A Battle Unseen

[Luis1p]

Palace of Oisy, Royal Ministry of International Affairs, IRSA Liaison Office, 8:54 PM

It was a cold and loud night. Several voices could be heard in the distance as the marching continues late into the night. Just mere blocks away from the Palace of Oisy, a large demonstration against the government was taking place. Yelling, chants, and angry voices could be heard miles away. The Palace of Oisy remained under a strict guard, unknowing what the future held.

Within the remarkable palace, deputies, Ministry members, and staffers ran everywhere, papers on the floor and telephones ringing. On the Second floor of the palace, a large room remained silent. Its walls lined with the most delicate carvings of gold and intricate designs. Beautiful leather furniture and dark oak bureaus filled the office. The smell of vergnac (cognac) and illegal tobacco filled the room. Away from the chaos of the ministry sat two men. The windows of the room were open, letting in the peaceful moonlight with what seemed like a gentle calm before a storm.

"I don't understand, Renard. I really don't. The crazy bitch is going to get us all killed. And she calls herself a conservative. We must do something."

"Patience, my friend. The chess pieces are falling into place. This moment shall mark the end of the Right"

"I do not care for politics. We are about to go to war. Does she not see what she has provoked?"

"She will no longer be in the way. Soon, we shall have our way. I just need time."

"We do not have time, Renard! The trigger could be pulled any second. The powder keg can explode at any time. We simply do not have time. Whatever silly ruse you have planned needs to be implemented now! Do you not fear that this country may fall to its knees because of incompetence in governance?"

"Calm, Fred. Calm. This country has so much locked potential. If we go to war, Remy, we shall truly become a monster of terrible might."

"Renard, you should not mess with power that way. It is unlike of us."

"I know and I do not plan on going that route. Just know it exists, but first, we must rid ourselves of our domestic issue."

"Your time is running out see to it."

"Understood. We shall make do with what little time we have. If we cannot find a means, then we will wage war like never before. God help us all. For we will need divine intervention to see another day."

OOC: Listening to the attached music enhances the RP reading experience.

[Robert F. Kennedy]

Crown Street, 21st December 5471.


In this office were gathered several senior government ministers and members of the Imperial Luthorian Armed Forces.

"Gentlemen," the Prime Minister began. "You just heard the market has collapsed."
"Yes...it’s bad news, to be sure, but a welcome one." the Minister of Marine declared.
"Of course, Admiral Potter...even if this is a tragedy, we can be sure that we can come out of there with our heads held high. If the recovery focuses on ILN."
"Prime Minister, are you thinking of favouring the Navy?" General Thomas questioned him.
"General, I will try to focus on the three branches at once, but the Navy will receive a special view of the Luthori status as a naval power."
"I understand."
"But, I express myself to General Farrell by saying this...the ILAF should receive new designs in the coming months or years, everything depends on the work of the Imperial Security Service."
"What do you mean?"
'General, you will have to work with the ISS to be able to collect designs such as the Unionfighters from the Dorvish. It is high time that the armed forces of Luthori take their place of prominance against these two giants who are fighting for their ego. I think the Army ads should be ready soon, Generals?"
"Of course, Prime Minister, very soon."
"Long live the Empire. The Albertan Era will be the greatest in Luthor’s history."
"Long live the Emperor."

[Kubrick]

Wiel, secure meeting room of the Department of Cyber Operations, State Security Agency (Ryk Sekrts Bro, RSB), 9 January, 5474, 8:02 AM.

"..so to come to a conclusion and a summary, a container ship with falsified papers can be arranged for extraction, four assets are currently working within the Ashalom Bank, we were sadly unable to get more into the proper positions, a collection of armoured trucks has been assembled together with the appropriate uniforms, and with the success of the recent media hack we can safely conclude the response time of Beiteynu's cyber warfare defence systems is a staggering seven hours, giving us a leeway of at least five with two hours to spare for unforeseen consequences. This explains the choice of three dozen locations on the Western side of Beiteynu to get everything out. All in all, the task force recommends a further four weeks of preparation and to commence this operation on the 10th of February at the latest." A short silence was followed by some murmuring as a few agents shared some thoughts with each other. The man at the head of the table cleared his throat before speaking. "Well done, very well done. And this total amount will be enough?" The presenter standing across of him nodded, "It should put a pause on their shipping industry for the time being, the economics team has recommended reassigning these funds as aid for post-war economic injection." The sitting man nodded again, tapping the documents laid out in front of him. "A gambit, but one I trust in. You have approval, keep us within the loop."

One month later.

Rishon Le Hofesh, industrial shipping harbour, observation deck of the container ship "SS Rosa Canina", 10 February, 5474, 11:58 AM.

A man in scrubby overalls peered through his binoculars, seeing another armoured truck pull up next to the massive ship. Upon seeing people step out and starting the loading process he clicks the click counter. "Thirty-one, Dnkai, two more." The man sitting next to him with a VR headset gave him a thumbs up, he was one of seven drone operators on board to watch the area. Only a few seconds later he too pipped up, "Thirty-two approaching, three klicks." The man on the binoculars smiled, what a successful day. Not even an hour later the container ship would depart the harbour with a bunch of new passengers and 11 billion in cash, gold, and whatever else the Ashalon Bank had squirrelled away. Once upon international waters the Istalian flag was replaced with a Jakanian one and the name was changed by painters hanging on the side to SS Aç Kurt. By nightfall the ship had one last name while making port in Nachten: Jrka Támnrtlashjogad. Gold Tribute.

[BananaZebra]

Soleimani ArmsCorp Factory III, desert outside Misul, Republic of Badara, 16 April 5475, 3:56 PM

The factory sat still, lifeless.

Huge pieces of machinery lay in slumber waiting to be awakened, tall towering cranes and long assembly lines dotted with production points.

Ameera Ghanem, former president, led the way into the dark factory, flicking on the lightswitch behind her to reveal the full extent of the factory before them; roughly 350,000m2 of continual concrete flooring packed to the brim with equipment. And as the president craned her neck to look above at the overlaying assembly floors above - five in total - she smiled.

Her son-in-law Rahim Soleimani spoke first.

“It is among my proudest moments to present, on behalf of Soleimani Industries, the facility you requested. I do apologize for the delays, of course, but the secrecy complicated matters, madam.”

She nodded.

“It was a disappointment that Edris did not wish to revive this project.”

Rahim’s uncle, Abdul, chuckled.

“He’ll be disappointed soon enough.”

“What is the progress on that, Abdul?” the president asked.

Abdul smirked.

“He hasn’t a chance.”

Ambassador Tzafrir spoke then.

“Darling,” he said to the president. “We must resume full operations as soon as possible. This arguable cost us the war, and this project is vital to-”

The president put a hand on her husband’s shoulder.

“Ismail. I know. My loss put the project in jeopardy.”

“That’s… that’s not what I meant. You know that,”

Rahim and Abdul looked at one another, the latter raising a brow.

The former cleared his throat.

“We should be at full operating capacity soon.”

The president nodded, frowning.

“And where is our final guest?”

“Mr. Thaller should be arriving soon,” Abdul said. “It is no fault of his own - getting him here without Edris finding out has been a nightmare.”

The president nodded, tapping her foot and looking back out at the factory floor.

“If only we’d had these…” the president said, stopping as Karl Thaller entered the factory.

“Your Excellency,” he said, bowing to the president.

Ghanem smiled.

“Do you bring good news?”

“I am happy to say I do. Thaller Rüstung und Raketen has agreed to finance the project, in exchange for... a generous profit bump on our arms sales.”

Ambassador Tzafrir smiled.

“With our existing capital and the investments from Black Beisa and Sato, this provides us enough funds to enter the next stage.”

Abdul slapped the ambassador on the back.

“And what of the renovations?” Abdul asked the president.

She smiled.

“Swimmingly. The package passed the Council overwhelmingly, Edris had no choice but to sign.”

“How long until that facility is operational?” asked Rahim.

The president sighed.

“After I’m president again? Years, potentially decades.”

Rahim turned to look at the factory.

“Well, it sure will be worth it.”

[BananaZebra]

Office of Ambassador Tzafrir, Bier Qassem, 10:53 AM
15 August, 5475

Michiel Hofsink, the ambassador from Narikaton & Darnussia, sat across from Ameera al-Ghanem in her husband’s office in Bier Qassem, a sleek, modern office with a floor to ceiling window facing east, with the morning sun causing the ambassador to squint.

“We need him out,” al-Ghanem said. “If we want the factories, we need him out.”

“I understand,” the ambassador replied. “We all understand, madam. My secretary is preparing now, we want to make sure her statement is as polished as it can be.”

“Of course.” she said. “President Petralanda has promised to appear with me on his upcoming tour, and join me in condemning Edris and his piss-poor leadership.”

“Kundrati? Impressive.”

“You doubted my diplomatic prowess?” al-Ghanem asked, smiling.

The ambassador laughed.

“Of course not. The world saw your achievements with Yishelem.”

The former president stood and faced the window with her back to the ambassador.

“Once the old fool is gone, the world will see that Beiteynu and Deltaria are not the only powers in Majatra.” she said. “Soleimani Industries is doing its part, as are the Thallers.”

The president turned back to her guest.

“Now go do your part, ambassador.”

[hyraemous]

Somewhere in Badara
15 August 5475

The President of Kundrati landed today in Badara to meet with important business leaders and the like.

At some point President Vespasiano Petralanda entered his hotel room somewhere in Badara and sat down facing an unknown man. The man was not clearly from Kundrati...

...but the man gave him a USB drive.

The man left. The President left soon after, this time for an important meeting with some local officials.

[BananaZebra]

HOTEL ROOM, CIUDAD DE GADUR; 13 February, 5476, 5:24 PM

“The inquiry cannot be led by her.” The former president said into the phone.

“I know that,” her cousin, Prime Minister Saif al-Ghanem said. “I’m working on it, the Council should agree to expel her soon.”

The former president slammed her fist on the desk.

“Deal with it. Now.”

HALL OF THE COUNCIL OF REPRESENTATIVES, BIER QASSEM; 13 February, 5476, 11:02 PM

Minister Beydoun stepped out of her office, turning the light off and locking the door behind her. The building was nearly empty, the sound of the door closing echoing off the walls and floor.

Already, the janitors had turned off most of the lights, and the building was bathed in darkness. Minister Beydoun walked slowly down the hallway, twirling her keys around her pointer finger.

Each step rang behind her, a second set of footsteps always just one step behind.

She approached the elevator and stopped, punching the parking deck button.

Behind her, the echoes rang - step, step, step, step… step…. but they didn’t stop.

The minister turned around.

The hall was empty. She shook his head as the elevator bell dinged and she stepped in.

As the elevator descended the seventeen floors to the garage, Beydoun thought of the impeachment inquiry. The charges were false, that much was clear. The three clans of crooks were uniting against the president.

The minister ran over the investigation over and over in her head; the families are united in their business interest, and more intermarried than most royal families - but what’s the common motive beyond immediate power?

Was there one? Did there need to be one?

The elevator came to a stop, and Minister Beydoun exited through the steel doors as they opened. Her car was waiting, and her driver stood holding the door open for her.

She nodded her head to the man and ducked into the back seat.

The car started up and the driver pulled out of the parking lot, taking a left.

Minister Beydoun coughed politely.

“I’m sorry, it was supposed to be a right I believe.”

“Taking a different route tonight, ma’am.”

The Minister frowned. This must be a new driver, she didn’t recognize him and he was screwing with her routine.

“No I really prefer if you follow the planned route,” the minister began, before she began to notice the heaviness slowly settling on her chest.

Each breath took more effort than the last, her lungs feeling full of tar.

“I think… I think there’s something wrong with the air back here.” Minister Beydoun said, pounding on the divider.

Silence.

“Hello?” the minister pleaded.

The car came to a sudden stop, and the driver turned to face her.

The minister jolted back.

“Who are you?” she asked.

The driver smiled and turned back around, turning up the radio.

“Please, I can’t breathe,” the minister said. “Please…”

The driver turned the radio up louder, the sound of the University of Bier Qassem’s Philharmonic Orchestra bringing the car to life and muffling out the begs and pleads from the back - not so much the pounding on the divider.

Though eventually that stopped, too.

The driver pulled out his phone.

“It’s done.”

[BananaZebra]

APARTMENT OF AMEERA AL-GHANEM, BIER QASSEM: 24 March, 5476, 6:59 PM

The former president sat on the couch, looking out at the Bier Qassem skyline of highrises - all full of corporate offices, most of which no doubt were owned by Soleimani Industries.

She smiled, in spite of herself.

Her shaking hand brought a glass of port to her lips, as her other hand held her phone to her ear.

"The Vice President campaigned in Dar es-Salam last night," the caller said with a sigh.

"I am aware." The former president replied.

"What should we do?"

"What should we do?" she asked with a laugh. "What should you do, more like it. And you know damn well what that is."

The caller remained silent for a moment.

"Understood."