fading sounds of sirens in the distance. The once-disciplined response had unraveled into a disconcerting tableau of uncertainty.

The report of the mysterious symptoms reached the detective at HQ, a seasoned investigator with knowledge in various fields. Piecing together the symptoms, he swiftly concluded that the incident was a result of a chemical attack. The gravity of the situation weighed heavily on him as he relayed this alarming discovery to the police chief.

With urgency in his voice, the police chief immediately contacted the fire department, instructing them to equip their personnel with protective gear and specialized equipment. The fire department, acknowledging the severity of the threat, responded with efficiency. In a synchronized effort, firefighters donned protective gear, ensuring their readiness for the impending battle against the inferno.

Tens of hundreds of fire engines roared to life, speeding towards Kelley Barracks. The firefighters, their hearts unsettled but resolved, prepared to confront not only the relentless flames but also the unseen adversary that lingered in the air. The city's emergency response now stood at the precipice of a daunting challenge, with the fate of Kelley Barracks and its surroundings hanging in the balance.

As the gravity of the chemical attack unfolded, Stuttgart Police HQ made a crucial call to the NBC Defense Battalion 750 in Bruchsal. The base commander, understanding the urgency, swiftly agreed to intervene. A specialized group of CBRN soldiers, clad in cutting-edge ZODIAK-3 CBRN protective suits with self-cooling systems and FRR CBRN protective masks, was assembled for the mission.

With precision, the troops, armed with decontamination and sampling kits, boarded modified Fuchs APCs. The convoy, an imposing line of defense, embarked on the journey towards Stuttgart, prepared to confront the chemical threat.

Simultaneously, the mayor of Stuttgart, briefed on the escalating situation at Kelley Barracks, took decisive action. He ordered a 25-kilometer evacuation radius around the affected area, prompting the closure of Stuttgart Airport until further notice. Acknowledging the severity of the incident, the mayor forwarded critical information to the federal government, passing the reins of the crisis response to higher authorities. The city now stood united, its emergency forces mobilized in a collective effort to contain the unfolding chaos.

BND Headquarters, Berlin, Germany | 6:15 pm

Within the formidable walls of the Bundesnachrichtendienst headquarters in Berlin, the air buzzed with tension. The arrival of German Chancellor Jonas Schmidt, accompanied by an extensive security detail, marked the gravity of the situation unfolding in Stuttgart. Lukas Müller, the BND minister, led Jonas into a secured conference room on the second floor.

As Jonas listened to Lukas' briefing, shock painted his expression. The weight of the news threatened to overwhelm him, evident as he fought back frustration, his anger nearly shattering the glass table. Lukas, seeking direction, inquired about the next steps to be taken.

Jonas, in a decisive tone, ordered the sealing off of Germany's borders, with GSG-9 units patrolling checkpoints. Lukas, understanding the necessity, nodded in agreement. The conversation shifted to the grim toll of the incident, with Lukas revealing at least 300-400 casualties and over 1,000 injured. The identification of the chemical as Soman, a lethal nerve agent, intensified the severity of the crisis.

Jonas, grappling with the magnitude of the threat, learned that the U.S. was seeking a response, particularly concerning Kelley Barracks, home to AFRICOM. The chancellor, filled with a mix of determination and trepidation, could only offer prayers as he navigated the complex web of challenges threatening not only his nation but the delicate balance of international relations.

[Socalist Republic Of Mercenaries]

Friedrichshafen, Germany | 19:05
Night was falling, and they were ready to set off. A-& Autobahn, the originally intended escape route, had been closed off by GSG-9, and they didn't feel like going through checkpoints.

In a hurried attempt to hide all evidence, they stopped by a road half an hour earlier dug a hole, doused all their mission directives, fake IDs and passports in gasoline and burnt it and buried it all.

The BMW slowed down, as it parked to a stop. They were at Friedrichshafen. They calmly exited the car, and began to enter the town

Friedrichshafen, Germany | 19:25

The four headed towards the wood dock, where they got in a fishing boat. The quartermaster had supplied them well this time...

Eberhard yanked the starter cord on the outboard engine multiple times, again and again until it started. Across the lake was Switzerland. They were supposed to be in the Swiss alps, on a hunting trip, and they were never documented to have ever arrived in Germany. Technically speaking, they never had ever been in Germany.

Their driver felt around under the seats and began fumbling with a small metal flap. Out from underneath the seat, he produces a pair of Sturmkarabiner 61s, to be used in case things got gnarly, which was a low likelihood situation. The boat slowly putted towards the other shore quietly.

Once they returned to Zürich, where they were technically staying, they would await further mission directives.

Romanshorn, Switzerland | 20:25

The men disembarked off the boat, and entered the town. Here they would stop by a bar, and dissapear into the bustling crowd of tourists at the local resorts.

OOC: Sorry for the short post, I ran out of ideas...

[Guavalandia]

-snip-

OOC: it’s fine.

[Socalist Republic Of Mercenaries]

-snip-

OOC: On a separate note, in RPs like this you might wanna snip posts if they get too long... or it gets... hectic.
(Nvm disregard this note lmao)

[Vadrana]

Chile, Santiago, American Embassy

It was a normal day like any other day in Santiago, people going to work, children going to school, youngsters returning home from the party they had last night, tourists walking around the city, just like anyother day


It seemed to be a normal day even in the American Embassy in Chile, employees were working as usual, not expecting the impending Doom that was above them

At 12:00 AM an unmarked van started sprinting towards the Embassy, 100, 50, 25, 15, 10 meters, and when crashed on the Wall, a huge explosion engulfed the van, the Wall, part of the security personell and the entire street, allarming the embassy personell and the security, or at least what remained of it, after the flames dissipated other two unmarked vans entered the embassy, full of armed soldiers, they immediately started to shoot at the americans, massacring them one by one.

the remaining personell was terrified, they never had a case like this, panic immediately influed, people running left and right, the few security guards remained shooting against the attackers, people wounded left and right, explosions and gunshots erupted

Eliminated the little security left, the armed gunmen proceded to clean up the entire embassy, gunshots continued till sirens where heard outside, seems that someone managed to call the police, even if the job wasn't completed, being caught by the Police would ruin the operation. So the fireteams retreated to their extraction point, they were met with the chilean police squads outside the embassy, one of the gunmen proceded to launch a grenade, making the few police officers intervened on the scene blow up. Before other police could arrive, the two teams moved to the location

As the Chaos ensured, the two teams reached the Extraction point, where an Ambulance was waiting for them, entered the Ambulance, one of the team leaders took a satellitar phone and composed a Number.

" Mr. Aldrige, we completed the assault successfully, however, the police interrupted us before we could finish the job successfully. "


" It doesn't matter, return to the base and then we can discuss about phase 2 "

" Copy that " and he closed the phone

The Ambulance was fleeing the scene and sirens where heard in all of the area, soon Phase 2 would start, and this time it would be on american soil

Soon Emergency Services arrived at the scene, reporters where already on the scene, and soon, one way or another, news would arrive in the United States.


Chile, Undisclosed Location, Andine Mountains

the two teams arrived at the base, after getting rid of the Ambulance, they were resting in the barracks, while other mercenaries were preparing their equipment, Mr. Aldrige created all of this in a pair of years, with his connections and his money.

the two team leaders where called in Aldrige's office, they were discussing something important

Aldrige : change of plans, before striking the Homeland, we first need to cause some chaos in other places, then we can proceed with phase 2, hitting other targets in chile isn't a good idea, you have suggestions ?

Team Leader 1 : I suggest trying to hit other US military targets in South America or Africa, we need them to be distracted long enough for us to strike, i suggest either Puerto Rico, Dominican Republic or Colombia for the America Sector, Congo or Kenya.

Team Leader 2 : we should try to take power of a country that is too much weak to defend itself. I suggest either Haiti, or some other South American country, we should decide later

Aldrige : good suggestions, i'll think about it later and call you both to do a new operation, go rest

the two went away, leaving Aldrige alone, thinking about its next objective, circling the countries that could be possible control with few mercenaries. Preparing its strike against the USA.

[Guavalandia]

-snip-

OOC: violation of both rule 11 and 14.

[British Arzelentaxmacone]

Sat at his desk, the Leader sipped from a much needed glass of whiskey, feet kicked up onto the table as he read through a newspaper detailing the rough chain of events that had occurred in the Baltic Sea as of late, his furrowed brow and particularly pale complexion conveying a sense of an emotion that he didn’t often show - fear. The Leader, although he would never admit it, was scared. Scared of the potential consequences of these recent geopolitical developments, scared for what they could mean for not just him and his friends, but for BA as a whole. Although he often tried to find a ‘silver lining’ for what had happened, meaning that he saw what sort of benefit the event could offer for BA in terms of power and influence, he was struggling to see it a little in this particular scenario. The tall, serious Commander Elchin, who had given him the newspaper, stood there as she stared down at the Leader with a blank gaze. “You see what I mean now, sir? These actions almost certainly will pose a threat to BA, even if they don’t as of this moment. Taking geographic location - with BA being rather close to the Baltic - and political implications into account, this issue has a real and significant potential to have a serious impact on British Arzelentaxmacone, and I’m sure that you’d want to protect the Red Empire more than anyone.”

She leaned down, towering over him as he nodded and tossed the paper aside, draining the rest of his whiskey and not speaking for a while, mainly since he didn’t really know what to say in response as he simply sat there. “Understood. And you propose we respond with military action? See, I personally think that’s a great idea. Troops, missiles, tanks… the whole force, fighting for BA! Wouldn’t that be great?”

He grins, and clearing her throat, Elchin nods slightly, but shrugs as well. “Sir, like I said, it’s a serious issue. This isn’t our normal situation where we’d send some troops, kill the enemy, and return with wealth and resources, this is a much more… complex scenario than we are used to. So we must focus on a more complex strategy in turn, rather than just simply focusing on the use of brute force, which has proved to be ineffective in the past against such a strong opponent. We’re not just fighting one small, unimportant country here, nor a small group of them, we’re fighting entire alliances, global superpowers who have combined their enormous strength and influence to form coalitions that govern our world as a whole. We must react accordingly, and that doesn’t just mean pushing our full military might onto it. This shouldn’t just be seen as an opportunity for us to show off.”

The Leader falls silent once again, before sighing heavily. “I guess, I guess. But I do think we should see the importance of showing the world our military capabilities. Even if it’s a serious, complex conflict, it’s still a way for us to benefit from the situation, like BA always does. Let’s not ignore its potential for that.”

She sighed, becoming frustrated with his stubbornness and refusal to accept what she was saying, but masked her true feelings of anger so that he wouldn’t take it the wrong way. Turning on her heel, Elchin briskly left the room, leaving the man in his office as he lifts up his bottle of whiskey and hurriedly chugs the remainder down, slumping over in his seat as his head slams into the desk and he begins to snore loudly.

Tanks rolled down the snow covered street, tire marks imprinted into the ice and frosty ground as the vehicles followed one another in perfect synchronisation, soldiers stood inside, their heads just visible as they stared into the distance with an air of professionalism and competence. Lining the road, troops and police officers alike stood, saluting and nodding stiffly at the passing tanks. The Leader loved a military parade, and was stood on the palace balcony with a thin smile, dressed in his full military uniform, a black suit dotted with medals and badges from the armed forces, even though he had never once served in the military. Next to him was Clarkson, wearing her own military uniform, a white suit jacket, blouse and skirt, many medals also pinned to her chest as she and the Leader held hands, staring down at the vehicles and troops below as the anthem blared from loudspeakers attached to the walls of the palace. The Vice-President turned to him, snow pattering onto the balcony as she squeezed his hand and spoke. “Good turnout for the parade, I must admit. But you don’t think this’ll escalate tensions instead of easing them, do you?”

The Leader shook his head, and turned to her with a slight sigh. “I.. I don’t think so. This situation has the potential to be very important for BA and it’s influence, a parade is the perfect way to show the world our military prowess and strength. What about you? What do you think?”

She shrugs, but replies confidently. “I think it’s a good idea as well, maybe it could even deter the international community from taking hostile action against British Arzelentaxmacone. We must remain cautious, though. Who knows what might happen otherwise.”

He nods slowly, staring out at the mountains in the distance as the soldiers below turned and saluted at them. “Who knows.”

[Americke]

The White House, Washington DC, United States of America | 7:10 pm

The evening sun cast long shadows in the Oval Office as President Leland Hartley, tired and frustrated, pored over documents on his desk. The recent diplomatic struggle with Russia, stemming from the downing of a Russian aircraft over Estonian waters, weighed heavily on his mind. He couldn't shake the weariness that clung to him, exacerbated by hours of phone calls with the Russian president to secure a conference between NATO and Russia in Geneva.

A loud knock shattered the fleeting silence, prompting Lee to invite Secretary of Defense Garrett Sullivan inside. Rising from his chair, Lee faced Garrett, a foreboding sense settling in as he anticipated the urgency of the news.

“What is it?” Lee asked, his tone reflecting the unease that gripped him.

“AFRICOM, sir, in Stuttgart. They’ve been a target of a terrorist chemical attack,” Garrett replied, the gravity of his words etched across his face.

Lee's reaction mirrored the shock he had experienced just hours ago. "Oh god…"

“The death toll is currently estimated to be around 300 to 400, with at least 2,000 injured,” Garrett continued, his words hanging heavily in the air.

Lee, unable to contain his anger, walked to the window overlooking the lawn. His gaze fixed on the green expanse, he grappled with the loss of lives. "300 good men... 301? 302? These terrorists..." His frustration bubbled beneath the surface.

“You know what Garrett? We need to show these fuckers who they’re messing with, we need to show them that we value the lives of our soldiers above anything else, you understand?” Lee declared, his eyes locking onto Garrett's with a determined, almost menacing intensity. The weight of responsibility hung heavy in the room, and President Hartley was prepared to make a statement that would echo across borders.

Garrett Sullivan nodded solemnly, absorbing the weight of the president's directive. As he exited the Oval Office, Lee's muttered words lingered in the air.

“These animals…” Lee's voice, filled with a mixture of sorrow and rage, echoed within the walls of the room. His hands tightened around the sides of his desk, the pressure almost threatening to snap the polished wood.

The resolve in President Hartley's eyes was unmistakable. The United States, faced with this heinous act, would not yield. Peril might have knocked on their door, but they would fight back with unwavering determination. The president, gripped by a solemn determination, was ready to lead his nation through the storm, ensuring that every strand of terror was eradicated from the roots.

J. Edgar Hoover Building, Washington DC, United States of America | 7:30 pm

In the quietude of the J. Edgar Hoover Building’s second-floor office, bathed in a luminosity that defied the weariness that clung to its occupant, FBI Director Ryan Davis found a momentary respite. The long day, dominated by the grim reality of the Stuttgart bombing, had etched lines of fatigue on his otherwise composed face. The bright lights overhead, almost a symbol of the relentless fight against darkness, momentarily blinded him as he leaned back in his chair, seeking a brief escape.

The tranquility shattered as the office door swung open, admitting a young brunette woman without the courtesy of a knock. Ryan’s husky voice cut through the silence, expressing his frustration at the intrusion.

“You forgot to knock, damn it,” he grumbled, his weariness evident.

Realizing her oversight, the woman, none other than FBI Associate Deputy Director Sarah Shores, cast an embarrassed glance at Ryan. With a sheepish smile, she apologized, “Ah… I apologize, Ryan.”

As Ryan shifted his gaze to her, the regal air about him remained intact. “So, this situation in Stuttgart has been the largest terror attack since 9/11. POTUS has given us permission to mobilize any resources necessary to investigate and combat this threat. Have your agents gotten in contact with our Legat office in Germany?”

“Yes, our men have gained permission from the German federal law enforcement agencies to carry out investigations in Stuttgart,” Sarah replied, offering a glimmer of positive news.

“Good, good, that’s great news,” Ryan responded, though his thoughts betrayed the weight of a long and exhausting day. The shadows of responsibility danced across his face as he contemplated the formidable task ahead.

Washington DC, United States of America | 9:00 pm

Official Press Statement From POTUS

My fellow Americans,

Today, our great nation faces an unprecedented act of terror that has struck our military presence in Stuttgart. The terrorist chemical attack on AFRICOM and the Kelley Barracks has left an indelible mark, with an appalling death toll of approximately 300 to 400 and a staggering 1,100 to 2,000 wounded. Our hearts ache for the victims and their families during this solemn time.

Let me be unequivocally clear – those responsible for this act of cowardice will face the full, unyielding might of the United States. We have identified the chemical weapon used as Soman, a deadly nerve agent, highlighting the malicious intent behind this reprehensible act.

To the perpetrators of this vile attack, I issue a stern and unwavering warning: claim responsibility and face the consequences, for your actions will not go unanswered. The United States will unleash the combined force of our most powerful agencies, leaving no stone unturned in the pursuit of justice.

Our intelligence agencies, including the CIA and FBI, are working seamlessly to identify those behind this atrocity. Our military forces, led by the Department of Defense and its various branches, stand ready to execute any and all necessary operations to ensure the swift and unrelenting pursuit of these terrorists.

Additionally, agencies such as the National Counterterrorism Center (NCTC) and the Department of Homeland Security (DHS) are fully engaged to secure our homeland and prevent further threats. We are coordinating with our international allies to bring these criminals to justice, demonstrating that the United States stands resolute in the face of terror.

In the spirit of justice and unwavering resolve, may God grant strength to our great nation, comfort to the grieving, and healing to the wounded. As we confront this dark chapter, we will rise stronger, more resilient, and united against any force that dares to threaten our freedom.

May God continue to bless the United States of America.

Leland Hartley
45th President of the United States

Official Press Statement From the USDoS

The United States Department of State is pleased to announce a significant diplomatic breakthrough in response to the recent incident involving the shoot-down of a Russian plane by UK naval vessels.

After intense diplomatic efforts, we are proud to confirm that a meeting between the President of the United States and the Russian President has been successfully scheduled to take place in Geneva within the next few days. This meeting is a crucial step towards de-escalating tensions and fostering a constructive dialogue between our two nations.

Our commitment to peaceful resolutions and open communication remains steadfast. We understand the concerns raised by the incident, and we want to assure the international community that both leaders are dedicated to finding a diplomatic solution that upholds the principles of international law and promotes stability in the region.

The United States firmly believes in the power of dialogue to address complex issues and build mutual understanding. We anticipate that this meeting will provide an opportunity for both leaders to express their concerns, share perspectives, and work towards a resolution that ensures the safety and security of all parties involved.

We urge the international community to remain calm and patient as diplomatic efforts unfold. The United States is committed to promoting stability, peace, and cooperation in the face of adversity.

As we navigate through this delicate situation, we want to reassure everyone that we are working tirelessly towards a positive outcome. We appreciate the global community’s support and understanding during these challenging times.

May this meeting in Geneva, scheduled within the next few days, pave the way for a constructive and peaceful resolution.

Olivia Marshall
Secretary, U.S. Department of State

[The Grand Economic Consortium]

NATO HQ, Brussels

The delegate of Romania to NATO, Iulian Hrusca, was walking in an urgent pace towards the meeting hall, where the representatives of all member nations meet. The building was a symbol of western values which have been preserved through unity and cooperation. Now, that set of values was in direct threat. A war with Russia could have disastrous consequences, with estimates rising above hundreds of millions of casualties. Preventing a situation like that was of the greatest urgency. He carried a briefcase which mainly contained the lates intelligence from the SIE, Romania's foreign intelligence agency, and other external intel from different sources. His hopes were high, believing that this invocation of article four would manage to create a coordinated policy and organize a joint response. The beautiful marble floor led towards a large room, in which chatter could be heard. The representative entered the chamber, taking his seat at his assigned table. Next to him sat the liaison of the Romanian Armed Forces to NATO, who would be taking care of giving an opinion on the military aspect of the issue.

"Ready?" Asked the military liaison, General Ianis Bega.
"Aye" Responded the delegate.

Filled with hope and determination, Iulian Hrusca rose from his seat and faced the rest of the delegates.

"Fellow delegates and representatives of the free world, we gather here in a time of great insecurity. The incident that has occured over the Baltic Sea has shocked everyone, and we wish to ask how we are to proceed. I believe that our main objective right now is to ensure that tensions with Russia are not raised, maybe an online or in-person diplomatic meeting. What do you believe wd should do in this perilous time?"

He sat down and awaited the response of the representatives

[Americke]

NATO headquarters, City of Brussels, Kingdom of Belgium | Time Unknown

Within the formidable walls of NATO headquarters in Brussels, a meeting unfolded, seeking resolution in the aftermath of the Russian surveillance aircraft's downing over Estonia. Around the round table, delegates from various member nations gathered, tension palpable in the air. U.S. Ambassador to NATO, General Bradley Anderson, occupied a central position, flanked by his assistant.

As the meeting commenced, Romanian delegate Iulian Hrusca voiced concerns and sought clarity on the course of action. Observing this, General Anderson, recognizing the need to address the assembly, rose from his seat with a commanding presence.

“Ladies and gentlemen of this esteemed organization, I would like to offer good news to the delegates present for a start off,” Anderson began, his voice resonating in the room. He paused for effect, creating a momentary hush. "Our president, Mr. Hartley, has successfully agreed to hold talks with the Russian president, Mr. Fyodorov. This is obviously good news as progress in solving this crisis can be made without violent confrontation. The meeting will be held in Geneva in the coming days, and we await progress—a progress toward resolution.”

Anderson glanced at his assistant, who leaned in to share a quiet message. Nodding in acknowledgment, he continued, his tone shifting to a more critical note.

“As we know, this incident started when a Russian Beriev A-50 aircraft strolled into Estonian airspace, going in 30 kilometers deep, to be specific. The British naval vessel HMS Duncan was at the scene and issued 3 warnings to the Russian aircraft, but it still didn’t turn around. That’s when the naval vessel launched 2 Aster 30 SAMs at the A-50. Our question is: how in the lord’s graceful name did the crew of the HMS Duncan not contact NATO high command before initiating the shoot down?!”

Anderson's words, laden with both inquiry and reproach, echoed in the room. He took his seat, fixing his gaze on the British delegate, challenging them with a stern look that demanded an answer. The meeting room, a microcosm of international diplomacy, awaited the response that could potentially shape the future course of NATO's actions.

[Guavalandia]

Kremlin Palace, Moscow, Russian Federation | 7:30 am

In the heart of the Kremlin Palace, the air bore the scent of rain-soaked earth, a subtle precursor to the tempest brewing within the hallowed halls of power. President Nikolai Fyodorov’s office, an enclave of austere elegance, resonated with the muted ambiance of a political chess match played out on a global stage. Mahogany furniture, bearing the weight of history, stood in silent witness to the unfolding drama.

Seated behind his formidable desk, Fyodorov, aged 45, projected an air of stoic leadership. His slightly graying hair hinted at the battles waged behind closed doors, battles that now echoed in the low hum of encrypted communications and the glow of screens displaying intelligence updates. The rain, a constant murmur against the window, painted the Moscow skyline with a cloak of mystery, mirroring the clandestine machinations within.

The rhythmic patter of rain against the window became a symphony as Alexei Volkov, Minister of Foreign Affairs, entered, a silhouette emerging from the shadows. Volkov’s brown hair, adorned with raindrops, hinted at the covert nature of his diplomatic maneuvers.

“President Fyodorov,” Volkov’s voice, a measured cadence of respect and unwavering loyalty, permeated the room, “I trust your morning has been as enlightening as the weather outside.”

A nod from the president, a silent acknowledgment of the intricacies at play. Volkov closed the door with a muted click, sealing the sanctity of their discourse.

“Indeed, Alexei. Rain has a way of revealing hidden patterns, much like the intricate dance of politics,” Fyodorov replied, his gaze piercing the gloom outside.

Volkov took his seat, his posture unwavering, as the president continued, “The incident with the A-50 aircraft has stirred waves on the international stage. A delicate situation, my friend. The dance between power and diplomacy requires finesse. We must tread carefully.”

The president’s eyes, windows into the complexities of leadership, lingered on the rain-streaked window. “I’ve been in contact with the U.S. president. Our relations are crucial now more than ever. We need a resolution that safeguards our interests while maintaining global stability, especially considering the tensions with our rivals in NATO. The geopolitical chessboard is set, and the pieces are in motion.”

The room, once hushed, now hummed with the resonance of their dialogue. The rain outside intensified, a natural symphony underscoring the orchestrated complexities of global politics. Fyodorov’s expressions, an interplay of contemplation and resolve, contrasted with Volkov’s stoic composure, a chess master contemplating moves in the shadows.

Volkov shifted the discussion towards the chemical attack in Stuttgart, a move on the geopolitical chessboard demanding swift and calculated counteraction. “Sir, the AFRICOM attack demands swift action. Our counter-terror operation is underway. Germany, NATO— they need our support.”

President Fyodorov’s demeanor shifted slightly, a subtle hint of concern shadowing his features. “Alexei, ensure our assistance is discreet but impactful. The world is watching, and we must navigate this storm with precision, especially given the strained relations with our NATO rivals. Our moves must be calculated, a narrative of intrigue unfolding with every strategic decision.”

“Yes, yes…”

[Iemenas]

Trigger Event I

Presidential Palace, Sana’a, Muharib Controlled Yemen | 9:30 am

Under the scorching Yemeni sun, the presidential palace in Sana’a stood resilient, bearing witness to the unfolding chaos in the geopolitical arena. Inside, President Jamil Al-Hakim, a figure of unyielding confidence at 50 with a crown of gray hair, clenched his fists in anger as he perused the morning papers. Tweets about yet another unjust aerial strike by the U.S. and British coalition against Yemeni facilities fueled his rage.

The atmosphere within the palace mirrored the sweltering heat outside. The president's office, adorned with ornate furnishings, became a crucible for decisions that would echo across the region. The air, thick with tension, seemed to intensify as Al-Hakim summoned Samir Abdullah, Chief of the Muharib General Staff, into the room.

Al-Hakim's tone, ballsy and resolute, cut through the stifling air as he addressed Abdullah. "Samir, the time has come for retaliation. The so-called champions of peace have once again violated our sovereignty. We will not stand idle. Commence the response."

Samir Abdullah, a dignified figure at 40 with black hair exuding unwavering confidence, nodded in agreement. "Mr. President, they will regret provoking Yemen. We are ready."

Al Hudaydah, Muharib Controlled Yemen | 9:30 am

As the orders were relayed, the scene shifted to the coastal town of Al Hudaydah. Five heavy trucks, seemingly innocuous, rumbled into concealed positions. Muharib soldiers, shadows in the glaring sunlight, disembarked and formed a protective perimeter around the trucks. The back of the trucks unfolded, revealing Transporter-Erector Launchers (TELs) carrying Hoveyzeh cruise missiles, a display of strategic prowess likely supported by Iran.

An officer, his features etched with determination, opened his laptop and navigated to a website tracking American ships in the Red Sea. The USS Laboon, an Arleigh Burke-class guided missile destroyer, was their target. Soldiers, adept in their roles, swiftly set up guidance, jamming, and radar installations. With a nod from the officer, five Hoveyzeh cruise missiles roared into the cloudless sky, leaving trails of defiance.

As the missiles descended to sea-skimming levels, the tension mounted. About 15 kilometers away, the mighty USS Laboon appeared on the horizon, an unwitting participant in the impending clash. The missiles closed in, breaching the 5-kilometer mark, and the destroyer's Phalanx CIWS sprang to life, a symphony of automatic fire.

In a thunderous exchange, the CIWS downed three of the missiles, but the remaining two pressed on undeterred. A fiery spectacle erupted as the projectiles found their marks, colliding with the destroyer's bridge and the Mark 41 Vertical Launch System (VLS) cells. The detonations painted the sea with hues of destruction, a spectacle visible from the coast kilometers away.

In the presidential palace, President Jamil Al-Hakim observed the aftermath on a screen, his expression inscrutable. The retaliation had been executed, a response to the violation of Yemen's sovereignty. The atmosphere, both within the palace and across the coast, crackled with the repercussions of geopolitical maneuvers under the blistering Yemeni sun.

[The Grand Economic Consortium]

Cluj-Napoca, a few days after the incident in the Baltic Sea

Ciprian stopped his Toyota Camry in a parking spot in front of his apartament in Cluj-Napoca. It was 20:30, he had just come home from work after a long day. Everyone had heard about the news, the Russian aircraft being shot down in the Baltic Sea and the USS Laboon being destroyed by the missiles. Tensions around the world were escalating. Yet, in all this chaos, when governments prove that they are unable to maintain order, somebody else must take the lead and restore stability to the world. That someone is Anonymous. The legion. The ones who do not forgive, nor forget. For a long time, the decentralised hacker organisation has supported the west, and it was time to rally them aagain against Russia. As soon as he got into his apartament, the young hacker hopped onto 4Chan and made a post in /pol/, which read:

Anonymous#72938
>Be me
>Work a low-wage 9-5
>Launch a Man-in-the middle attack on VTB-Bank
>I'm doing it

Right after he made the post, he working to implement the attack. His plan was to launch a man-in-the-middle attack on the website of VTB-Bank, one of the largest Russian banks. What this meant is that essentially, whenever a person entered their login details into the login page of the bank's website, those details would be transferred to his database, where they would be stored. In order to make sure that he avoids detection, he connected to a Georgian IP via VPN. This would ensure that if the attack was detected, Russian officials would think that it was launched from Georgia. He created an SQL program dubbed "Killore", which would be injected through the cookies of the website into its code and extract the private data of the users, sending it first to the fake IP in Georgia and then re-routing-it to his IP in Cluj. It was the perfect plan, he thought, as he launched the attack. Now that it had been initialized, he just had to wait until the private data of users popped up in his Excel Sheet. As the Moon rose over his house, the man poured himself a glass of champagne, celebrating another succesful operation.

[Guavalandia]

Trigger Event I

VTB Bank HQ, Moscow, Russian Federation | 8:30 pm

SIC:

In the sprawling expanse of the VTB bank headquarters, the ambient hum of financial transactions reverberated through the air. In a nondescript corner, a random IT worker dutifully tapped away at his keyboard, immersed in the intricate dance of digital commerce. The flickering glow of the computer screen cast a soft illumination on his face as his eyes traversed the sea of transactions. Within this mundane routine, a glitch caught his discerning gaze – certain accounts were behaving erratically, flickering and vanishing with an unsettling rhythm. Alerted by this anomaly, the IT worker flagged down his supervisor.

The supervisor, a figure seasoned by years in the intricacies of financial systems, approached. A scrutiny of the glitch-ridden screen revealed a disconcerting truth – details of hundreds of accounts were being extracted. Faced with a dilemma, the supervisor pondered the gravity of the situation. Thousands of accounts involved belonged to oligarchs and influential government officials. A decision unfolded – instead of involving conventional law enforcement, he opted to call upon the specialized expertise of the FSB.

Lubyanka Building, Moscow, Russian Federation | 9:00 pm

SIC:

The scene transitioned to the majestic Lubyanka Building, the towering stronghold that housed the FSB. In the dimly lit expanse of the director's office, Viktor Kuznetsov, a 32-year-old enigma with black hair, hazel eyes, and a half-Turkish heritage, sat fidgeting with his pen. The room exuded an air of contemplation as Kuznetsov delved into his thoughts, contemplating the intricate tapestry of life.

Abruptly, the door swung open, and the deputy director burst in, unraveling details of a newly surfaced cyber threat. Intrigued, Kuznetsov rose from his chair, the constant smile on his face undeterred. He followed his colleague down to Sub level B-2, an underground realm that housed the FSB's cyber warfare operations.

There, in the clandestine depths, three teams of IT experts stood ready – the unsung heroes known informally as 'hackers.' Established at the dawn of the Yeltsin era, these teams embodied Russia's foresight in adopting cyber warfare as a strategic tool. A cyber expert briefed the director on the VTB bank incident, and Kuznetsov delved into a contemplative state.

Decisively, he assigned support from all SIGINT facilities and equipment to two teams, while the third embarked on the mission. Team 1, comprised of retired hackers, scrutinized the bank's digital network background processes. One member, a seasoned expert in decrypting communications from mainland U.S., recognized a specific pattern – a link to the American cybersecurity companies he had infiltrated over a decade.

Team 2, armed with intel from Team 1, traced the source with a kindergartener's simplicity. An initial identification of Georgia was ruled out due to an unusual IP pattern. With proper SIGNINT detection and Team 1's assistance, they decoded the IP, revealing a baseline tied to the VPN – Wire Guard. The revelation was grounded in the member of Team 1 recognizing it from the initial source nets of Wire Guard, dating back nine years.

Team 3, operating at the SIGINT station in Moldova, confirmed the true IP of the hacker in Romania. Seeking further verification, they stumbled upon a digital breadcrumb on 4Chan – the 'broke hacker paradiso.' A post claimed responsibility for the attack, aligning with the identified IP path. The hacker's location was unmistakably laid bare.

With a calculated foresight, the director instructed the VTB bank to remove every user account and forward physical copies to the National Bank for heightened security. As Kuznetsov once again delved into deep contemplation, a response by the FSB unfolded seamlessly. The intricate dance of cybersecurity, espionage, and protection of national interests continued under the watchful eye of the FSB's enigmatic director.

[Americke]

The White House, Washington DC, United States of America | Time Unknown

SIC:

In the hallowed chambers of the White House, President Hartley sat behind the Resolute Desk, engrossed in the hum of paperwork. The air bore the weight of executive decisions, and the room exuded an aura of authority. A sudden urgency echoed through the room as Secretary of Defense Garrett Sullivan knocked on the door as if time itself were pressing against it.

“Come in,” President Hartley called out, his steady tone a counterpoint to the urgency outside. Garrett entered with an air of urgency, barely catching his breath.

“Mr. President, we’ve got a critical situation in the Red Sea,” Garrett began, words rushing out like a cascade. Hartley, maintaining his composure, gestured for him to steady himself.

“Garrett, slow down. Take a deep breath. Now, what’s going on?” President Hartley’s calm demeanor served as an anchor in the storm of unfolding events.

“The USS Laboon, sir. It’s been sunk,” Garrett explained, his eyes reflecting the gravity of the news. President Hartley listened attentively, his expression betraying no immediate emotion.

“How many casualties?” the president inquired, his voice measured.

“Two hundred and thirty-five sailors, sir. Killed in action,” Garrett delivered the grim news, his own emotions restrained in the face of the weighty revelation.

A palpable silence filled the room, the weight of loss hanging in the air. President Hartley’s face, initially composed, transformed. A flicker of grief and anger crossed his features, culminating in a sudden eruption. His hand slammed against the desk, the sound reverberating in the room.

“God damn it! Those were our men. Our sailors!” President Hartley’s voice, now edged with a raw intensity, echoed through the Oval Office.

“We can’t let this slide, Mr. President. We need to respond,” Garrett asserted, his own emotions reflecting the gravity of the situation.

President Hartley, visibly sickened by the toll, leaned back in his chair, contemplating the unfolding crisis. The room, once a bastion of executive deliberation, now crackled with tension.

“Tell CENTCOM to resume aerial strikes. Hit the Muharib militants’ positions hard. And this time, don’t hold back,” President Hartley ordered, a steely resolve cutting through the somber atmosphere.

As Garrett turned to leave, the president’s voice carried a final, weighty directive. “Garrett, we’ve waited long enough. It’s time. Initiate plans to eliminate Al-Hakim. The world can’t afford to let this continue.”

The dialogue lingered in the room, an unspoken understanding of the gravity of the decisions made. In the heart of the White House, the unfolding drama set the stage for a series of events that would reverberate across the geopolitical landscape. What’s coming is uncertain, but blood will be spilled…

[The Grand Economic Consortium]

Cluj-Napoca

Suddendly, Muresan's computer beeped. This could only mean one thing. The attack was stopped. He rapidly checked the database in which the stolen data was supposed to be transferred, and, to his dissapointment, only the personal data of a few middle-class accounts came in. This was, of course, a success, although it was minimal. Yet, perhaps, he could turn this into a more important victory. The man opened a browser tab and entered 4Chan, where, on the page /pol/, he made a post:

>Anonymous is launching an attack tommorow on multiple Russian businesses
>Join us. Target every industry

It was a short post, but it soon garnered a lot of attention. He realised the mistake he made with his first attack. He did not rally the hacker and hacktivist community to a common cause. He wanted to see how much damage the attacks would do. First, he had to start with a threat, which would be displayed on the TVs of Russians around the nation. In a video editor, he had an AI voice generate a message in Russian which read:

Russia is a nation built on the bones of the innocent. The current regime of tyrrany will end. Do not lose hope. Only the people can break their chains. To the current Russian regime, a special place in hell is reserved for you, for those who opress and murder their own people, for those who rape their lands of their beauty. May your descent into the darkest pits of Hell be a joyful one. We are Anonymous, we are the Legion. We do not forgive. We do not forget. Expect us.

He exported the video file as an MP4 and planned his initial attack. The VGTRK was Russia's largest broadcaster, so it would be the obvious target if the AI-generated message would be spread through Russian society. He created another SQLI dubbed "Forgive". He wanted to insert the video into the scheduled programming of VGTRK channels, so that it would seem that the video was part of the scheduled broadcasts. It would be quite simple to find the IP of the VGTRK databases, as they had so many broadcasts, and traffic could be traced back to them. Alongside the SQLI, a DDOS attack was launched on VGTRK databases, so that officials would not be able to mitigate the SQLI as they would not be able to acces the IP of the database. With this, the SQLI attack was launched, planning to insert the video reciting the message in the scheduled broadcast, exactly 10 minutes from now the message should start playing on every TV which had a VGTRK channel open

[Buyuk Britanya]

-snip-

NATO headquarters, City of Brussels, Kingdom of Belgium | Time Unknown

In the heart of the NATO headquarters in Brussels, the atmosphere hung heavy with tension as the British delegate, General Henry Turner, found himself under the piercing gaze of U.S. Ambassador to NATO General Bradley Anderson. The setting, a bastion of international cooperation, now crackled with an air of inquiry.

Seated across from Anderson, General Turner's nerves were palpable. The questioning about the HMS Duncan's actions in downing the Russian Beriev A-50 aircraft without prior communication to NATO high command was relentless. Beads of sweat formed on Turner's forehead as he stammered through his responses, attempting to justify the decision.

"I assure you, General Anderson, I will look into this matter thoroughly. It was an unfortunate lapse in communication," Turner responded, his voice strained with the weight of accountability.

Moments later, Turner, feeling the gravity of the situation, reached for his phone. He dialed his assistant, issuing instructions to question the crew of the HMS Duncan at HMNB Portsmouth. A sense of urgency permeated the exchange as Turner sought to unravel the mystery that had strained diplomatic ties.

HMNB Portsmouth, United Kingdom | Time Unknown

The scene transitioned to the Portsmouth Naval Base in the UK, where Captain Nathaniel Foster, the commander of the HMS Duncan, traversed the narrow hallways of the officer barracks. His steps, accompanied by an officer ready to face the impending questioning, echoed with an unusual weight. Drops of sweat adorned Foster's neck, a physical manifestation of the tension that gripped him.

As they walked, Foster saluted two officers, attempting a bitter smile that failed to mask the internal turmoil. Something troubled him, an unseen burden that weighed on his shoulders. An abrupt request to use the restroom allowed him a moment of solitude, and Foster seized the opportunity.

Inside the restroom, Foster locked the door and placed a small bag on the counter. The dim light flickered overhead as he stared into the mirror, a reflection that seemed to hold the weight of the world. Slowly, deliberately, he withdrew a Glock-17 pistol from the bag. The cold metal felt foreign in his grip as he chambered a round.

His gaze fixed on his reflection, Foster's eyes welled up with tears. The mirror reflected a man torn between duty and the haunting consequences of his actions. In a moment of heart-wrenching despair, he raised the pistol, pointing it at his own head. The silence of the restroom was shattered as he pulled the trigger, leaving an indelible mark on the once stoic officer. The gunshot echoed in the confined space, a haunting punctuation to a tale of decisions made and the heavy toll they exacted on those who bore the burden of command.