Post by Aiman on Jun 6, 2021 15:47:01 GMT
Rozograd System
New Revolutionary Capital Region, Central District
Palace of the Revolution
Separatist Union of Marxist States
A truck slowly moves up next to the security checkpoint and rolls down its windows. A Polistiya officer calmly walks up.
“Comrade officer,” the driver grinned and waved ‘hello’. The police officer smiled back and returned the gesture. The two seem to be fairly well-acquainted.
The officer did not even need to ask what was the truck’s purpose of visit. “The usual ‘special’ delivery, comrade officer.”
Papers followed. The officer grabbed them, glanced at it a few times, everything seemed to check out, as per the last thousand times.
“Well, Vilad, everything is in order, but I will need to do a quick check at the back.”
“Aw come on...you know if this stuff comes late it will be on my head right?”
“Sorry comrade, orders just came down to make sure,” the polistiya leaned forward to speak softer near the driver compartment. “There’s the security chief inside the office man, can’t screw this up so…”
“Ah of course, comrade,” the driver chuckled as he switched off the engines and hopped out to unlock the cargo hold. The doors swung open, as the police officer was greeted with the sight of several wooden crates of wine, cigars and other numerous luxury items and consumables...as well as the sight of five men he had never seen before sitting down at the back.
“Yo, who are these guys?”
“Ah, those are the new guys. Just started work at the warehouse yesterday so the boss told me to take them for a little orientation training.”
“Well shit...normally they need passes at the guardhouse but…” the police turned to the driver. “But I trust you, Vilad. Just make sure to keep them out of sight and unload fast. You don’t want the Liberators asking lots of questions.”
“Of course, comrade officer, thank you,” the driver smiled and got back into the truck. The barrier opened and the truck moved further into the Palace compound, to the cargo loading area. A Liberator watched vigilantly from a sentry post a few meters away, but just watched, no questions asked.
As the last of the crates were transferred into the storage area, the five men returned to the back of the truck to meet Vilad.
A thick stack of cash was dropped into Vilad’s hands. “Excellent work. As we promised.”
“The polistiya at the gate just now...you spare him, yes?”
“You friends?”
“Happens if you see him around every morning for the last 5 years. He’s a good guy and he has a big family to feed, so please…”
“Of course,” the leader put his hands on his shoulders reassuringly, before walking away with the rest, disappearing into the storage house. The truck drove out of the Palace, without any incident.
--------------------------
“Room locked. Pantry secure.”
“Alright team, break them open and get the gear out.”
The crates of luxurious consumables, destined for the Party’s elites, were opened up with crowbars, some revealing to be as they say, but others contained a plethora of military gear; silenced carbines and pistols, armor plate carriers, gas masks and various kinds of miscellaneous optics, attachments and gear.
Turns out, the more closed off your country is, the more open people are to the concept of being bribed when they are driven to desperation from the economic crisis, starvation and widespread riots. Many Separatist Union soldiers had gone AWOL and sold off their equipment to the black market when their already meager pay was not coming through as reliably as they liked, or when they had enough of committing acts of brutality against the very people they had been indoctrinated to call ‘comrades’. When they arrived to see the goods at their contact’s shop, it was like being in a candy store.
Once everyone was suited up, it was hard to tell them apart. Using name tags would just give their identities away in this black ops mission, so they opted to use coloured tags; Gold for the leader and the other four being Blue, Red, Green and White. They will refer to each other as their colours and only that, in order to conceal their identities and avoid confusion.
Just across the pantry was the parliament room, and right now Premier Seth and his top party officials were now in session, though if their inside intel was anything to go by, they were more likely just partying, drinking and committing all kinds of bourgeoise debauchery rather than doing any kind of actual government work.
“Team stack up. Red check under the door,” Gold gestured to them to move forward and fall in by the door leading to the hallway that in turn led to the parliament’s main entrance.
“Checking,” Red squatted down, using a small fiber optic camera to see what lay beyond. “Two guards on the left. Lightly armed with submachine guns. Likely light kevlar tuxedos.”
“Roger. Team, open and clear. Headshots and kill quietly.”
The door from the pantry opened and Blue and Red rushed forward, flicking to the left and shooting them in the head in quick succession while Green and White covered the other corridor to the right. Gold moved in behind, gestured to them to stack up at the door and move away the bodies of the two guards into the pantry where they would not be seen by any bystanders.
The muted sounds of hardbass, laughing and partying leaked out from the walls.
“White and Green, your turn to take point. Green, scan the room,” Gold instructed.
“Roger, checking,” Green did the same as Red had in the previous door, using the fiber optics to check the room. “All targets present and two ceremonial guards, both in states of undress.”
“Is the priority target inside?”
“Positive.”
“Alright team, ready for a quiet breach. White, you have the CS. On your throw.”
“Roger,” White readied a tear gas grenade and took out the pin. He looked to Green, who was counting down from three to one with his fingers. On one, he pushed open the doors, and White threw it inside.
“Go go go,” the five-man team rushed into the parliament room, shooting at each and every single one of the ministers and other high-ranking officials in quick and smooth succession as they choked and went practically blind from the tear gas, unable to respond or shout for help.
-------------------------
It was not long before the entire room was clear. Bodies were strewn about, slumping on the floor, over the tables or on their own cushy chairs.
“There’s our guy,” Blue found Premier Seth, the head of state and the Revolutionary Party’s Director-General, ducking and coughing under the table at the speaker’s podium at the very front of the room.
He dragged him up by the collar, and swung his rifle butt, striking his face and forcing him to fall back onto his very own Premier’s Chair, an elegant throne-like seat, where in more normal circumstances, he would be at, lording over the Party’s proceedings.
Red slinged back his rifle and fished out a smartphone to record the ordeal. “Folks back home are gonna love this. Boss, you want to do the honours?”
Gold drew his pistol and pointed it at Premier Seth’s head. “Gladly.”
“Premier Seth Gjorner. For the crimes and atrocities made against the people of the Republik Angkasa, you have been duly sentenced to death by the Vanguard Council. Stand ready and face your judgement.”
“Ah, RANGSIs…” Seth weakly chuckled as he adjusted himself on his seat, grunting in pain as he clutched his left cheek where Blue’s rifle stock hit. “I always wondered when you capitalist rats would show up.”
“Hmph. Says the one drinking Qanis champagne…” Red scoffed quietly.
“Enough. We aren’t here to discuss the ideological hypocrisies of the Separatist Union’s style of communism.” Gold rebuked. “Leave that to the local rioters. Meanwhile, our friend here will be in no position to justify anything if he has a bullet to his head.”
But before he could take the shot, silenced gunshots came from behind him. Gold, Blue, Red and Green fell down to the ground, holes in their heads, blood leaking through their wool balaclavas and it slowly leaked to the floor, joining the thin pool of blood of their own victims. Their eyes widened in shock.
Whispers of smoke faded from White’s carbine. He walked forward, approaching the Premier as he slung his weapon and removed his balaclava.
-----------------------
“Marshal Ibrahamovich, you surprise me yet again my friend,” Premier Seth grinned. “First, you broke me out of prison and allowed me to start anew when there was nothing left after Autarch Michelle razed Yurixian to the ground. Now, you have saved me again, from the same enemy nonetheless.”
“I am sorry comrade Premier,” Ibrahamovich drew his pistol. “I think this time, you have misunderstood my intentions.”
“What-” a flash of annoyance was on Seth’s face as he groaned in frustration. “Why the fuck is everyone trying to kill me? You of all people?”
“I gave you the job of Marshal, I made you the commander-in-chief of my new armed forces and I have showered you with favours as my most trusted friend and advisor!” his exasperation became more and more apparent.
“So why?!”
“Because…” Ibrahamovich’s face turned and twisted in a grotesque manner, swirling with red and black biomass as it shifted around and settled into a completely new, and all too familiar face.
“I am not who you think I am.”
---------------------
“Myr Nikolai? Oh shit…” Seth groaned some more. “Fuck, all these while I had Ayzen’s son under my nose and I didn’t know shit.”
“And wait, didn’t you die in the First April Fools War? You were thrown into the sun when my Liberators boarded and hacked your ship on a collision course. Not even being...whatever you are, could survive that.”
“That was just a clone. I took the form of one of the dead Liberators, escaped the ship and started my life anew,” Nikolai sighed as he came closer and pressed the barrel of his pistol into Seth’s forehead.
“I really hate to do this, you know? I truly sympathised with the plight of the USAR refugees, and believed you were this revolutionary who would lead people to a better life,” he cocked the hammer.
“But, as it turns out, you are no different from my father. Power tempted you, and you got corrupted by it. And holy fuck, even my dad, a genocidal power hungry maniac who thought nuking everyone was a good idea to get rid of potential rivals, didn’t do all these kind of stupid shit,” He grabbed a nearby bottle of half drunk Qanis wine and smashed it on the floor, leaving millions of milicents to soak in the carpets.
“He still had discipline and did what leaders are supposed to do. To fall below that...I don’t know what to say.”
“Goodbye, comrade Premier.”
A silenced shot plinkered quietly throughout the empty halls of the great parliament. Seth Gjorner, the now ex-Premier of the Separatist Union slumped over lifelessly, with a hole in his forehead.
------------------
0900 Hours
Rozograd System
New Revolutionary Capital Region, Central District
Palace of the Revolution
Separatist Union of Marxist States
The television in the public communal diner came on with a heart-thumping patriotic jingle, as whatever programme was going on was abruptly interrupted with a shot of the state news caster.
“We interrupt today’s programming to bring regretful and sorrowful news to the proletariat. As of 1000 hours yesterday, our great and glorious Leader, Comrade Premier Seth, and his retinue of trusted officials, were murdered in cold blood by the cowardly forces of RANGSI’s black ops, as the Party was in session heartfully discussing measures to raise the People’s living standards and rations. We have received reports that the Palace’s security had fought valiantly to fend off the unjust attack, but were ultimately martyred in their duty to safeguard the best of our comrades.”
“As the only surviving distinguished member of the Upper Party, Grand Marshal Ibrahamovich has humbly taken initiative to lead our glorious nation in these troubling times and continue Comrade Seth’s work to advance the Proleteriat’s happiness and the cause of Communism throughout the Universe, as the new Premier and Director-General of the Revolutionary Party.”
“In his inaugural speech, Premier Ibrahamovich has declared death to the RANGSI cowards and promised to rebuild the Marxist Union and make it strong as it has been in the past.”
New Revolutionary Capital Region, Central District
Palace of the Revolution
Separatist Union of Marxist States
A truck slowly moves up next to the security checkpoint and rolls down its windows. A Polistiya officer calmly walks up.
“Comrade officer,” the driver grinned and waved ‘hello’. The police officer smiled back and returned the gesture. The two seem to be fairly well-acquainted.
The officer did not even need to ask what was the truck’s purpose of visit. “The usual ‘special’ delivery, comrade officer.”
Papers followed. The officer grabbed them, glanced at it a few times, everything seemed to check out, as per the last thousand times.
“Well, Vilad, everything is in order, but I will need to do a quick check at the back.”
“Aw come on...you know if this stuff comes late it will be on my head right?”
“Sorry comrade, orders just came down to make sure,” the polistiya leaned forward to speak softer near the driver compartment. “There’s the security chief inside the office man, can’t screw this up so…”
“Ah of course, comrade,” the driver chuckled as he switched off the engines and hopped out to unlock the cargo hold. The doors swung open, as the police officer was greeted with the sight of several wooden crates of wine, cigars and other numerous luxury items and consumables...as well as the sight of five men he had never seen before sitting down at the back.
“Yo, who are these guys?”
“Ah, those are the new guys. Just started work at the warehouse yesterday so the boss told me to take them for a little orientation training.”
“Well shit...normally they need passes at the guardhouse but…” the police turned to the driver. “But I trust you, Vilad. Just make sure to keep them out of sight and unload fast. You don’t want the Liberators asking lots of questions.”
“Of course, comrade officer, thank you,” the driver smiled and got back into the truck. The barrier opened and the truck moved further into the Palace compound, to the cargo loading area. A Liberator watched vigilantly from a sentry post a few meters away, but just watched, no questions asked.
As the last of the crates were transferred into the storage area, the five men returned to the back of the truck to meet Vilad.
A thick stack of cash was dropped into Vilad’s hands. “Excellent work. As we promised.”
“The polistiya at the gate just now...you spare him, yes?”
“You friends?”
“Happens if you see him around every morning for the last 5 years. He’s a good guy and he has a big family to feed, so please…”
“Of course,” the leader put his hands on his shoulders reassuringly, before walking away with the rest, disappearing into the storage house. The truck drove out of the Palace, without any incident.
--------------------------
“Room locked. Pantry secure.”
“Alright team, break them open and get the gear out.”
The crates of luxurious consumables, destined for the Party’s elites, were opened up with crowbars, some revealing to be as they say, but others contained a plethora of military gear; silenced carbines and pistols, armor plate carriers, gas masks and various kinds of miscellaneous optics, attachments and gear.
Turns out, the more closed off your country is, the more open people are to the concept of being bribed when they are driven to desperation from the economic crisis, starvation and widespread riots. Many Separatist Union soldiers had gone AWOL and sold off their equipment to the black market when their already meager pay was not coming through as reliably as they liked, or when they had enough of committing acts of brutality against the very people they had been indoctrinated to call ‘comrades’. When they arrived to see the goods at their contact’s shop, it was like being in a candy store.
Once everyone was suited up, it was hard to tell them apart. Using name tags would just give their identities away in this black ops mission, so they opted to use coloured tags; Gold for the leader and the other four being Blue, Red, Green and White. They will refer to each other as their colours and only that, in order to conceal their identities and avoid confusion.
Just across the pantry was the parliament room, and right now Premier Seth and his top party officials were now in session, though if their inside intel was anything to go by, they were more likely just partying, drinking and committing all kinds of bourgeoise debauchery rather than doing any kind of actual government work.
“Team stack up. Red check under the door,” Gold gestured to them to move forward and fall in by the door leading to the hallway that in turn led to the parliament’s main entrance.
“Checking,” Red squatted down, using a small fiber optic camera to see what lay beyond. “Two guards on the left. Lightly armed with submachine guns. Likely light kevlar tuxedos.”
“Roger. Team, open and clear. Headshots and kill quietly.”
The door from the pantry opened and Blue and Red rushed forward, flicking to the left and shooting them in the head in quick succession while Green and White covered the other corridor to the right. Gold moved in behind, gestured to them to stack up at the door and move away the bodies of the two guards into the pantry where they would not be seen by any bystanders.
The muted sounds of hardbass, laughing and partying leaked out from the walls.
“White and Green, your turn to take point. Green, scan the room,” Gold instructed.
“Roger, checking,” Green did the same as Red had in the previous door, using the fiber optics to check the room. “All targets present and two ceremonial guards, both in states of undress.”
“Is the priority target inside?”
“Positive.”
“Alright team, ready for a quiet breach. White, you have the CS. On your throw.”
“Roger,” White readied a tear gas grenade and took out the pin. He looked to Green, who was counting down from three to one with his fingers. On one, he pushed open the doors, and White threw it inside.
“Go go go,” the five-man team rushed into the parliament room, shooting at each and every single one of the ministers and other high-ranking officials in quick and smooth succession as they choked and went practically blind from the tear gas, unable to respond or shout for help.
-------------------------
It was not long before the entire room was clear. Bodies were strewn about, slumping on the floor, over the tables or on their own cushy chairs.
“There’s our guy,” Blue found Premier Seth, the head of state and the Revolutionary Party’s Director-General, ducking and coughing under the table at the speaker’s podium at the very front of the room.
He dragged him up by the collar, and swung his rifle butt, striking his face and forcing him to fall back onto his very own Premier’s Chair, an elegant throne-like seat, where in more normal circumstances, he would be at, lording over the Party’s proceedings.
Red slinged back his rifle and fished out a smartphone to record the ordeal. “Folks back home are gonna love this. Boss, you want to do the honours?”
Gold drew his pistol and pointed it at Premier Seth’s head. “Gladly.”
“Premier Seth Gjorner. For the crimes and atrocities made against the people of the Republik Angkasa, you have been duly sentenced to death by the Vanguard Council. Stand ready and face your judgement.”
“Ah, RANGSIs…” Seth weakly chuckled as he adjusted himself on his seat, grunting in pain as he clutched his left cheek where Blue’s rifle stock hit. “I always wondered when you capitalist rats would show up.”
“Hmph. Says the one drinking Qanis champagne…” Red scoffed quietly.
“Enough. We aren’t here to discuss the ideological hypocrisies of the Separatist Union’s style of communism.” Gold rebuked. “Leave that to the local rioters. Meanwhile, our friend here will be in no position to justify anything if he has a bullet to his head.”
But before he could take the shot, silenced gunshots came from behind him. Gold, Blue, Red and Green fell down to the ground, holes in their heads, blood leaking through their wool balaclavas and it slowly leaked to the floor, joining the thin pool of blood of their own victims. Their eyes widened in shock.
Whispers of smoke faded from White’s carbine. He walked forward, approaching the Premier as he slung his weapon and removed his balaclava.
-----------------------
“Marshal Ibrahamovich, you surprise me yet again my friend,” Premier Seth grinned. “First, you broke me out of prison and allowed me to start anew when there was nothing left after Autarch Michelle razed Yurixian to the ground. Now, you have saved me again, from the same enemy nonetheless.”
“I am sorry comrade Premier,” Ibrahamovich drew his pistol. “I think this time, you have misunderstood my intentions.”
“What-” a flash of annoyance was on Seth’s face as he groaned in frustration. “Why the fuck is everyone trying to kill me? You of all people?”
“I gave you the job of Marshal, I made you the commander-in-chief of my new armed forces and I have showered you with favours as my most trusted friend and advisor!” his exasperation became more and more apparent.
“So why?!”
“Because…” Ibrahamovich’s face turned and twisted in a grotesque manner, swirling with red and black biomass as it shifted around and settled into a completely new, and all too familiar face.
“I am not who you think I am.”
---------------------
“Myr Nikolai? Oh shit…” Seth groaned some more. “Fuck, all these while I had Ayzen’s son under my nose and I didn’t know shit.”
“And wait, didn’t you die in the First April Fools War? You were thrown into the sun when my Liberators boarded and hacked your ship on a collision course. Not even being...whatever you are, could survive that.”
“That was just a clone. I took the form of one of the dead Liberators, escaped the ship and started my life anew,” Nikolai sighed as he came closer and pressed the barrel of his pistol into Seth’s forehead.
“I really hate to do this, you know? I truly sympathised with the plight of the USAR refugees, and believed you were this revolutionary who would lead people to a better life,” he cocked the hammer.
“But, as it turns out, you are no different from my father. Power tempted you, and you got corrupted by it. And holy fuck, even my dad, a genocidal power hungry maniac who thought nuking everyone was a good idea to get rid of potential rivals, didn’t do all these kind of stupid shit,” He grabbed a nearby bottle of half drunk Qanis wine and smashed it on the floor, leaving millions of milicents to soak in the carpets.
“He still had discipline and did what leaders are supposed to do. To fall below that...I don’t know what to say.”
“Goodbye, comrade Premier.”
A silenced shot plinkered quietly throughout the empty halls of the great parliament. Seth Gjorner, the now ex-Premier of the Separatist Union slumped over lifelessly, with a hole in his forehead.
------------------
0900 Hours
Rozograd System
New Revolutionary Capital Region, Central District
Palace of the Revolution
Separatist Union of Marxist States
The television in the public communal diner came on with a heart-thumping patriotic jingle, as whatever programme was going on was abruptly interrupted with a shot of the state news caster.
“We interrupt today’s programming to bring regretful and sorrowful news to the proletariat. As of 1000 hours yesterday, our great and glorious Leader, Comrade Premier Seth, and his retinue of trusted officials, were murdered in cold blood by the cowardly forces of RANGSI’s black ops, as the Party was in session heartfully discussing measures to raise the People’s living standards and rations. We have received reports that the Palace’s security had fought valiantly to fend off the unjust attack, but were ultimately martyred in their duty to safeguard the best of our comrades.”
“As the only surviving distinguished member of the Upper Party, Grand Marshal Ibrahamovich has humbly taken initiative to lead our glorious nation in these troubling times and continue Comrade Seth’s work to advance the Proleteriat’s happiness and the cause of Communism throughout the Universe, as the new Premier and Director-General of the Revolutionary Party.”
“In his inaugural speech, Premier Ibrahamovich has declared death to the RANGSI cowards and promised to rebuild the Marxist Union and make it strong as it has been in the past.”