December 15th 5427, Westbrook PSOD training camp, Westbrook, United States of Baltusia
0430 hours: The day begins with the blaring sound of a loudspeaker echoing through the barracks, jolting all the recruits, including Joseph, awake. Nobody needed to check the time, the alarm had gone off at half past 4 as it had done for the last 5 days. The bleary eyed recruits all hurried to perform their morning tasks, as nobody wanted to be late to morning formation. Joseph was no exception, as he intended to not get chewed out by a drill sergeant over his tardiness. Rushing with the other recruits, he quickly showered, changed, brushed his teeth, made his bed and rushed outside to formation.
0500 hours: Joseph stood as he was taught as a drill sergeant patrolled up and down the line looking for any imperfections. He watched as 2 fellow recruits got called out and given additional exercises for bad posture. His breathing stopped as the sergeant moved past him, but thankfully he wasn't called out. The sergeant then stood in front of the formation. "Right then, today we will be starting out with 3 kilometre run, followed by calisthenics." the head sergeant blared. While nobody protested it, that would be proverbial suicide, you could feel the groaning in the air. Following the drill sergeants the recruits began to run to the track, running in a mostly coherent manner, contrary to what they had began with only 5 days ago. This was going to be a long day.
0600 hours: The canteen quickly filled as men from all the training companies, at all the stages of training filed in to get their breakfast. There was some discussion, mainly surrounding UNF politics and what news from the outside world people had gotten through their mail. From what Joseph had heard, not much was happening in Baltusia right now.
0630 hours: Standing outside in formation again, Joseph watched as the drill sergeants listed off the activities for today. They were the usual weights and runs, along with a first aid course later in the day. Marching to the gym, Joseph could see other companies travelling to their locations, many to exercise areas, some to firearm drill, a single company preparing for the 2 day final examination.
1200 hours: From what little time he had spent here, Joseph was certain that lunch was the most subdued of the meal times, with little noise to be heard over the masses of soldiers eating. Joseph noted his afternoon schedule, which was posted alongside many others on the wall. He was set for cardio-pulmonary first aid for this afternoon.
1400 hours: He'd learnt a lot in the hour and a half of first aid so far, with many topics such as CPR, strokes, implanings and internal bleeding being covered. In addition they had touched upon safe recovery of a casualty in a combat situation, how to handle fractures, and so on.
1700 hours: Dinner was by far the most lively of the meals, with everyone relaxing from physical training having ended for the day. Most of the chatter was speculation for what the next period of tactics and political doctrine would hold. Some were speculating acceptable UNF internal factions, others hoped for some operations case studies.
1730 hours: Turns out that all of the speculators were wrong, they were getting an introduction to combatting other paramilitaries. They were shown how the other groups and State Police would attempt to combat PSOD's operations. Joseph took a particular interest in the sections about not getting caught in an illegal operation, what extent could they push the law to without violating it, and how they could prevent evidence from being left behind.
2000 hours: Personal time is barely personal when you are in a dorm with 49 other troops. In addition you are expected to do your laundry, your cleaning, your relaxation and more all in this singular hour. While no soldier could ever complete all their tasks in that time alone, the recruits had after the first day quickly delegated tasks out amongst themselves to equalise the burden. Joseph was assigned to laundry, and with the other 19 recruits assigned with him completed the task in about 40 minutes.
2100 hours: Lights out was strictly enforced as always. As he lied in bed, Joseph dreamed about the future, specifically his dedication to his ideology as a fulltime PSOD member, the fact PSOD paid a minimum of 40% more than what a national soldier would get and how best he could serve the UNF. Life seemed to be going up for him.
Particracy Forum
A Battle Unseen
Re: A Battle Unseen
by Nileowen_ » Mon Jan 22, 2024 12:43 pm
John 8:32 (DRA)
"And you shall know the truth, and the truth shall make you free."
"And you shall know the truth, and the truth shall make you free."
- Nileowen_
- Posts: 117
- Joined: Sat Nov 18, 2023 7:47 pm
- Location: [DATA EXPUNGED]
Re: A Battle Unseen
by jebjab » Thu Jan 25, 2024 7:27 pm
Leuansk, Kundrati, April 27, 5429, 4:13
It was a cold, slightly windy and dark spring morning on the tarmac. It had rained lightly that night. It was, however, no regular morning, as a K-22 rolled onto the tarmac of Leuansk’s military airfield.
The cockpit was filled with the low hum of instruments and the steady breathing of the pilot. Lieutenant Petri Carrere had finished his training less than a year ago. Back then, he thought he would be yet another member of one of the many generations of Kundrati Air Force officers who would serve out the ten years of a prestigious commission without spending a day in combat.
Unlike his predecessors, he would experience war once again knocking on Kundrati’s doorstep. Kundrati was a peaceful and secure nation, he had learned, as all of the nation’s children did; the last time a Kundrati citizen raised a gun to another in conflict was against their own brethren. Never again would this happen, the teachers all said, but alas, as Endralon went up in flames, Kundrati once again found itself dragged into conflict, albeit under different circumstances. President Nikolic had, just months earlier, called for peace, democracy, and freedom in Endralon, which Petri had correctly surmised was a muted endorsement of Free Endralon.
Nevertheless, he found himself sitting on a tarmac, potentially minutes away from one of the first Kundrati bombing missions in recent memory. He sat in a K-22 Arrano, a familiar workhorse of the Kundrati Air Force, an arguably outdated but historically successful ground-attack aircraft. He had received his orders that day – he was to participate in an airstrike on a Visionary State munitions storage facility in central-western Endralon, in the province of Hugalon.
“I must have some kind of distant relative there,” he muttered to himself.
The control panel lit up as Petri strapped himself into the cockpit. He tapped his finger against his thigh, a nervous gesture, knowing that what he and his squadron were about to do was going to make an impact, both literally and figuratively.
The air base in Leuansk had recently been filled by part of an air wing from Kaesama, causing what could only be described as controlled chaos at the usually-quiet base, on the border of a generally stable and isolated state. Suddenly, the base had become one of the busiest in Kundrati, on high alert since the first day of the escalation of the conflict in Endralon.
Petri heard several engines roar to life beside him, and the sounds of distant shouting and running from the enlisted airmen preparing the base for takeoff. It had been drilled into his head at the Academy: the lives of airmen in the sky depended on the work of airmen on the ground.
An airman on the ground had shortly thereafter started guiding him out toward the runway. He had gone through this process many times, but this time it was real. Scary, in a way, he thought.
Suddenly, he heard a voice speak to him through his headset. It was the all-too-familiar voice of the base’s air traffic control specialist, who had come with his squadron from Kaesama to provide backup to the seemingly-waterlogged ground crews in Leuansk.
“This is Air Traffic Control. Eagle Three, are you ready for takeoff?”
“Air Traffic Control, this is Eagle Three. Ready for takeoff.”
“Eagle Three, you are clear for takeoff. Good luck up there.”
The K-22’s engines roared to life as he began to accelerate down the runway. The plane pulled up. Finally, strangely enough, Petri felt at ease in the sky. The motions came to him with familiarity. It was easier for him to come to terms with what was coming.
Far off the coast of southwestern Kundrati, international waters, April 27, 5429, 4:22
Václav Čech, too, found himself in an unusual situation. He was an arms smuggler. For that reason, he had not recently expected to have been working for the Kundrati government. Fortunately for him, his military connections had secured him a well-paying, albeit risky, job.
He was on a fairly small freighter. Where it had come from and where it had gone to evade detection were irrelevant to his job – that was for the ship’s captain and whatever intelligence connection was setting this up to figure out – he was primarily concerned with the job to be done.
The ship had been sailed into port, loaded with regular cargo and the crew switched with mostly Kundrati military personnel. It had been registered on an island abroad and renamed. It was called the Itsastarra. Its goal was to covertly smuggle Kundrati military surplus weapons to Free Endralon forces in eastern Endralon, who the Kundrati government had recently ventured to support.
Free Endralon was launching an offensive west toward the Kundrati border, stifled largely by large-scale bombing campaigns from the Visionary State. Vaclav had not been told what exactly was onboard, but he could make some guesses. Small arms ammunition, a couple of small mobile anti-aircraft weapons, small arms, mortar ammunition, grenades, among other things. The details had presumably been discussed between the government of Kundrati and some kind of contact in Endralon. Really, he had no interest in knowing. The less he knew the less he would have to say if anything went south.
A ferry began to crest the horizon toward the ship, carrying a large number, probably 100 or 150, of wooden crates.
As the ferry reached the ship, he and those with him onboard began to place the boxes into waterproof, floatable containers.
The plan was as follows: he would receive the shipments from the ferry, sail toward their eventual destination, and then load the shipments into 4 smaller ships, which would each travel to individual locations in eastern Endralon and deliver necessary supplies to local contacts.
As the clock hit 4:45, the Itsastarra began to sail eastward.
In the skies over Hugalon, Endralon, April 27, 5429, 4:26
Petri approached the target. He was not alone, but to him, everything else in the moment felt fleeting. He was singularly focused, perhaps not out of some sense of duty but rather out of a sense of fear of the unknown. If something went wrong, here would be one of the worst places for it to do so.
“This is Eagle Three, I’m in position.”
His target began to come into view, and he took a deep breath as his heart started to beat emphatically.
He took a deep breath.
Below the rumbling of the K-22 stood a Visionary State munitions storage facility. Petri hadn’t been told what exactly it stored, or why it was such an important target. Classified information, he was told. Something about damaging critical logistics infrastructure. Didn’t matter to him much anyway.
“This is Eagle Three, I’m in position, target in sight. Do I have permission to engage?”
The radio crackled back, “Copy, Eagle Three, you’re clear to engage.”
It was a cold, slightly windy and dark spring morning on the tarmac. It had rained lightly that night. It was, however, no regular morning, as a K-22 rolled onto the tarmac of Leuansk’s military airfield.
The cockpit was filled with the low hum of instruments and the steady breathing of the pilot. Lieutenant Petri Carrere had finished his training less than a year ago. Back then, he thought he would be yet another member of one of the many generations of Kundrati Air Force officers who would serve out the ten years of a prestigious commission without spending a day in combat.
Unlike his predecessors, he would experience war once again knocking on Kundrati’s doorstep. Kundrati was a peaceful and secure nation, he had learned, as all of the nation’s children did; the last time a Kundrati citizen raised a gun to another in conflict was against their own brethren. Never again would this happen, the teachers all said, but alas, as Endralon went up in flames, Kundrati once again found itself dragged into conflict, albeit under different circumstances. President Nikolic had, just months earlier, called for peace, democracy, and freedom in Endralon, which Petri had correctly surmised was a muted endorsement of Free Endralon.
Nevertheless, he found himself sitting on a tarmac, potentially minutes away from one of the first Kundrati bombing missions in recent memory. He sat in a K-22 Arrano, a familiar workhorse of the Kundrati Air Force, an arguably outdated but historically successful ground-attack aircraft. He had received his orders that day – he was to participate in an airstrike on a Visionary State munitions storage facility in central-western Endralon, in the province of Hugalon.
“I must have some kind of distant relative there,” he muttered to himself.
The control panel lit up as Petri strapped himself into the cockpit. He tapped his finger against his thigh, a nervous gesture, knowing that what he and his squadron were about to do was going to make an impact, both literally and figuratively.
The air base in Leuansk had recently been filled by part of an air wing from Kaesama, causing what could only be described as controlled chaos at the usually-quiet base, on the border of a generally stable and isolated state. Suddenly, the base had become one of the busiest in Kundrati, on high alert since the first day of the escalation of the conflict in Endralon.
Petri heard several engines roar to life beside him, and the sounds of distant shouting and running from the enlisted airmen preparing the base for takeoff. It had been drilled into his head at the Academy: the lives of airmen in the sky depended on the work of airmen on the ground.
An airman on the ground had shortly thereafter started guiding him out toward the runway. He had gone through this process many times, but this time it was real. Scary, in a way, he thought.
Suddenly, he heard a voice speak to him through his headset. It was the all-too-familiar voice of the base’s air traffic control specialist, who had come with his squadron from Kaesama to provide backup to the seemingly-waterlogged ground crews in Leuansk.
“This is Air Traffic Control. Eagle Three, are you ready for takeoff?”
“Air Traffic Control, this is Eagle Three. Ready for takeoff.”
“Eagle Three, you are clear for takeoff. Good luck up there.”
The K-22’s engines roared to life as he began to accelerate down the runway. The plane pulled up. Finally, strangely enough, Petri felt at ease in the sky. The motions came to him with familiarity. It was easier for him to come to terms with what was coming.
Far off the coast of southwestern Kundrati, international waters, April 27, 5429, 4:22
Václav Čech, too, found himself in an unusual situation. He was an arms smuggler. For that reason, he had not recently expected to have been working for the Kundrati government. Fortunately for him, his military connections had secured him a well-paying, albeit risky, job.
He was on a fairly small freighter. Where it had come from and where it had gone to evade detection were irrelevant to his job – that was for the ship’s captain and whatever intelligence connection was setting this up to figure out – he was primarily concerned with the job to be done.
The ship had been sailed into port, loaded with regular cargo and the crew switched with mostly Kundrati military personnel. It had been registered on an island abroad and renamed. It was called the Itsastarra. Its goal was to covertly smuggle Kundrati military surplus weapons to Free Endralon forces in eastern Endralon, who the Kundrati government had recently ventured to support.
Free Endralon was launching an offensive west toward the Kundrati border, stifled largely by large-scale bombing campaigns from the Visionary State. Vaclav had not been told what exactly was onboard, but he could make some guesses. Small arms ammunition, a couple of small mobile anti-aircraft weapons, small arms, mortar ammunition, grenades, among other things. The details had presumably been discussed between the government of Kundrati and some kind of contact in Endralon. Really, he had no interest in knowing. The less he knew the less he would have to say if anything went south.
A ferry began to crest the horizon toward the ship, carrying a large number, probably 100 or 150, of wooden crates.
As the ferry reached the ship, he and those with him onboard began to place the boxes into waterproof, floatable containers.
The plan was as follows: he would receive the shipments from the ferry, sail toward their eventual destination, and then load the shipments into 4 smaller ships, which would each travel to individual locations in eastern Endralon and deliver necessary supplies to local contacts.
As the clock hit 4:45, the Itsastarra began to sail eastward.
In the skies over Hugalon, Endralon, April 27, 5429, 4:26
Petri approached the target. He was not alone, but to him, everything else in the moment felt fleeting. He was singularly focused, perhaps not out of some sense of duty but rather out of a sense of fear of the unknown. If something went wrong, here would be one of the worst places for it to do so.
“This is Eagle Three, I’m in position.”
His target began to come into view, and he took a deep breath as his heart started to beat emphatically.
He took a deep breath.
Below the rumbling of the K-22 stood a Visionary State munitions storage facility. Petri hadn’t been told what exactly it stored, or why it was such an important target. Classified information, he was told. Something about damaging critical logistics infrastructure. Didn’t matter to him much anyway.
“This is Eagle Three, I’m in position, target in sight. Do I have permission to engage?”
The radio crackled back, “Copy, Eagle Three, you’re clear to engage.”
Forward Kundrati
The Kundrati Observer
The Kundrati Observer
- jebjab
- Posts: 24
- Joined: Wed May 25, 2022 4:00 am
Re: A Battle Unseen
by Svetlana2 » Sat Feb 03, 2024 9:23 am
Symphony of Gold and Gears
Event: Meeting of the Masked Fools Society aka the Intellectuals clique
Location: Unknown, rumored to have been held in an isolated mansion to the southeast of Ramsāhreza
Attendees/Participants: Leaders of the MFS, also known as "show masters,"
Purpose: Make Aldegar Utopian no matter the cost
Esteemed Period of the meeting:8 hours
Rumored Time of the meeting being held: after the arrest of Parisa, also known as the Actress
It was a busy but serene night at the Tahminah Mansion, its warm yet bright lights making it stand out in the snowcovered moutains of Aldegar, the maids are busy running around preparing the mansion while the cooks hury on prepring multiple high end courses as the long-awaited meeting of all the showmasters in one single place to discuss their plans for the show in Aldegar, the head mistress of the house urgently commands to prepare the entrance hall,"Girl haven't you heard?" one of the maids say to the other while giving the final touches to the floral arrangement that is suspiciously made from difrrnt varieties lf water lillies and lotuses"They said Father and Mother are planning on intensifying the shit show that they are making right now so the government has to accept their terms"She says before looking around to make sure No-one is eavesdropping on their conversation, "There are rumors that they even let Parisa get arrested so that she can start a mutiny in the carseral system"She whispers into her ear, the other maid gasps out of suprise,"Girl no fucking way-"the other maid adds before getting startled by the loud sand of the front double winged door opening loudly before the sight of 15 masked persons with rather extravagant outfits enter the hall"Bitch we better leave, they gonna start talking and I don't wanna be yelled at by Fatma,"she says under hre breath while pinching her arm"ow bitch, I agree we better go also the next time you do that again I'm gonna make you eat my fist"She agrees, they both then sneakily make their way out of the room undetected, letting the show masters begin to talk.
"Well... Ahem!"Father says tapping his canne against the dark oak floor, it sounds echoing through the silent room"I know it's unusual for us to have all of our show masters including Mother and I in a Symphony and masquerade as glorious as this one. But as you all know, Actress has successfully executed her part of the plan by radicalising the population hard enough to cause the actual paralyzation of the canal, but unfortunately it came with the cost of loosing one of our members to fire up the powderkrieg that is Aldegar. Most importantly, she is now enacting part 2 of her plan, which consists of making the carseral system fall into a dissaray by eating it from the inside-out. But in order to orchastrate such show, she needs our assistance and as I such I have decided to choose Gears as the one to be assisting Actress in her mission" Gears' eyes widened from shock as he clearly didn't expect Father from assigning him to the mission"Thanks Father, but may I know why me in particular? You could've chosen Poétesse or even Diamond or Nymphéa to instigate riots across the entire system and make it crumble faster than a sablé-He is then cut off by the sound of Father's canne tapping the floor once more,"Well you see my dear child, even if we started riots across every prison in this country, they could always call in the army to crush them and put them back into their cells. What we really need is a massive cyber attack against their carceral system by leaking highly classified documents to not only cause riots across the nation but also shatter any sense of stability that used to exist within the armed forces as we all know that even the police is now purposefully disobeying the orders of the Ministry of Nation Security.He clears his throat before looking at Mother for her to talk now"As father explained right now, that's why we need you you specifically to be helping Actress in her mission. You will be given a fake identity alongside a uniform of a member of the cybernetic division of the Aldegarian Carceral Authority which is located within the building of the Ministry of Justice, but you will have to be extremely meticulous to not get caught since they're all on nerves right now because of the protests. After that, you will need to hack into their servers and leak as much information as possible especially ones that are considered as extremely important due to their classification, then you will leave the stage for Poétesse to take the lead"She says looking at Poétesse which has one of the most unique masks as it's covered book pages and book covers"Thank you Mother, so do you want me to leak those documents to the press in order to fuel the outrage even more? I can surely do that, but I need somebody to also help me hijack the TV channels to spread those documents even more. May I suggest that perhaps Al-Kabiha and Fúshè de to be parts of my plan? I know they both are currently preparing their acts, but I think we could merge all three plans into a glorious act. Of course it's up to them to accept my request.She sighs before looking over at Al-Kabiha who is already deep into her thoughts, and then looks over at Fúshè de who is nodding his head in agreement"Ahem, I might say this is a rather unique action in our plans but if it means that utopianism will enter Aldegar once and for all with one of our show masters at its head, I agree unconditionally to this"Al Kabiha says before Father claps both of his hand and then says"It seems like Plan of Symphony of Gold and Gears has been finalized, so let's do a quick run back on what we agreed upon. So firstly, Gears will be sent as an undercover worker for the cybernetic s department of the Aldegarian Carceral Authority which is located within the building of the Ministry of Justice, then he will crack the servers and leak important documents that will be sent to Poétesse. Secondly, Poétesse leaks said documents to the local press first to fuel the outrage even more and shatter any sense of unity among the armed forces to weaken even more the government and prolongue the canal suspension of the canal which will also radicalize the protesters even more and make them eat our Utopian teachings easily. Finally, all of Poétesse, Fúshè de, and AL Kabiha will hijack the signals of the Aldegarian National Broadcasting Authority in order to make sure everyone within the nation will see the leaked documents, the agreed upon plan is to disguise it as an emergency broadcast about the nation being in a state of war before ultimately filming Al-Kabiha and Fúshè de perform on a stage depicting the incubing president and his wife to use it as a way to share the leaked information through their acting but also plumet the image of the president and anyone affiliated to him, but this attack will surely rise suspicions in the international community due to its organized nature but nonetheless we are ready to take such sacrifice to make Aldegar a beacon of Utopianism such as Valruzia in the old glory days."They all stood up before clapping in unison signaling the end of the meeting. Then Father and Mother led the way to the grand dining hall bestowed before them to feast to their heart content, but are their hearts content with the current situation or do they want it to become way more "fun"
Event: Meeting of the Masked Fools Society aka the Intellectuals clique
Location: Unknown, rumored to have been held in an isolated mansion to the southeast of Ramsāhreza
Attendees/Participants: Leaders of the MFS, also known as "show masters,"
Purpose: Make Aldegar Utopian no matter the cost
Esteemed Period of the meeting:8 hours
Rumored Time of the meeting being held: after the arrest of Parisa, also known as the Actress
It was a busy but serene night at the Tahminah Mansion, its warm yet bright lights making it stand out in the snowcovered moutains of Aldegar, the maids are busy running around preparing the mansion while the cooks hury on prepring multiple high end courses as the long-awaited meeting of all the showmasters in one single place to discuss their plans for the show in Aldegar, the head mistress of the house urgently commands to prepare the entrance hall,"Girl haven't you heard?" one of the maids say to the other while giving the final touches to the floral arrangement that is suspiciously made from difrrnt varieties lf water lillies and lotuses"They said Father and Mother are planning on intensifying the shit show that they are making right now so the government has to accept their terms"She says before looking around to make sure No-one is eavesdropping on their conversation, "There are rumors that they even let Parisa get arrested so that she can start a mutiny in the carseral system"She whispers into her ear, the other maid gasps out of suprise,"Girl no fucking way-"the other maid adds before getting startled by the loud sand of the front double winged door opening loudly before the sight of 15 masked persons with rather extravagant outfits enter the hall"Bitch we better leave, they gonna start talking and I don't wanna be yelled at by Fatma,"she says under hre breath while pinching her arm"ow bitch, I agree we better go also the next time you do that again I'm gonna make you eat my fist"She agrees, they both then sneakily make their way out of the room undetected, letting the show masters begin to talk.
"Well... Ahem!"Father says tapping his canne against the dark oak floor, it sounds echoing through the silent room"I know it's unusual for us to have all of our show masters including Mother and I in a Symphony and masquerade as glorious as this one. But as you all know, Actress has successfully executed her part of the plan by radicalising the population hard enough to cause the actual paralyzation of the canal, but unfortunately it came with the cost of loosing one of our members to fire up the powderkrieg that is Aldegar. Most importantly, she is now enacting part 2 of her plan, which consists of making the carseral system fall into a dissaray by eating it from the inside-out. But in order to orchastrate such show, she needs our assistance and as I such I have decided to choose Gears as the one to be assisting Actress in her mission" Gears' eyes widened from shock as he clearly didn't expect Father from assigning him to the mission"Thanks Father, but may I know why me in particular? You could've chosen Poétesse or even Diamond or Nymphéa to instigate riots across the entire system and make it crumble faster than a sablé-He is then cut off by the sound of Father's canne tapping the floor once more,"Well you see my dear child, even if we started riots across every prison in this country, they could always call in the army to crush them and put them back into their cells. What we really need is a massive cyber attack against their carceral system by leaking highly classified documents to not only cause riots across the nation but also shatter any sense of stability that used to exist within the armed forces as we all know that even the police is now purposefully disobeying the orders of the Ministry of Nation Security.He clears his throat before looking at Mother for her to talk now"As father explained right now, that's why we need you you specifically to be helping Actress in her mission. You will be given a fake identity alongside a uniform of a member of the cybernetic division of the Aldegarian Carceral Authority which is located within the building of the Ministry of Justice, but you will have to be extremely meticulous to not get caught since they're all on nerves right now because of the protests. After that, you will need to hack into their servers and leak as much information as possible especially ones that are considered as extremely important due to their classification, then you will leave the stage for Poétesse to take the lead"She says looking at Poétesse which has one of the most unique masks as it's covered book pages and book covers"Thank you Mother, so do you want me to leak those documents to the press in order to fuel the outrage even more? I can surely do that, but I need somebody to also help me hijack the TV channels to spread those documents even more. May I suggest that perhaps Al-Kabiha and Fúshè de to be parts of my plan? I know they both are currently preparing their acts, but I think we could merge all three plans into a glorious act. Of course it's up to them to accept my request.She sighs before looking over at Al-Kabiha who is already deep into her thoughts, and then looks over at Fúshè de who is nodding his head in agreement"Ahem, I might say this is a rather unique action in our plans but if it means that utopianism will enter Aldegar once and for all with one of our show masters at its head, I agree unconditionally to this"Al Kabiha says before Father claps both of his hand and then says"It seems like Plan of Symphony of Gold and Gears has been finalized, so let's do a quick run back on what we agreed upon. So firstly, Gears will be sent as an undercover worker for the cybernetic s department of the Aldegarian Carceral Authority which is located within the building of the Ministry of Justice, then he will crack the servers and leak important documents that will be sent to Poétesse. Secondly, Poétesse leaks said documents to the local press first to fuel the outrage even more and shatter any sense of unity among the armed forces to weaken even more the government and prolongue the canal suspension of the canal which will also radicalize the protesters even more and make them eat our Utopian teachings easily. Finally, all of Poétesse, Fúshè de, and AL Kabiha will hijack the signals of the Aldegarian National Broadcasting Authority in order to make sure everyone within the nation will see the leaked documents, the agreed upon plan is to disguise it as an emergency broadcast about the nation being in a state of war before ultimately filming Al-Kabiha and Fúshè de perform on a stage depicting the incubing president and his wife to use it as a way to share the leaked information through their acting but also plumet the image of the president and anyone affiliated to him, but this attack will surely rise suspicions in the international community due to its organized nature but nonetheless we are ready to take such sacrifice to make Aldegar a beacon of Utopianism such as Valruzia in the old glory days."They all stood up before clapping in unison signaling the end of the meeting. Then Father and Mother led the way to the grand dining hall bestowed before them to feast to their heart content, but are their hearts content with the current situation or do they want it to become way more "fun"
Don't mind me just spreading som good old chaos and insanity and sometimes democracy and freedom depends on my mood
- Svetlana2
- Posts: 502
- Joined: Sat Mar 04, 2023 2:29 pm
Re: A Battle Unseen
by Robert F. Kennedy » Sat Feb 03, 2024 10:19 pm
11th February 5434, Constitutional Democratic Headquarters, 14th Maswick Road, Fort William, Luthori
"While I was sure of arriving at the post of Prime Minister, I made a great decision, whether for me, the Club or the Party...."
The rest of the guests invited to this meeting looked at him with a silence that would make flies fly.
Suddenly, the old man, imposing the rest of his presentence announced his decision: "I decided to resign from the head of the Monday Club and the CDU as a whole."
Nobody could have thought of it, him, Raymond Miller, the first man to have brought down a leader of the party by the ballot box, former Prime Minister, the PM of the shadow under the last mandate, the one who hoped so much to become PM after all that he did to achieve this goal, announced this...
In this deafening silence, a woman, alone, took the floor, lightening her voice, she said in a reassuring voice: "Can you explain to us why you made this decision, Mr. Miller, after all, you are this close to achieving your goal of becoming Prime Minister again"
The old man then said: "The party is above all, except the Empire, of course, today I can say that we are waking up in a new political era. It seems that the right-wing radicalism is back, with the recent proposal of the Luthorian "Conservative" Party, supported by Luthori First, of course and similarly, today, there are no more leaders coming from my time, Martin and Henry were released from Labour and most of them retired...so it’s time for me to follow them."
A man spoke: "Mr Miller, so should I announce this to the press?"
Miller calmly replied: "Mr Pershing, I don’t think it’s a good idea, I would like to talk about it at a press conference, it’s quite historical..."
John H. Pershing said in a nonchalant tone: "It is true...but we must know what will happen to the party without your leadership Raymond."
Miller smiled and said in a confident voice, without showing an uncle of hesitation: "The party will survive without me, John, as it has done for generations. I see before me three princes and one princess, all with a chance of winning this chair."
These three princes, being John Pershing himself, Edward Mitchell, son of Dr. Mitchell, former Trade Secretary and current Governor of the Bank of Luthori, appointed under a Labour government, moreover..., and finally, the black horse of the three, Martin Cunningham, conservative speaker who wants to return his "glory of yesteryear" to the Monday Club...by installing his "conservative revolution", and finally, the Princess is Mrs. Matilda Weddall, a woman considered a "constitutionalist" in the main sense of the word.
Even though Mitchell and Cunningham didn’t talk, letting Pershing and Weddall be ahead of their "love" for Miller and his leadership, they know they don’t need to "sirer les pompes" de Raymond, as Martin said in private, their influence within the Club is large enough to be able to decide on the new leader alone.[i]
[i]With Asters off the main stage, how will his four knights, the infamous four "four riders of the Monday Club" play their cards to win the favor of the Club and the Union in general?
The Club better settle its affairs quickly, or else, their only opportunity to return to Crown Street as leader of a government could quickly fade, as if it had never existed...
"While I was sure of arriving at the post of Prime Minister, I made a great decision, whether for me, the Club or the Party...."
The rest of the guests invited to this meeting looked at him with a silence that would make flies fly.
Suddenly, the old man, imposing the rest of his presentence announced his decision: "I decided to resign from the head of the Monday Club and the CDU as a whole."
Nobody could have thought of it, him, Raymond Miller, the first man to have brought down a leader of the party by the ballot box, former Prime Minister, the PM of the shadow under the last mandate, the one who hoped so much to become PM after all that he did to achieve this goal, announced this...
In this deafening silence, a woman, alone, took the floor, lightening her voice, she said in a reassuring voice: "Can you explain to us why you made this decision, Mr. Miller, after all, you are this close to achieving your goal of becoming Prime Minister again"
The old man then said: "The party is above all, except the Empire, of course, today I can say that we are waking up in a new political era. It seems that the right-wing radicalism is back, with the recent proposal of the Luthorian "Conservative" Party, supported by Luthori First, of course and similarly, today, there are no more leaders coming from my time, Martin and Henry were released from Labour and most of them retired...so it’s time for me to follow them."
A man spoke: "Mr Miller, so should I announce this to the press?"
Miller calmly replied: "Mr Pershing, I don’t think it’s a good idea, I would like to talk about it at a press conference, it’s quite historical..."
John H. Pershing said in a nonchalant tone: "It is true...but we must know what will happen to the party without your leadership Raymond."
Miller smiled and said in a confident voice, without showing an uncle of hesitation: "The party will survive without me, John, as it has done for generations. I see before me three princes and one princess, all with a chance of winning this chair."
These three princes, being John Pershing himself, Edward Mitchell, son of Dr. Mitchell, former Trade Secretary and current Governor of the Bank of Luthori, appointed under a Labour government, moreover..., and finally, the black horse of the three, Martin Cunningham, conservative speaker who wants to return his "glory of yesteryear" to the Monday Club...by installing his "conservative revolution", and finally, the Princess is Mrs. Matilda Weddall, a woman considered a "constitutionalist" in the main sense of the word.
Even though Mitchell and Cunningham didn’t talk, letting Pershing and Weddall be ahead of their "love" for Miller and his leadership, they know they don’t need to "sirer les pompes" de Raymond, as Martin said in private, their influence within the Club is large enough to be able to decide on the new leader alone.[i]
[i]With Asters off the main stage, how will his four knights, the infamous four "four riders of the Monday Club" play their cards to win the favor of the Club and the Union in general?
The Club better settle its affairs quickly, or else, their only opportunity to return to Crown Street as leader of a government could quickly fade, as if it had never existed...
Luthori, 
HulstriaConstitutional Democratic Union, Hosian-Dermcratic Union
Controller of the Luthorian Monarchy (House of Orange-Villayn Armstead)
-
Robert F. Kennedy - Posts: 563
- Joined: Mon Oct 04, 2021 5:11 am
- Location: Somewhere in Paris.
Re: A Battle Unseen
by hyraemous » Tue Feb 06, 2024 9:08 pm
Near the Kundrati-Kirlawan border
1 August 5435 in the early morning
"Damned Kirlawans..." said Michel Julenian. "...with their religious bullshit." He was reading the local newspaper reporting on the ongoing sectarian violence in Kirlawa.
Wilhelm Kaufner joined him with some bacon and eggs ready. Both began to eat and as they ate the news came on the television that there was more anger across Kirlawa with police having to use rubber bullets and tear gas. After they ate both of them stood up and left the house. They went to a small office building a few miles back. There they met a man, only named "Fix".
Fix had met a few other people just like Julenian and Kaufner. A team of 20 others were waiting in a auditorium ready to work on an operation in Kirlawa. Fix had been told by those higher up in Kasaema that the ongoing violence was a threat to Kundrati's brotherhood and unity and that, should the violence spread southeast, could compromise the peace between the Lurraren and Delic peoples.
The plan was to slowly infiltrate the police forces and government in Kirlawa and slowly contain the violence. Perhaps promoting a liberal multicultural democracy in Kirlawa would also be the target though this was still being worked on. The aim was to either discourage further protests or, if things don't work out, eventually topple the government and install a pro-Kundrati government in it's place...
...though there was always a third option.
1 August 5435 in the early morning
"Damned Kirlawans..." said Michel Julenian. "...with their religious bullshit." He was reading the local newspaper reporting on the ongoing sectarian violence in Kirlawa.
Wilhelm Kaufner joined him with some bacon and eggs ready. Both began to eat and as they ate the news came on the television that there was more anger across Kirlawa with police having to use rubber bullets and tear gas. After they ate both of them stood up and left the house. They went to a small office building a few miles back. There they met a man, only named "Fix".
Fix had met a few other people just like Julenian and Kaufner. A team of 20 others were waiting in a auditorium ready to work on an operation in Kirlawa. Fix had been told by those higher up in Kasaema that the ongoing violence was a threat to Kundrati's brotherhood and unity and that, should the violence spread southeast, could compromise the peace between the Lurraren and Delic peoples.
The plan was to slowly infiltrate the police forces and government in Kirlawa and slowly contain the violence. Perhaps promoting a liberal multicultural democracy in Kirlawa would also be the target though this was still being worked on. The aim was to either discourage further protests or, if things don't work out, eventually topple the government and install a pro-Kundrati government in it's place...
...though there was always a third option.
My nation is: 
Kundrati / My party is: Kundrati Democracy
"Instead realize that your country [Kundrati] isn’t special..." - Farsun
Kundrati / My party is: Kundrati Democracy"Instead realize that your country [Kundrati] isn’t special..." - Farsun
-
hyraemous - Posts: 482
- Joined: Fri May 20, 2022 11:43 pm
- Location: Kasaema (or New York City)
Re: A Battle Unseen
by Mbites » Mon Feb 19, 2024 6:51 pm
Post-office Bannerhafen Mitte
A stressed sweaty looking young man stepped into the post office and immediately skipped the line to the counter to approach the clerk.
"Ugh, wait in line Mr." said the annoyed post official
"No- You dont get it. It's important, here take this for your efforts."
The Young man handed the clerk 500 DAR.
"Sure, how can I help?"
"Here I want this package sent via high-security priority mail." When he put the package on the counter it made a sound as if glass bottles were colliding.
"Whats in there? This is sketchy Son."
"It's just some Cola.."
"Ooooh, right.. suuuree... Well, I honestly dont get paid enough to care, where to?"
"Lourenne."
The clerk raised an eyebrow.
"Baguette Country? Nobody comes in here to send something there. 500 DAR wont even cover that."
"Yeah I know, but my boss wants it sent now. You can send the bill to his office." The young man slips a wrinkled paper with an adress on it to the official.
"Thaller Industries? I see. Well, we'll take care of it. Now get out of here, the customers which were here before you look really grumpy."
A stressed sweaty looking young man stepped into the post office and immediately skipped the line to the counter to approach the clerk.
"Ugh, wait in line Mr." said the annoyed post official
"No- You dont get it. It's important, here take this for your efforts."
The Young man handed the clerk 500 DAR.
"Sure, how can I help?"
"Here I want this package sent via high-security priority mail." When he put the package on the counter it made a sound as if glass bottles were colliding.
"Whats in there? This is sketchy Son."
"It's just some Cola.."
"Ooooh, right.. suuuree... Well, I honestly dont get paid enough to care, where to?"
"Lourenne."
The clerk raised an eyebrow.
"Baguette Country? Nobody comes in here to send something there. 500 DAR wont even cover that."
"Yeah I know, but my boss wants it sent now. You can send the bill to his office." The young man slips a wrinkled paper with an adress on it to the official.
"Thaller Industries? I see. Well, we'll take care of it. Now get out of here, the customers which were here before you look really grumpy."
"It looked like a silly semi-cliquey thing between a few players to me. Following around a troll called Mbites like he was some sort of god... which wouldn't have mattered so much in the scale of things, except one of them was a Mod."
-
Mbites - Posts: 713
- Joined: Sat May 07, 2016 11:15 am
Re: A Battle Unseen
by Nileowen_ » Mon Feb 26, 2024 10:00 pm
Department 16 Offices, Defence Forces Headquarters, Éagsúila
September 29th 5445
Dara-Lefteanant (Second Lieutenant) Damhán looked closer at his terminal. DEADBUG was proceeding nicely, with the firewall and proxy cracking tools having been easily implemented, alongside the "slow break" function. DEADBUG was unlike anything he had worked on before, and along with the fact he was working with many other talented figures, he was being paid by the government to develop and test malware unlike anything he had produced previously. He looked again at the "slow break" code. It was something he had never considered before, that rather than rapidly destroying just the hardware of the computer itself, he could force a computer to perform some of it's functions slightly incorrect, slowly damaging the system and connect systems while it reported that it was fine. Still, the team needed to develop a system to rapidly spread over networks, and also a system to identify the target system, but with the group of minds here, he had no doubt that they could easily work through these challenges.
September 29th 5445
Dara-Lefteanant (Second Lieutenant) Damhán looked closer at his terminal. DEADBUG was proceeding nicely, with the firewall and proxy cracking tools having been easily implemented, alongside the "slow break" function. DEADBUG was unlike anything he had worked on before, and along with the fact he was working with many other talented figures, he was being paid by the government to develop and test malware unlike anything he had produced previously. He looked again at the "slow break" code. It was something he had never considered before, that rather than rapidly destroying just the hardware of the computer itself, he could force a computer to perform some of it's functions slightly incorrect, slowly damaging the system and connect systems while it reported that it was fine. Still, the team needed to develop a system to rapidly spread over networks, and also a system to identify the target system, but with the group of minds here, he had no doubt that they could easily work through these challenges.
John 8:32 (DRA)
"And you shall know the truth, and the truth shall make you free."
"And you shall know the truth, and the truth shall make you free."
- Nileowen_
- Posts: 117
- Joined: Sat Nov 18, 2023 7:47 pm
- Location: [DATA EXPUNGED]
Re: A Battle Unseen
by BananaZebra » Tue Mar 05, 2024 9:57 pm
EUPHORIA NOW
Cetatea Albă, August, 5449
Flori Mircea
The lounge was alive with the sound of swing jazz being softly played by the live band in the den. Cigarette smoke lingered in the air, like a cloud of smog lining the ceiling.
Across the room, Flori recognized the doctor, sitting alone.
Flori went to the doctor’s table and sat across from him.
“Good evening, Flori.” the doctor said.
He was wearing his usual brown and tan pinstripe suit, with a stylized peacock feather tie. His thinning brown hair was sweaty, sticking to his forehead in strands.
“You too, doctor. I’m afraid I’ve run through my prescription.”
The doctor clucked his tongue.
His beady eyes rapidly looked Flori up and down.
“Already, Flori? This is much too soon, how many have you been taking?”
Flori looked down at her fidgeting hands.
“Doctor, I’m sick. I know that, but please don’t punish me for it.”
“You are sick, Flori. I can see that quite plainly. You suffer, don’t you Flori?”
“Yes.” Flori said. “I do doctor. I am widowed, and unemployed. I am grateful for you seeing me free of charge, and the Euphorenol too of course. You have been too good to me, doctor. I know it’s not healthy, and I feel awful saying it, but the pills are the one thing keeping me afloat right now, doctor.”
“I understand the feeling, Flori.” the doctor said, finishing his brandy in one last swig. “Would you like to come back with me to my office, Flori? I can get you a bridge bottle of Euphorenol; maybe five pills, at the most.”
Flori sighed.
“Thank you, doctor. Thank you so much.”
Flori had never seen the office after night. During the day, it was a pleasant enough place; nicely maintained stone and wood, a neat path through a garden of overflowing hydrangeas, the front door a warm shade of red.
But at night it was dark; nearly completely dark. It looked nearly abandoned, and the air felt thick and electric on Flori’s skin as she walked inside with the doctor. He closed the red door behind them and locked it.
“For safety; we don’t have any guards, and I don’t want someone coming in after us to try to loot my pill locker.” the doctor said.
The halls seemed so large, being as empty as they were. In the waiting room the chairs were stacked in the corner, and the room felt discomforting without them. The doctor turned on the lobby lights, flickering on in a flash of yellow and white light.
The doctor opened a drawer in his office, pulling out an empty bottle. He went to the medicine locker, opened it, and printed a label for Euphorenol as he filled the bottle with 5 pills.
“Here.” the doctor said, handing her one pill on the side.
“Thank you.” Flori said, taking the glass of water offered with the pill and downing it with a flick of her head.
A cool rush flowed through her body, as if her blood had turned cold.
“What was that, doctor?”
“Euphorenol, just a new formula. How does it feel, Flori?”
Flori laughed.
“Amazing, doctor. Truly amazing.”
“That’s good to hear, Flori.” the doctor said, leading her back to the waiting room by the arm.
A man stood in the corner, one whom Flori had never seen.
“Rudolf!” the doctor shouted. “Adjustments to the secobarbital and amobarbital seem to have been successful.”
The man, Rudolf, smiled.
“Good to hear, doc. The boss will be pleased.”
“Now Flori,” the doctor said, turning to face her. “Would you mind staying here for observation? We just want to make sure nothing happens to you, Flori.”
“Of course not, doctor. I’m feeling tired anyway, would you mind grabbing one of the chairs for me?”
The doctor nodded to Rudolf, who grabbed a chair and placed it in the middle of the room for her.
“You feeling alright?” asked the doctor.
“Yes, just a little lightheaded.”
“We may need to adjust the procaine, Rudolf.” the doctor said.
Rudolf nodded and wrote in his journal.
“The levels of what? Doctor, what’s going on? What’s procaine?” Flori asked, starting to stand up as her head felt ready to split in two.
“Shh, you’re ok Flori. You’re alright.” the doctor said.
“My lungs, doctor… I can’t… I can’t…”
“Hush, just relax. Just let it go, Flori.”
“My veins,” Flori gasped.
“Yes?” asked Rudolf.
The doctor shot him a glare.
“They burn!” Flori wailed.
The doctor sighed.
“Secobarbital and amobarbital in need of further reduction, Rudolf. Experiment failure. Note the time, would you?”
“Doctor?” Flori whispered.
“It’s alright, I promise.”
Flori collapsed forward onto the floor, her chin pressed against the cold tile flooring. Her eyes, partially opened and swimming with fuzzy lights and shapes, could just barely make out her surroundings. Rudolf and the doctor lifted her, carrying her out to the doctor’s white coupe, where they put her in the trunk. The lid shut, and Flori was in total darkness.
She wondered if they knew she was still alive, or if they thought she was dead by now. Flori tried to flex her muscles, bend a finger or a toe. She was frozen, her lungs barely moving and her heart beating weakly.
The car came to a stop, and Flori rolled against the back of the trunk.
Rudolf picked her up alone and dragged her to a small hole in the dirt.
As she was pulled across the dirt, Flori gazed up at a billboard poking up above the tree line, bright green. Rudolf threw her in the grave.
The doctor stood at the edge, looking down at her.
“I’m sorry, Flori. But it was for the best. It is time to end your suffering.”
The doctor pulled a gun from his coat, pointing it down at Flori.
In the seconds before the flash of light and thunderous roar that meant her death, she looked once more to the billboard, now in full view.
“EUPHORENOL, EUPHORIA NOW!”
Cetatea Albă, August, 5449
Flori Mircea
The lounge was alive with the sound of swing jazz being softly played by the live band in the den. Cigarette smoke lingered in the air, like a cloud of smog lining the ceiling.
Across the room, Flori recognized the doctor, sitting alone.
Flori went to the doctor’s table and sat across from him.
“Good evening, Flori.” the doctor said.
He was wearing his usual brown and tan pinstripe suit, with a stylized peacock feather tie. His thinning brown hair was sweaty, sticking to his forehead in strands.
“You too, doctor. I’m afraid I’ve run through my prescription.”
The doctor clucked his tongue.
His beady eyes rapidly looked Flori up and down.
“Already, Flori? This is much too soon, how many have you been taking?”
Flori looked down at her fidgeting hands.
“Doctor, I’m sick. I know that, but please don’t punish me for it.”
“You are sick, Flori. I can see that quite plainly. You suffer, don’t you Flori?”
“Yes.” Flori said. “I do doctor. I am widowed, and unemployed. I am grateful for you seeing me free of charge, and the Euphorenol too of course. You have been too good to me, doctor. I know it’s not healthy, and I feel awful saying it, but the pills are the one thing keeping me afloat right now, doctor.”
“I understand the feeling, Flori.” the doctor said, finishing his brandy in one last swig. “Would you like to come back with me to my office, Flori? I can get you a bridge bottle of Euphorenol; maybe five pills, at the most.”
Flori sighed.
“Thank you, doctor. Thank you so much.”
Flori had never seen the office after night. During the day, it was a pleasant enough place; nicely maintained stone and wood, a neat path through a garden of overflowing hydrangeas, the front door a warm shade of red.
But at night it was dark; nearly completely dark. It looked nearly abandoned, and the air felt thick and electric on Flori’s skin as she walked inside with the doctor. He closed the red door behind them and locked it.
“For safety; we don’t have any guards, and I don’t want someone coming in after us to try to loot my pill locker.” the doctor said.
The halls seemed so large, being as empty as they were. In the waiting room the chairs were stacked in the corner, and the room felt discomforting without them. The doctor turned on the lobby lights, flickering on in a flash of yellow and white light.
The doctor opened a drawer in his office, pulling out an empty bottle. He went to the medicine locker, opened it, and printed a label for Euphorenol as he filled the bottle with 5 pills.
“Here.” the doctor said, handing her one pill on the side.
“Thank you.” Flori said, taking the glass of water offered with the pill and downing it with a flick of her head.
A cool rush flowed through her body, as if her blood had turned cold.
“What was that, doctor?”
“Euphorenol, just a new formula. How does it feel, Flori?”
Flori laughed.
“Amazing, doctor. Truly amazing.”
“That’s good to hear, Flori.” the doctor said, leading her back to the waiting room by the arm.
A man stood in the corner, one whom Flori had never seen.
“Rudolf!” the doctor shouted. “Adjustments to the secobarbital and amobarbital seem to have been successful.”
The man, Rudolf, smiled.
“Good to hear, doc. The boss will be pleased.”
“Now Flori,” the doctor said, turning to face her. “Would you mind staying here for observation? We just want to make sure nothing happens to you, Flori.”
“Of course not, doctor. I’m feeling tired anyway, would you mind grabbing one of the chairs for me?”
The doctor nodded to Rudolf, who grabbed a chair and placed it in the middle of the room for her.
“You feeling alright?” asked the doctor.
“Yes, just a little lightheaded.”
“We may need to adjust the procaine, Rudolf.” the doctor said.
Rudolf nodded and wrote in his journal.
“The levels of what? Doctor, what’s going on? What’s procaine?” Flori asked, starting to stand up as her head felt ready to split in two.
“Shh, you’re ok Flori. You’re alright.” the doctor said.
“My lungs, doctor… I can’t… I can’t…”
“Hush, just relax. Just let it go, Flori.”
“My veins,” Flori gasped.
“Yes?” asked Rudolf.
The doctor shot him a glare.
“They burn!” Flori wailed.
The doctor sighed.
“Secobarbital and amobarbital in need of further reduction, Rudolf. Experiment failure. Note the time, would you?”
“Doctor?” Flori whispered.
“It’s alright, I promise.”
Flori collapsed forward onto the floor, her chin pressed against the cold tile flooring. Her eyes, partially opened and swimming with fuzzy lights and shapes, could just barely make out her surroundings. Rudolf and the doctor lifted her, carrying her out to the doctor’s white coupe, where they put her in the trunk. The lid shut, and Flori was in total darkness.
She wondered if they knew she was still alive, or if they thought she was dead by now. Flori tried to flex her muscles, bend a finger or a toe. She was frozen, her lungs barely moving and her heart beating weakly.
The car came to a stop, and Flori rolled against the back of the trunk.
Rudolf picked her up alone and dragged her to a small hole in the dirt.
As she was pulled across the dirt, Flori gazed up at a billboard poking up above the tree line, bright green. Rudolf threw her in the grave.
The doctor stood at the edge, looking down at her.
“I’m sorry, Flori. But it was for the best. It is time to end your suffering.”
The doctor pulled a gun from his coat, pointing it down at Flori.
In the seconds before the flash of light and thunderous roar that meant her death, she looked once more to the billboard, now in full view.
“EUPHORENOL, EUPHORIA NOW!”
Last edited by BananaZebra on Thu Apr 18, 2024 9:15 pm, edited 1 time in total.
Hizb al-Ishtiraki al-Dimuqrati (Badara)
Uniós Párt | Partidul Unirii (New Endralon and Kizenia)
Uniós Párt | Partidul Unirii (New Endralon and Kizenia)
- BananaZebra
- Posts: 250
- Joined: Tue Jan 10, 2017 9:07 pm
Re: A Battle Unseen
by BananaZebra » Thu Mar 07, 2024 2:26 pm
SNOW IN JULY
Cetatea Albă, July, 5450
Detective István Márton of the New Endralon Vice and Narcotics Division
“She was found lying here by her boss Mr. Kozma, the man over there.”
Officer Miksa pointed at the man in the corner in a grease-stained work shirt and messy apron.
Detective Márton eyed the man up and down and glanced around the grocery store.
“Got a full name?” asked Detective Pavlenco, his partner.
“Endre Kozma, 59. Owns this joint with his wife, Irina.” The officer said while nodding to the woman currently talking to the coroner. “They have a solid story, solid citizens.”
Detective Márton nodded.
“Understood.”
“You should talk to the coroner first though; he asked me to send you to him first thing when you got here.”
The coroner was still talking to a teary-eyed Mrs. Kozma.
“She was… a daughter to me.” She said through her sniffles.
“I understand, ma’am. But I must inspect the body, if you wouldn’t mind talking to Officer Miksa; he can handle your questions.”
Mrs. Kozma clucked her tongue and left.
“You ever heard of Euphorenol, detective?” the coroner asked.
“Yeah, I’ve heard of it. My cousin took it for a while.” Said Márton. What about it, Dr. Yonescu?”
“Well, our victim took it too apparently. Looks like a classic case of barbiturate overdose – otherwise we have a case of an otherwise perfectly healthy 29-year old’s heart stopping at random. I can’t tell for certain until the autopsy, but it looks a like combination of heart and respiratory failure is what did her in.”
“So, a broad did herself in with an over-reliance on pills – what’s their to investigate?” asked Pavlenco.
“I was getting to that, detective. What’s strange is that Euphorenol overdoses are incredibly rare – it’s kind of the whole point. Euphorenol was designed to be less addictive and less potent than other sleeping pills on the market.”
“So, she was addicted to a pill that sells itself as addiction-free?”
“Seems like it.”
Pavlenco chuckled.
“So, either some fat-cat son of a bitch is laughing it up as he rakes in dough from addicts that he has convinced that they’re sober, or she was a real lightweight.”
Dr. Yonescu sighed.
“Or, detective, perhaps this pill doesn’t actually contain amobarbital sodium.”
“What?” Pavlenco asked.
“The active ingredient in Euphorenol, detective.”
“How the hell was I supposed to know that?”
Márton put his hand on Pavlenco’s shoulder.
“How soon can you test it and have results for us?”
“No later than this afternoon, I’d say.”
“Ask dispatch to radio us when you get them.”
“Absolutely, detective.”
“Who’s the prescribing doctor, by the way?”
“A one Dr. Gergő Barta. Prescription written on 13/5/5450, and another empty bottle prescribed last December.”
Márton nodded, and made his way to the boss, Mr. Kozma.
Mr. Kozma bowed his head, shaking the detectives’ hands.
“Her name was Clara Gilca, sir. Best damn worker I ever had. Can’t imagine what caused this.” He said.
“How long did Mrs. Gilca work for you, Mr. Kozma?”
“Going on six months now. Never late, usually early in fact.”
“Did she have any notable friends who came in?”
Mr. Kozma narrowed his eyes.
“Not any friends I can think of detective.”
Pavlenco stepped forward.
“You sure? I think you could try a little harder, buddy. Anyone fit the bill?”
Mr. Kozma grunted.
“Not a friend, Clara didn’t have many. But her doctor’s assistant, Horatiu, came around a lot. A little too often if I’m being frank.”
“Not a fan?” Pavlenco asked.
“Not particularly, no. One of those new-age quacks; high on the sound of his own voice, no matter how stupid he sounds.”
“An educated fool is the most dangerous fool,” Márton quipped. “Do you have a full name for this Horatiu?”
“Afraid I don’t. I do have the doctor’s name, though – Dr. Gergő Barta. Clara raved about him, but I think he was just throwing pills to see which ones stuck. Poor girl.”
“Thank you, Mr. Kozma, you’ve been very helpful.”
“Anything to help, detectives.”
“We need to get an address on that doctor.” Pavlenco said, lighting a cigarette as they stepped out of the grocery store and onto the sidewalk.
“You better smoke that quickly; it’s not coming in my car.”
“You could save your time if you stopped giving the same spiel every time, you know.”
Márton opened the car door, leaning to pick up the radio to call dispatch and ask for the address.
“Need an address on the practice of one Dr. Gergő Barta.”
“One moment.” There were the sounds of tapping on keys and the click of a mouse on the other side. “Dr. Barta operates a practice at 6789 Rakosi St.”
“Thank you.”
The building was small and modest. You could tell it was a doctor’s office the minute you walked in though. A small waterfall fountain stood next to the door, and its soothing ripples sounded gently over the ambient classical music being pumped into the room by the PA boxes in every corner.
“Hello gentlemen, how may I help you today?” asked the secretary, a young woman in her twenties.
“Detectives Márton and Pavlenco, ma’am. We’re here to see Dr. Barta.” Said Márton.
“He’s about to finish with his patient, only a few minutes if you wouldn’t mind.”
Soon enough, the doctor walked his patient out of his office, hand on the man’s shoulder.
“Take that everyday Simon, should clear it right up. And stay away from stress if you can manage. Not too good for the heart nor the mind.” Said Doctor Barta.
He looked at the detectives quixotically.
“Ms. Mechitbayebva, who are our lovely guests today? New patients?” asked the doctor.
“Afraid not, doc.” Said Pavlenco. “Vice and Narcotics, Detectives Pavlenco and Márton.”
“What is this concerning, detectives? I hope my patients are all okay, I couldn’t bear it if one of them has harmed themselves somehow. To heal is a physician’s goal, of course, but alas there are some wounds which never heal. Wounds you can only hope to treat –”
“We get the gist, doc. Mr. Kozma was right; you’re quite the chatterbox.” said Pavlenco.
“You’ve spoken to Mr. Kozma?” The doctor said with a furrowed brow.
“We have doc. Why the pale face?” asked Pavlenco.
“This is concerning Mrs. Gilca then. Isn’t it? Oh God, I hope she’s ok.”
“Yes, Dr. Barta. We have some questions about your relationship with Mrs. Gilca, if you don’t mind.” Said Márton.
Pavlenco looked at him with a raised brow, but Márton gave him the eye to stay silent. The good doctor didn’t need to know Mrs. Gilca had overdosed, at least not quite yet.
“Of course.”
“How long was Mrs. Gilca a patient of yours?”
“A few months, at most.”
“That’s odd, doc.” Said Pavlenco. “Now, I’m not the best at math, but it seems to me that since you prescribed the pills of hers we found last December, I’d say she’s been a patient a little longer than that.”
Dr. Barta sighed.
“From last December? I told her to stop hoarding them and using them when she was overwhelmed. She never listened. Yes, she’s been a patient of mine for a few years – on and off again. She’s been a patient this go-round for a few months now - since May.”
Márton nodded.
“What was Mrs. Gilca taking the Euphorenol for? Sleep?”
“Yes, detective.”
“Had she reported much success with the drug?”
“Yes, it is quite a wonder-drug. Highest satisfaction rate of any barbiturate on the market now, actually.”
“I’m sorry Dr. Barta, but Mrs. Gilca was found dead this morning carrying a Euphorenol prescription from your office.” Said Pavlenco with a reddening face.
“What?” Dr. Barta asked, sitting down quickly in one of the chairs in his waiting room.
“She likely died of an overdose. The lab is testing the pills now, and that combined with autopsy should tell us how Euphorenol managed to cause an overdose.” Said Márton.
“Unless you’d like to tell us what was really in those pills, doc.” Said Pavlenco.
Dr. Barta stood suddenly, his legs shaking somewhat around the knee.
“I beg your absolute pardon? Get out of my office. Unless you have a warrant, I want you out. Now.”
The two left the office, Dr. Barta on their heels.
Pavlenco lit a cigarette while Márton checked the car’s radio.
“A message from the coroner: the pills contained various drugs including cocaine. He wants to see you both in his office, ASAP.”
Dr. Yonescu handed the lab report to Márton.
“These pills certainly packed a punch – procaine, secobarbital sodium, amobarbital sodium and – of course – cocaine.”
“In terms I can understand, please? Some of us didn’t graduate from the Universit of Meridia, doc.”
The coroner bristled.
“Secobarbital sodium and amobarbital sodium used to be used in combination for insomnia, until we realized the potential for abuse and overdose. Either by themselves is fine, but together its rolling the dice. Those two induce a relaxing effect, along with the procaine.”
“Isn’t procaine an anesthetic? What’s it doing in cocaine pills?”
“Very good detective, it is. Procaine is commonly used by drug dealers to cut cocaine; a sign of good cocaine is a ‘numb’ or ‘tingly’ feeling, so it gives the illusion of quality. In combination, it would make the user feel incredible – in small doses. And I’m talking very small doses. Any larger dose, and it’ll stop your heart in a minute flat.”
Pavlenco held up one of the pills, breaking it in half.
“Would you look at that…” he said with a chuckle. “Snow in July.”
“Are the pills legit?” asked Márton.
“They sure seem to be. Factory-pressed, inscribed, catalogued. If they’re counterfeit, we’re up against someone with a lot of talent, or a lot of money.” said the coroner.
“Euphorenol is issued by Well-Corp, isn’t it doctor?”
“Yes, their headquarters is just a few blocks away actually.”
Pavlenco pulled a cigarette from his jacket pocket and went for the door.
“Alright then Márton, I think it’s time we pay the pill-pushers a visit.”
Cetatea Albă, July, 5450
Detective István Márton of the New Endralon Vice and Narcotics Division
“She was found lying here by her boss Mr. Kozma, the man over there.”
Officer Miksa pointed at the man in the corner in a grease-stained work shirt and messy apron.
Detective Márton eyed the man up and down and glanced around the grocery store.
“Got a full name?” asked Detective Pavlenco, his partner.
“Endre Kozma, 59. Owns this joint with his wife, Irina.” The officer said while nodding to the woman currently talking to the coroner. “They have a solid story, solid citizens.”
Detective Márton nodded.
“Understood.”
“You should talk to the coroner first though; he asked me to send you to him first thing when you got here.”
The coroner was still talking to a teary-eyed Mrs. Kozma.
“She was… a daughter to me.” She said through her sniffles.
“I understand, ma’am. But I must inspect the body, if you wouldn’t mind talking to Officer Miksa; he can handle your questions.”
Mrs. Kozma clucked her tongue and left.
“You ever heard of Euphorenol, detective?” the coroner asked.
“Yeah, I’ve heard of it. My cousin took it for a while.” Said Márton. What about it, Dr. Yonescu?”
“Well, our victim took it too apparently. Looks like a classic case of barbiturate overdose – otherwise we have a case of an otherwise perfectly healthy 29-year old’s heart stopping at random. I can’t tell for certain until the autopsy, but it looks a like combination of heart and respiratory failure is what did her in.”
“So, a broad did herself in with an over-reliance on pills – what’s their to investigate?” asked Pavlenco.
“I was getting to that, detective. What’s strange is that Euphorenol overdoses are incredibly rare – it’s kind of the whole point. Euphorenol was designed to be less addictive and less potent than other sleeping pills on the market.”
“So, she was addicted to a pill that sells itself as addiction-free?”
“Seems like it.”
Pavlenco chuckled.
“So, either some fat-cat son of a bitch is laughing it up as he rakes in dough from addicts that he has convinced that they’re sober, or she was a real lightweight.”
Dr. Yonescu sighed.
“Or, detective, perhaps this pill doesn’t actually contain amobarbital sodium.”
“What?” Pavlenco asked.
“The active ingredient in Euphorenol, detective.”
“How the hell was I supposed to know that?”
Márton put his hand on Pavlenco’s shoulder.
“How soon can you test it and have results for us?”
“No later than this afternoon, I’d say.”
“Ask dispatch to radio us when you get them.”
“Absolutely, detective.”
“Who’s the prescribing doctor, by the way?”
“A one Dr. Gergő Barta. Prescription written on 13/5/5450, and another empty bottle prescribed last December.”
Márton nodded, and made his way to the boss, Mr. Kozma.
Mr. Kozma bowed his head, shaking the detectives’ hands.
“Her name was Clara Gilca, sir. Best damn worker I ever had. Can’t imagine what caused this.” He said.
“How long did Mrs. Gilca work for you, Mr. Kozma?”
“Going on six months now. Never late, usually early in fact.”
“Did she have any notable friends who came in?”
Mr. Kozma narrowed his eyes.
“Not any friends I can think of detective.”
Pavlenco stepped forward.
“You sure? I think you could try a little harder, buddy. Anyone fit the bill?”
Mr. Kozma grunted.
“Not a friend, Clara didn’t have many. But her doctor’s assistant, Horatiu, came around a lot. A little too often if I’m being frank.”
“Not a fan?” Pavlenco asked.
“Not particularly, no. One of those new-age quacks; high on the sound of his own voice, no matter how stupid he sounds.”
“An educated fool is the most dangerous fool,” Márton quipped. “Do you have a full name for this Horatiu?”
“Afraid I don’t. I do have the doctor’s name, though – Dr. Gergő Barta. Clara raved about him, but I think he was just throwing pills to see which ones stuck. Poor girl.”
“Thank you, Mr. Kozma, you’ve been very helpful.”
“Anything to help, detectives.”
“We need to get an address on that doctor.” Pavlenco said, lighting a cigarette as they stepped out of the grocery store and onto the sidewalk.
“You better smoke that quickly; it’s not coming in my car.”
“You could save your time if you stopped giving the same spiel every time, you know.”
Márton opened the car door, leaning to pick up the radio to call dispatch and ask for the address.
“Need an address on the practice of one Dr. Gergő Barta.”
“One moment.” There were the sounds of tapping on keys and the click of a mouse on the other side. “Dr. Barta operates a practice at 6789 Rakosi St.”
“Thank you.”
The building was small and modest. You could tell it was a doctor’s office the minute you walked in though. A small waterfall fountain stood next to the door, and its soothing ripples sounded gently over the ambient classical music being pumped into the room by the PA boxes in every corner.
“Hello gentlemen, how may I help you today?” asked the secretary, a young woman in her twenties.
“Detectives Márton and Pavlenco, ma’am. We’re here to see Dr. Barta.” Said Márton.
“He’s about to finish with his patient, only a few minutes if you wouldn’t mind.”
Soon enough, the doctor walked his patient out of his office, hand on the man’s shoulder.
“Take that everyday Simon, should clear it right up. And stay away from stress if you can manage. Not too good for the heart nor the mind.” Said Doctor Barta.
He looked at the detectives quixotically.
“Ms. Mechitbayebva, who are our lovely guests today? New patients?” asked the doctor.
“Afraid not, doc.” Said Pavlenco. “Vice and Narcotics, Detectives Pavlenco and Márton.”
“What is this concerning, detectives? I hope my patients are all okay, I couldn’t bear it if one of them has harmed themselves somehow. To heal is a physician’s goal, of course, but alas there are some wounds which never heal. Wounds you can only hope to treat –”
“We get the gist, doc. Mr. Kozma was right; you’re quite the chatterbox.” said Pavlenco.
“You’ve spoken to Mr. Kozma?” The doctor said with a furrowed brow.
“We have doc. Why the pale face?” asked Pavlenco.
“This is concerning Mrs. Gilca then. Isn’t it? Oh God, I hope she’s ok.”
“Yes, Dr. Barta. We have some questions about your relationship with Mrs. Gilca, if you don’t mind.” Said Márton.
Pavlenco looked at him with a raised brow, but Márton gave him the eye to stay silent. The good doctor didn’t need to know Mrs. Gilca had overdosed, at least not quite yet.
“Of course.”
“How long was Mrs. Gilca a patient of yours?”
“A few months, at most.”
“That’s odd, doc.” Said Pavlenco. “Now, I’m not the best at math, but it seems to me that since you prescribed the pills of hers we found last December, I’d say she’s been a patient a little longer than that.”
Dr. Barta sighed.
“From last December? I told her to stop hoarding them and using them when she was overwhelmed. She never listened. Yes, she’s been a patient of mine for a few years – on and off again. She’s been a patient this go-round for a few months now - since May.”
Márton nodded.
“What was Mrs. Gilca taking the Euphorenol for? Sleep?”
“Yes, detective.”
“Had she reported much success with the drug?”
“Yes, it is quite a wonder-drug. Highest satisfaction rate of any barbiturate on the market now, actually.”
“I’m sorry Dr. Barta, but Mrs. Gilca was found dead this morning carrying a Euphorenol prescription from your office.” Said Pavlenco with a reddening face.
“What?” Dr. Barta asked, sitting down quickly in one of the chairs in his waiting room.
“She likely died of an overdose. The lab is testing the pills now, and that combined with autopsy should tell us how Euphorenol managed to cause an overdose.” Said Márton.
“Unless you’d like to tell us what was really in those pills, doc.” Said Pavlenco.
Dr. Barta stood suddenly, his legs shaking somewhat around the knee.
“I beg your absolute pardon? Get out of my office. Unless you have a warrant, I want you out. Now.”
The two left the office, Dr. Barta on their heels.
Pavlenco lit a cigarette while Márton checked the car’s radio.
“A message from the coroner: the pills contained various drugs including cocaine. He wants to see you both in his office, ASAP.”
Dr. Yonescu handed the lab report to Márton.
“These pills certainly packed a punch – procaine, secobarbital sodium, amobarbital sodium and – of course – cocaine.”
“In terms I can understand, please? Some of us didn’t graduate from the Universit of Meridia, doc.”
The coroner bristled.
“Secobarbital sodium and amobarbital sodium used to be used in combination for insomnia, until we realized the potential for abuse and overdose. Either by themselves is fine, but together its rolling the dice. Those two induce a relaxing effect, along with the procaine.”
“Isn’t procaine an anesthetic? What’s it doing in cocaine pills?”
“Very good detective, it is. Procaine is commonly used by drug dealers to cut cocaine; a sign of good cocaine is a ‘numb’ or ‘tingly’ feeling, so it gives the illusion of quality. In combination, it would make the user feel incredible – in small doses. And I’m talking very small doses. Any larger dose, and it’ll stop your heart in a minute flat.”
Pavlenco held up one of the pills, breaking it in half.
“Would you look at that…” he said with a chuckle. “Snow in July.”
“Are the pills legit?” asked Márton.
“They sure seem to be. Factory-pressed, inscribed, catalogued. If they’re counterfeit, we’re up against someone with a lot of talent, or a lot of money.” said the coroner.
“Euphorenol is issued by Well-Corp, isn’t it doctor?”
“Yes, their headquarters is just a few blocks away actually.”
Pavlenco pulled a cigarette from his jacket pocket and went for the door.
“Alright then Márton, I think it’s time we pay the pill-pushers a visit.”
Hizb al-Ishtiraki al-Dimuqrati (Badara)
Uniós Párt | Partidul Unirii (New Endralon and Kizenia)
Uniós Párt | Partidul Unirii (New Endralon and Kizenia)
- BananaZebra
- Posts: 250
- Joined: Tue Jan 10, 2017 9:07 pm
Re: A Battle Unseen
by BananaZebra » Fri Mar 08, 2024 5:27 pm
WELL-CORP: THE NEW YOU
Cetatea Albă, July, 5450
Detective István Márton of the New Endralon Vice and Narcotics Division
The factory was a pristine, well-maintained building – quite a contrast with the neighboring buildings that looked like to crumble in on themselves at the slightest breeze. Above the entrance doors loomed a massive sign of a man and a woman smiling, looking to the sky with hopeful eyes.
“WELL-CORP: THE NEW YOU!” was written in bold fuchsia cursive font at the top.
“Well, that’s not dystopian at all.” Said Márton.
“Creepy as hell.” Replied Pavlenco.
Inside, the air smelled of machinery and chemicals, and felt thick like a cloud of flour or chalk powder.
“How can I help you?” the secretary said from the front desk with a smile.
Behind her was a mural of a sunny day in a pleasant meadow.
In the middle, basking in the rays of the sun, was the same message from outside in matching fuchsia cursive font.
“Vice and Narcotics, Márton and Pavlenco. We have some questions for the owner of this factory. Are they in right now?”
“Yes sir,” the secretary replied. “Let me call him now.”
A few moments later, a tall and lanky man emerged from a door next to the front desk, behind which lay a staircase to the upper floor.
“Detectives! Apostol Cristescu, owner of this factory. How may I be of service?” he asked in a boisterous voice.
“We’re investigating a death of someone who appears to have overdose on Euphorenol – this factory’s main production line, if I’m not mistaken.”
“No sir, Euphorenol is the flagship of Well-Corp, our factory is nearly entirely dedicated to it. I’m alarmed to hear of an overdose, though I must say this is nearly impossible save for abuse of the medication. I certainly hope there is no evidence implicating our pills as faulty. I take great pride in the production here.”
“Actually, there’s evidence of cocaine, procaine, and secobarbital sodium in the pills we found on our victim.” Said Márton. “We have reason to believe this is an inside job, as the pills are exact copies of the pills issued here. They’re even serialized with production batch numbers. Too legit to be done by someone on the outside.”
“Well, I can assure you I have nothing to do with this, detectives. Well-Corp prides itself on providing legal medication to those who need it and keeping them from addiction in the process.”
“I hope you are telling the truth. But I’m not holding my breath.” Said Pavlenco.
Márton side-eyed his partner.
“My partner only means the evidence overwhelmingly suggests someone from your factory being in on it. We need you to help us out here, provide something for us to go on.”
“Or it’s gonna be you in the slammer, bud.” Said Pavlenco.
Cristecu sighed.
“Right this way, detectives. I can give you a tour of the lines, and let you meet some of my employees. I assure you I will do whatever I can to find this criminal infiltrator.”
Pavlenco rolled his eyes as he and Márton followed Cristecu through the door he arrived from and up the stairs to the second floor. Walking through his office and out onto a catwalk that stretched along the perimeter walls of the factory high above the floor.
“Here you can see the whole factory. Over there is the unloading dock – where drug compounds are shipped by pharmaceutical companies for us to fill our pills. The loading dock is there, where we send our product out for distribution to pharmacies.”
“Who works loading and unloading?”
“Lots of folks, detective. Right now Constantin and Arnout are on unloading and Szilveszter and Rudolf are on loading.”
“Arnout?” asked Pavlenco.
“A Narik man. Immigrated last year, I think. Solid worker, less solid man. He and Rudolf usually work at nights.”
“At nights? Are they supervised?” asked Márton.
“Well, not as much as during the day. You don’t think they could be involved, do you?”
“Classic move, blame the foreign stiff.” Said Pavlenco.
“I’m doing no such thing, detective. I’m no xenophobe.”
“He’s right, Pavlenco. Unsupervised access to the loading and unloading docks?” said Márton. “Do you keep records of shipments?”
Cristecu nodded.
“In my office, back this way.”
He pulled a thick book out of the desk, flipping open to the most recent page.
“See here, that’s the crew that loaded or unloaded, then quantity of product, then the sender for unloading or receiver for loading, and date and time there at the end.”
“There sure are a lot of out-bound shipments to this… ‘RejuveNow Clinics, Inc.’ I’ve never heard of them, have you Pavlenco?” said Márton.
“Nope, but I’m not one for doctors.” Said Pavlenco.
“That’s odd… I’m not sure that’s in our approved list of distribution.” Said Cristecu, pulling out another book from his desk and sliding his finger down a two-paged list. “I’m ashamed, detective. This is not on our list, and I should have noticed sooner.”
“Yes, you should have. How convenient that you didn’t?” said Pavlenco.
Cristecu went red in the face.
“Officer –” he began.
“We believe you, sir.” Said Márton. “May we talk to Arnoult and Rudolf?”
“Yes, officer. Their full names are Arnoult Hendrikzen and Rudolf Apród.”
Down on the factory floor the machines were near deafening, and they heat they produced was making Márton sweat in his suit.
“Arnoult Hendrikzen?” asked Pavlenco.
“Yeah? Who’s asking?” replied Hendrikzen.
“Detectives Márton and Pavlenco, from Vice and Narcotics.” Said Márton. “We have some questions for you, Mr. Hendrikzen.”
The man smiled.
“Go ahead, officers.”
“Detectives,” corrected Pavlenco.
The man smiled wider.
“You work nights here?” asked Márton.
“Yeah, sometimes.” Replied Hendrikzen.
“Sometimes? Your boss says you work nights nearly all the time.”
“I take the shifts I’m given, officer. You’ve never had an hourly?”
“I have. How long have you worked here?”
“Since last year. Came here from Narikaton and Darnussia.”
“We were told.”
“You have all your documentation?” asked Pavlenco.
Hendrikzen pulled a folded paper from his wallet, a notarized and stamped work visa issued by the Crown.
“Looks legit,” said Pavlenco.
“And so do the pills,” replied Márton.
“Fair enough.” Said Pavlenco. “You do a lot of freelance work, Hendrikzen?”
“Excuse me?”
“Sorry let me be more specific; are you and your buddy Dániel making happy-pills stuffed with cocaine to sell on the side?”
Hendrikzen laughed.
“You come to my job and accuse me of being a drug dealer?”
“Well, it’s not too far off even if you’re not behind the happy-pills. Working for a pill-pusher and all.”
“Have you come here to harass me, or is there a point to this?” asked Hendrikzen, his arms crossed.
Márton pulled Pavlenco aside.
“We don’t have enough to go on yet. Let’s stake out the loading and unloading bays tonight, but I think if we press too much further here we might spook him.”
Pavlenco nodded with a wink.
“That’s all for now, bud.” He said to Hendrikzen, patting him on the back. “And welcome to New Endralon!”
The night sky loomed empty above them, no moon and the lights of the city blocking out the constellations. Márton missed the countryside sky, full of stars and lights.
“Heads up,” Pavlenco grunted, blinking his eyes, and jolting awake.
An unmarked van pulled up to the loading bay, and then another one.
Márton and Pavlenco watched as unmarked crate after unmarked crate was loaded in, and the truck started back up.
“Back-up will deal with the losers here, lets follow that truck.” Said Pavlenco.
As they pulled out of the parking lot to follow the unmarked truck, four unmarked police vans pulled in, turning their lights on suddenly and boxing the remaining truck and the workers loading it in.
The unmarked truck sped up, fleeing from the sirens.
“Damn it! We said no sirens; get after him!” yelled Pavlenco.
The car skidded and the tires screamed as Márton swerved from lane to lane, cars whipping past outside. The truck moved erratically, suddenly swerving off the road into a development project.
Weaving in between tractors, bulldozers, and steam rollers the truck stayed a few seconds from the detectives’ car as they bore down on its rear bumper.
Whipping the wheel to the left, Márton sped up to the side of the truck’s left rear tire, slamming his car’s front bumper into the wheel-well at full speed. A sickening crunch of the axle, followed by a pop and wail as the tire lost its air.
The truck spun out of control, hitting a digger, and flipping on its side.
The detectives exited their car, guns drawn on the workers attempting to flee from the wreckage. A wagon pulled up behind, and two officers helped corral the runners.
As the workers were cuffed and loaded into the wagon, the radio in the detectives’ car went off.
“Attention: shootout has occurred at Well-Corps factory; officers tried to take Hendrikzen and his associates in but had to use deadly force. Coroner will meet you there.”
The coroner led them to Hendrikzen’s body on the factory’s external catwalk.
Officer Fazekas followed the trio.
“I’m sorry, detectives. We tried to take them in alive, like you asked. Then they pulled out those Baum rifles.”
“Baum rifles? These were some well-armed criminals.” Said Pavlenco.
“It’s not your fault, Officer. You didn’t seem to have a choice.” Said Márton.
They arrived at Hendrikzen’s body, laying beneath the entrance billboard sign.
“He fled up here and was firing down on us like rain.” Said Fazekas.
Márton knelt to the corpse, looking at Hendrikzen’s cratered head.
Behind it, splashed out on the billboard, were the remains of what was left of his head. The blood splatter radiated out from behind his head, staining into the sign.
“WELL-CORP: THE NEW YOU!”
Cetatea Albă, July, 5450
Detective István Márton of the New Endralon Vice and Narcotics Division
The factory was a pristine, well-maintained building – quite a contrast with the neighboring buildings that looked like to crumble in on themselves at the slightest breeze. Above the entrance doors loomed a massive sign of a man and a woman smiling, looking to the sky with hopeful eyes.
“WELL-CORP: THE NEW YOU!” was written in bold fuchsia cursive font at the top.
“Well, that’s not dystopian at all.” Said Márton.
“Creepy as hell.” Replied Pavlenco.
Inside, the air smelled of machinery and chemicals, and felt thick like a cloud of flour or chalk powder.
“How can I help you?” the secretary said from the front desk with a smile.
Behind her was a mural of a sunny day in a pleasant meadow.
In the middle, basking in the rays of the sun, was the same message from outside in matching fuchsia cursive font.
“Vice and Narcotics, Márton and Pavlenco. We have some questions for the owner of this factory. Are they in right now?”
“Yes sir,” the secretary replied. “Let me call him now.”
A few moments later, a tall and lanky man emerged from a door next to the front desk, behind which lay a staircase to the upper floor.
“Detectives! Apostol Cristescu, owner of this factory. How may I be of service?” he asked in a boisterous voice.
“We’re investigating a death of someone who appears to have overdose on Euphorenol – this factory’s main production line, if I’m not mistaken.”
“No sir, Euphorenol is the flagship of Well-Corp, our factory is nearly entirely dedicated to it. I’m alarmed to hear of an overdose, though I must say this is nearly impossible save for abuse of the medication. I certainly hope there is no evidence implicating our pills as faulty. I take great pride in the production here.”
“Actually, there’s evidence of cocaine, procaine, and secobarbital sodium in the pills we found on our victim.” Said Márton. “We have reason to believe this is an inside job, as the pills are exact copies of the pills issued here. They’re even serialized with production batch numbers. Too legit to be done by someone on the outside.”
“Well, I can assure you I have nothing to do with this, detectives. Well-Corp prides itself on providing legal medication to those who need it and keeping them from addiction in the process.”
“I hope you are telling the truth. But I’m not holding my breath.” Said Pavlenco.
Márton side-eyed his partner.
“My partner only means the evidence overwhelmingly suggests someone from your factory being in on it. We need you to help us out here, provide something for us to go on.”
“Or it’s gonna be you in the slammer, bud.” Said Pavlenco.
Cristecu sighed.
“Right this way, detectives. I can give you a tour of the lines, and let you meet some of my employees. I assure you I will do whatever I can to find this criminal infiltrator.”
Pavlenco rolled his eyes as he and Márton followed Cristecu through the door he arrived from and up the stairs to the second floor. Walking through his office and out onto a catwalk that stretched along the perimeter walls of the factory high above the floor.
“Here you can see the whole factory. Over there is the unloading dock – where drug compounds are shipped by pharmaceutical companies for us to fill our pills. The loading dock is there, where we send our product out for distribution to pharmacies.”
“Who works loading and unloading?”
“Lots of folks, detective. Right now Constantin and Arnout are on unloading and Szilveszter and Rudolf are on loading.”
“Arnout?” asked Pavlenco.
“A Narik man. Immigrated last year, I think. Solid worker, less solid man. He and Rudolf usually work at nights.”
“At nights? Are they supervised?” asked Márton.
“Well, not as much as during the day. You don’t think they could be involved, do you?”
“Classic move, blame the foreign stiff.” Said Pavlenco.
“I’m doing no such thing, detective. I’m no xenophobe.”
“He’s right, Pavlenco. Unsupervised access to the loading and unloading docks?” said Márton. “Do you keep records of shipments?”
Cristecu nodded.
“In my office, back this way.”
He pulled a thick book out of the desk, flipping open to the most recent page.
“See here, that’s the crew that loaded or unloaded, then quantity of product, then the sender for unloading or receiver for loading, and date and time there at the end.”
“There sure are a lot of out-bound shipments to this… ‘RejuveNow Clinics, Inc.’ I’ve never heard of them, have you Pavlenco?” said Márton.
“Nope, but I’m not one for doctors.” Said Pavlenco.
“That’s odd… I’m not sure that’s in our approved list of distribution.” Said Cristecu, pulling out another book from his desk and sliding his finger down a two-paged list. “I’m ashamed, detective. This is not on our list, and I should have noticed sooner.”
“Yes, you should have. How convenient that you didn’t?” said Pavlenco.
Cristecu went red in the face.
“Officer –” he began.
“We believe you, sir.” Said Márton. “May we talk to Arnoult and Rudolf?”
“Yes, officer. Their full names are Arnoult Hendrikzen and Rudolf Apród.”
Down on the factory floor the machines were near deafening, and they heat they produced was making Márton sweat in his suit.
“Arnoult Hendrikzen?” asked Pavlenco.
“Yeah? Who’s asking?” replied Hendrikzen.
“Detectives Márton and Pavlenco, from Vice and Narcotics.” Said Márton. “We have some questions for you, Mr. Hendrikzen.”
The man smiled.
“Go ahead, officers.”
“Detectives,” corrected Pavlenco.
The man smiled wider.
“You work nights here?” asked Márton.
“Yeah, sometimes.” Replied Hendrikzen.
“Sometimes? Your boss says you work nights nearly all the time.”
“I take the shifts I’m given, officer. You’ve never had an hourly?”
“I have. How long have you worked here?”
“Since last year. Came here from Narikaton and Darnussia.”
“We were told.”
“You have all your documentation?” asked Pavlenco.
Hendrikzen pulled a folded paper from his wallet, a notarized and stamped work visa issued by the Crown.
“Looks legit,” said Pavlenco.
“And so do the pills,” replied Márton.
“Fair enough.” Said Pavlenco. “You do a lot of freelance work, Hendrikzen?”
“Excuse me?”
“Sorry let me be more specific; are you and your buddy Dániel making happy-pills stuffed with cocaine to sell on the side?”
Hendrikzen laughed.
“You come to my job and accuse me of being a drug dealer?”
“Well, it’s not too far off even if you’re not behind the happy-pills. Working for a pill-pusher and all.”
“Have you come here to harass me, or is there a point to this?” asked Hendrikzen, his arms crossed.
Márton pulled Pavlenco aside.
“We don’t have enough to go on yet. Let’s stake out the loading and unloading bays tonight, but I think if we press too much further here we might spook him.”
Pavlenco nodded with a wink.
“That’s all for now, bud.” He said to Hendrikzen, patting him on the back. “And welcome to New Endralon!”
The night sky loomed empty above them, no moon and the lights of the city blocking out the constellations. Márton missed the countryside sky, full of stars and lights.
“Heads up,” Pavlenco grunted, blinking his eyes, and jolting awake.
An unmarked van pulled up to the loading bay, and then another one.
Márton and Pavlenco watched as unmarked crate after unmarked crate was loaded in, and the truck started back up.
“Back-up will deal with the losers here, lets follow that truck.” Said Pavlenco.
As they pulled out of the parking lot to follow the unmarked truck, four unmarked police vans pulled in, turning their lights on suddenly and boxing the remaining truck and the workers loading it in.
The unmarked truck sped up, fleeing from the sirens.
“Damn it! We said no sirens; get after him!” yelled Pavlenco.
The car skidded and the tires screamed as Márton swerved from lane to lane, cars whipping past outside. The truck moved erratically, suddenly swerving off the road into a development project.
Weaving in between tractors, bulldozers, and steam rollers the truck stayed a few seconds from the detectives’ car as they bore down on its rear bumper.
Whipping the wheel to the left, Márton sped up to the side of the truck’s left rear tire, slamming his car’s front bumper into the wheel-well at full speed. A sickening crunch of the axle, followed by a pop and wail as the tire lost its air.
The truck spun out of control, hitting a digger, and flipping on its side.
The detectives exited their car, guns drawn on the workers attempting to flee from the wreckage. A wagon pulled up behind, and two officers helped corral the runners.
As the workers were cuffed and loaded into the wagon, the radio in the detectives’ car went off.
“Attention: shootout has occurred at Well-Corps factory; officers tried to take Hendrikzen and his associates in but had to use deadly force. Coroner will meet you there.”
The coroner led them to Hendrikzen’s body on the factory’s external catwalk.
Officer Fazekas followed the trio.
“I’m sorry, detectives. We tried to take them in alive, like you asked. Then they pulled out those Baum rifles.”
“Baum rifles? These were some well-armed criminals.” Said Pavlenco.
“It’s not your fault, Officer. You didn’t seem to have a choice.” Said Márton.
They arrived at Hendrikzen’s body, laying beneath the entrance billboard sign.
“He fled up here and was firing down on us like rain.” Said Fazekas.
Márton knelt to the corpse, looking at Hendrikzen’s cratered head.
Behind it, splashed out on the billboard, were the remains of what was left of his head. The blood splatter radiated out from behind his head, staining into the sign.
“WELL-CORP: THE NEW YOU!”
Hizb al-Ishtiraki al-Dimuqrati (Badara)
Uniós Párt | Partidul Unirii (New Endralon and Kizenia)
Uniós Párt | Partidul Unirii (New Endralon and Kizenia)
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