The Multipolar World (MP)
- Thread starter Tani Coyote
- Start date
GenMarshall
High Elven ISB Capt & Ghost Agent
No, I wonder why there's such dissatisfaction with my GMing style and yet at least a dozen sign up each IOT.
Your rulesets are positively seductive.
It's abuse to make the same actions anyone can make?
What did Oz do, exactly?
It's not my fault no one ever builds spy forces. So I decided to give the players a wake up call! I give advice all the time but no one seems to take it so I decided to show it the hard way...
Implying implications.
Tani Coyote
Son of Huehuecoyotl
- Joined
- May 28, 2007
- Messages
- 15,191
Oz' primary foreign policy actions were funding China's spy forces, and conducting mass thefts against either random states, or later, the League and Comintern.
You should be proud though; everyone suspected you as being behind mass thefts for much of the game, while you were harmless.
Tani Coyote
Son of Huehuecoyotl
- Joined
- May 28, 2007
- Messages
- 15,191
A golden streak raced down the hallways of an ornate structure, interspersed with labored, agonised breaths. The Citadel of the Iblis had never before been so disturbed.
"No no no Russia... when I gave you those weapons you weren't supposed to fire them so close to meeee!" Iblis screeched in a mixture of despair and rage, his claws having torn various parts of the Palace apart as he turned corners. His memory was fond of decades past, and he always feared nuclear weapons for a particular reason, passing his love of chemical weapons off as a desire to see others suffer.
Finally he found what he desired, the vault that held his greatest treasure. Rather than bothering to unlock it, he grabbed ahold of the Megatal door's hinges, and ripped it plain off with little more than a grunt. Cast carelessly aside, crushing various priceless pieces of pottery and scattering them about the floor, he rushed inside the metallic cavern.
As he raced about, his facade of aristocracy slowly giving way to that insane madness that he truly was composed of, he grasped one of his claws, seeing the tips slowly begin to recede...
For the first time in ages, the mighty Iblis, a demigod, felt fear. Finally, he saw a glimmer in the corner of his eye - ah yes! That priceless gem the color of blood... one of the few souvenirs he'd brought along with him. All he needed was just a good dose of the juice and his problems would be over; he'd resume plotting the painful demise of every living thing with due speed once this was tended to.
His razor sharp teeth curled into a smirk, as he dashed for it... finding himself slowing the closer he grew near. His feet were starting to put on the brakes, as if purposely trying to stop him. He growled as he began to shuffle them, as if he was wading through molasses.
"No! Damn you, stop interfering!"
He outstretched his arm as he finally was just priceless inches from it... just one touch, just one touch and those delectable, corrupted energies would renew and revitalise him. Just before he could get so close as to even get a small dose, he found himself faceplanting on the floor, clutching his stomach as he was overcome with dizziness and nausea.
"Aghhh! Not againnnnnnnn!"
The Demon Overlord's screams of agony were muffled by the thick walls, his palace devoid of life to come to his aid.
===
It would be a few hours before one of Iblis' aides discovered him. Lifting the Lord to his feet, he desperately tried to find out what had gone wrong; as soon as nuclear blast had decimated Outer Mongolia, he had fled from the Sino-Demon border at top speeds towards the capital.
Clutching the aide's hand and gently removing it, hands devoid of the signature claws, Iblis walked forward. He almost fell a few times, but he managed to gain his bearings, slowly pacing towards the decimated vault's doorway.
Turning around, his swirled, otherwordly eyes stared down the aide, to the point the latter feared imminent vaporisation.
Instead, he just tilted his head...
"Where am I? How did I get here?"
"No no no Russia... when I gave you those weapons you weren't supposed to fire them so close to meeee!" Iblis screeched in a mixture of despair and rage, his claws having torn various parts of the Palace apart as he turned corners. His memory was fond of decades past, and he always feared nuclear weapons for a particular reason, passing his love of chemical weapons off as a desire to see others suffer.
Finally he found what he desired, the vault that held his greatest treasure. Rather than bothering to unlock it, he grabbed ahold of the Megatal door's hinges, and ripped it plain off with little more than a grunt. Cast carelessly aside, crushing various priceless pieces of pottery and scattering them about the floor, he rushed inside the metallic cavern.
As he raced about, his facade of aristocracy slowly giving way to that insane madness that he truly was composed of, he grasped one of his claws, seeing the tips slowly begin to recede...
For the first time in ages, the mighty Iblis, a demigod, felt fear. Finally, he saw a glimmer in the corner of his eye - ah yes! That priceless gem the color of blood... one of the few souvenirs he'd brought along with him. All he needed was just a good dose of the juice and his problems would be over; he'd resume plotting the painful demise of every living thing with due speed once this was tended to.
His razor sharp teeth curled into a smirk, as he dashed for it... finding himself slowing the closer he grew near. His feet were starting to put on the brakes, as if purposely trying to stop him. He growled as he began to shuffle them, as if he was wading through molasses.
"No! Damn you, stop interfering!"
He outstretched his arm as he finally was just priceless inches from it... just one touch, just one touch and those delectable, corrupted energies would renew and revitalise him. Just before he could get so close as to even get a small dose, he found himself faceplanting on the floor, clutching his stomach as he was overcome with dizziness and nausea.
"Aghhh! Not againnnnnnnn!"
The Demon Overlord's screams of agony were muffled by the thick walls, his palace devoid of life to come to his aid.
===
It would be a few hours before one of Iblis' aides discovered him. Lifting the Lord to his feet, he desperately tried to find out what had gone wrong; as soon as nuclear blast had decimated Outer Mongolia, he had fled from the Sino-Demon border at top speeds towards the capital.
Clutching the aide's hand and gently removing it, hands devoid of the signature claws, Iblis walked forward. He almost fell a few times, but he managed to gain his bearings, slowly pacing towards the decimated vault's doorway.
Turning around, his swirled, otherwordly eyes stared down the aide, to the point the latter feared imminent vaporisation.
Instead, he just tilted his head...
"Where am I? How did I get here?"
Thorvald of Lym
A Little Sketchy
Waitwaitwait, we can still write epilogues?!
Heh.
Heheh.
HA ha ha!
AAAAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAAAA!!!!!!
Heh.
Heheh.
HA ha ha!
AAAAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAAAA!!!!!!
Kinich-Ahau
#JustGoomyThings
Looks like you are going to get your wish after all, Tyo. The 501st Legion is going down Roman-Style.
Kinich-Ahau
#JustGoomyThings
I'm curious as to how you'd have intellectually bankrupted my country; other than that, I don't care.
Tani Coyote
Son of Huehuecoyotl
- Joined
- May 28, 2007
- Messages
- 15,191
Really I've been dying to get that out of the way since some may have wondered what Iblis' real motivation for chemical weapons was.
But yes, everyone can into their own epilogue.
But yes, everyone can into their own epilogue.
Given how many plotlines I have to wrap up, this may take a while.
But let us begin:In a GUNS Government Meeting:
"We've found them." Fanatico McFascist could think of no better news. "The PUB Council was detected by our agents in the Papacy, and have since taken ship to Gibralter. There they will be met by McCoolname and his pet attack dog."
"Excellent Work by intelligence." McFascist told his Head of Security "It seems they will both be snared when we initiate Operation Backbone then?"
"Unfortunately Sir, McCoolname won't be arriving until after the operation is begun, and maybe even completed."
"Very well. Admiral Henderson, what assets do we have that might intercept McCoolname's ship?"
"Well Sir, if you don't mind being blatent about it, we can intercept either with ships from the Home Fleet or pull out a few from the Victory's Taskforce. If you want to keep it more low key, the only sub we have in the area is the Predator." Fanatico Considered the awnser for a moment, before making his decision.
"Best not to overly aggravate the Coruscanti right now, and a submarine attack is at least deniable. Send the Predator, and take out the ship without a warning. Even if it did surrender, we couldn't allow Coruscant to know we're interfering in their shipping." Admiral Henderson nodded, in acceptance of his orders, saying nothing. McFascist continued on; "Are all the preparations for Operation Backbone in place?" Rommel, Baron, and Henderson all nodded, muttering affirmatives. "Then let us move on to other matters."
-----
On A Coruscanti Ship bound for Gibralter:
McCoolname hated what was happening to the world. It seemed that no power was willing to step forth and do what was right in these times. While some few had remained fixated on the destruction of China, the GUNS operations in Chile had gone largely unopposed by the International Community. Nobody was willing to speak out. Even worse, such horrific Demonstrations as the destruction of the WALL by the army had gone unnoticed, wheras 20 years ago such actions from Xinjiang China had sparked vast controversy.
And now, here he was. The leader of the PUB was being forced to hide from his own countrymen, taking a trip across the Atlantic in secret with only a rouge SSS agent for company. And 007A was hardly good company. The man was too obsessed with his 'job' of providing covert protection that he seemed unable to speak of anything else. McCoolname had heard that McBond used to be a suave and respected member of British Military Intelligence, but apparently life on the run was affecting him as well.
Little did McCoolname know that his time worrying about such things was about to be ended abruptly. Little did he know that despite his companions diligent security measures, his cover had been compromised. Little did he know that the ship, and everyone on board, was about to be introduced to their watery graves.
-----
SIS-001 Predator, beneath the Atlantic
Captain McTavish glared at his orders. It was one thing to hide in the shadows in protection of his cargo, but the idea of having to engage in an illegal operation against a former ally was quite different. It was, he realised, the sort of order that in the old PUB he would have questioned. In the GUNS, you didn't do that. Questioning orders was a good way to get yourself shot for suspected disloyalty, refusing them would probably get the entire crew shot.
Not that the crew was particularly happy either. Ensign McShoutout went pale when he heard what they were doing, and the other crew members broke out into concerned muttering. "It's not, perhaps," McTavish told them "the kind of order we are going to enjoy carrying out. It is however, the kind of order we have been given. And we all know what that means." McShoutout and the Others nodded slowly, understanding the reference to the last Submarine that had refused orders.
Predator cruised along under the Atlantic until it spotted the target, flying as it did the colours of Coruscant. Slowly, and deliberately, they lined up one of their few torpedos. And they fired,, watching the ominous black shape streak ever closer to it's unsuspecting target. The passengers, and the international community, would never know what hit it.
-----
The Atlantic, near the Iberian coast
It was a morning the world would long remember. The morning of the 17th of October 2179 was clear, with a chill wind sweeping in from the Atlantic ocean. There was little to mark it out as special, no ominous signs from the heavans, no unusual weather from the earth. But it was to be a very special day. Because it was the end of the old order. The final day of the old world. The final nail in the coffin.
The Victory taskforce inched forward. The vast numbers of ships seemed ready to boil out of their positions, erupting into the deadly combat they all knew was coming. The fleet was a timebomb, the seconds slowly ticking away until it was unleashed against a largely unsuspecting world. And at it's heart, the largest ship in GUNS control waited impatiently for the order to strike.
At the time of it's construction 7 years ago, the SIS-087 Victory had been one of the largest ships in the world. The supercarrier still remained an incredible ship, carrying more planes than some nations entire air forces. It was a force to be recconed with. And it was about to be set loose.
"This is Admiral Henderson to all GUNS ships. Initiate Operation Backbone."
-----
Message from the GUNS to the nations of the World:
SEEING that the UN is unable to properly defend itself.
ACCEPTING that the International community is unwilling to provide such protection.
UNDERSTANDING that this prevents proper action being taken by the UN.
RECOGNIZING that the bickering and self-focused world prevents the UN working effectively.
ACKNOWLEDGING that this leaves no means for action against the world's various Rouge States.
The GUNS hereby takes responsibility for the administration of the UN territories, and the employment of UN resources in order to effectively ensure that the world is more properly policed, and that any actions taken that are detrimental to the international community are properly responded too, and that the ongoing threat of terrorist attacks on the peace-loving nations of the world is properly countered.
Whilst we had previously hoped that the international community would be able to do this wothout our guidance, it has become clear that certain factions are deliberately blocking the UN's ability to act. As such, it is considered another failure in the realms of international co-operation, and it's responsibilities must be taken up by another organisation that is willing and able to carry them out.
We have no trust that the world can form such an organisation, and so will be overseeing it's creation ourselves.
-----
DT
Thorvald of Lym
A Little Sketchy
Urge... to intervene... riiiisiiiing...
Thorvald of Lym
A Little Sketchy
Anyway, speaking of multi-parters...
The man opened the door and silently stepped through. The Red Lotus was throwing darts into a photo of Christos Xinjiang stuck on the board across the room. "I'm listening," she said as she continued her barrage.
"Milady," he hesitated, clearing his throat. "General Townes reports his unit is ready to move out on your order."
"And Mohmar?" she asked, retrieving the darts before beginning again.
"In position. Juhziz is still mobilizing, but he says he can start without him."
"Best wait until everyone is accounted for."
"Shall I inform him—?"
"Already have," she grinned. Setting down the darts, she turned to the officer, nine tails swaying in unison. "I can sense your apprehension," she said, matter-of-factly, "Don't censure yourself on my account."
He nodded, somewhat nervous, before straightening up. "Far be it from me to question your logic, but... are we really in a position to take on China? So soon?"
"GUNS' actions have pushed the schedule forward, further forward than I would have liked myself," she confessed. "And now, China has tried to overthrow Siberia." She lightly skimmed a finger across the surface of the small desk beside them. "The world has gone to pot. Perhaps not as violently as the failures before, but if we wait any longer we'll soon enough be acting alone. It is as the GLA said: we strike the monster before it can grow any larger. Besides," she smirked, "2179 is the twentieth anniversary of the fall of Christos Xinjiang. What better way to honour the democratic spirit?"
The man nodded in understanding, but was still visibly apprehensive. The Lotus adopted a more serious expression. "Do you know how Comrade Xiurong lost her eye?"
"Only the story everyone else knows. Not anything in detail."
Throwing her hands behind her back, she paced deeper into the room. "It was her misfortune to have lived out in the countryside. The authorities were held by a tight leash around the cities, but rural garrisons ran their allotted protectorates as their personal fiefdoms; as long as order was kept and the citizens paid their dues, abuse of power was completely ignored. One day when Xiurong and her family were outside, the squad leader of a passing patrol thought he'd have a little fun with her. She resisted, of course; so, he ordered his men to arrest her family. He asked her again; she refused. One by one he had them shot, right outside the house. Mother. Father. Uncle. Her little brother, who was barely sixteen years old. It didn't matter how much she screamed or whatever she promised him to stop. And he did it slowly.
"Then, he turned on her, drew his knife, and stabbed her in the eye, making some joke about lack of foresight. The only reason he didn't follow through on his original intention was because, miracle of miracles, at that very moment the patrol leader's commanding officer drove by with a squadron on exercise. He was so appalled by what he saw that he threatened to shoot the man right where he stood. The patrol stood down and left with the squad, leaving her to bleed; not a particularly enthusiastic rescue. She knew the man would return, sooner or later, so she gathered up what she could carry, fled her home, fled the province, and eventually found her way to the Lancers."
The Lotus turned around, face somewhere between a lament and a vengeful snarl. The officer swallowed, lowering his gaze. "She did nothing wrong," she said softly, but punctuating each word. "The family kept to itself. She worked those outrageous hours, abode by the ridiculous curfew... and lost almost everything because of a random soldier's lustful fancy. That is why she wears that eyepatch." She gestured to her own eye. "She could have tried for surgery. She could have asked me. But she chose to bear her scar as testament to Christos Xinjiang and his despicable régime. Before that day, she wasn't political in any sense. They made her political. She's been fighting back ever since."
She walked back over to where their conversation began. "Meanwhile," she said more forcefully, gesturing to the ruined photo of Christos, "The man responsible for the whole corrupt system escaped with nothing more than a fine, sat in the successive governments, and participated in the overthrow of Xinjiang's true democracy." Her voice remained unnervingly calm, the slight wrinkles in her muzzle the only suggestion of the seething hatred lurking underneath. "Not since Mao Zedong was China subject to such pervasive terror. Comrade Xiurong's story is but one of untold millions that turn the farce of Chinese politics into a human tragedy. Christos raped the country; George enslaved it; the kings destroy it. Meanwhile the petty tyrants split the world's attention and stall any hope for global advancement." A pause followed, and the Lotus' expression eased into a crafty grin. "I was content to play by their rules, but now," she rolled up her sleeves, drawing invisible lines down her forearms; "The gloves come off."
At that moment, a third figure entered the quarters; the officer hastily made room. His brow rose in a brief show of astonishment as he set eyes upon the indefatigable visage of the Secret Asian Man. The super-spy nodded to him before facing the Lotus and clicking his heels. "Preparations are complete. Viper is on standby," he stated.
"Very good," she replied before turning back to the first officer.
As if on cue, his radio cut in. He responded affirmatively before addressing his comrades. "Juhziz is ready," he reported.
The Lotus smiled. "We are ready to begin."
The officer took a breath, mustering as professional an air about him as he could manage. "Your orders, milady?"
"All units are to assume Phase I readiness and prepare for combat." She nodded to the Secret Asian Man, who bowed and quickly departed. "Ready the studio," she instructed, "The Kingdom of China is overdue for its concluding chapter."
She picked up a dart and landed it square between Christos' eyes before she and the officer left the room. Riddled with holes, the paper couldn't support its own weight, and gradually split itself across the needle until it tore through completely, fluttering to the floor.
------------------------------
What is a revolution?
The word itself stems from "revolve", to return to where one began. In pragmatic terms, it does not mean politics transcends the old order; it only pretends to. The violent French Revolution burned itself out into the conservative Directory. Nicholas II was supplanted by the Czar Stalin. Capitalist oligarchy ousts socialist autocracy, and vice versa. The dictator is not overthrown, it merely exchanges its vestments. In this sense, then yes, the Chinese Resistance Forces were revolutionaries, eclipsing a brief spark of republicanism, restoring Asia to the dark ages under the false mantra of "progress".
Yet now we can claim that same literal meaning, in a brighter context. We founded Chinese democracy in 2165, and our revolution will restore it. The monarchy is the aberration, a bloody experiment in failed statehood; a brief interruption on the road to world betterment. Even as free nations the world over succumb to the temptation of despotism, or merely succumb to other states, our cause grows stronger than ever. We shall prove that democracy is achievable, build ourselves as a beacon of hope to the international community by striking down the infernal symbol of fear, oppression, tyranny, chaos, and murderous incompetence that is the China Six. Previously, we erred on the side of optimism, misjudged the willingness of states to forsake global advancement for blind ambition. It was a learning experience, one we have taken to heart. This time, no mistakes: we shall leave no quarter for the resurgence of the criminals.
No doubt Otto gazes upon the deteriorating world stage with glee: as global solidarity fractured in the face of upstart despots, the threat against his usurpation waned proportionally. He was self-confident enough to apply for membership into the imperialist club of the IRA. He was arrogant enough to make designs upon his neighbours, foolishly believing his appetite for the prosperous Middle East would pass unseen. The Federation destroyed, democracy under siege, he convinced himself that we were no longer a credible threat. So self-assured is he of his own immortality that he thought to use us as his attack dogs, thought to render us willing enablers of his insidious vices.
No, Otto. This vixen will never be tamed.
A Chinese proverb states that to know a man's mind, one listens to his words. Evidently, Otto is not Chinese. So convinced is he that the world dances to the beat of his drum, he thought he could buy our allegiance, as his father did before him. He may be content to shift his stance in whichever direction will best benefit him at a given moment, but our convictions are made of stronger stuff. Nevertheless, we must thank him for the generous donations he has given to our cause. Rarely has a tyrant so willingly paid into his own overthrow. Without his altruistic support, we would not be able to embark upon the liberation of China so soon.
2159 was the year that the first oppressor fell. 2179 shall mark the fall of the last. This farce has cost too many lives, destroyed too many futures to be allowed to continue any longer. The China Six have long been overdue for their just deserts; international resolutions have failed, global responsibility has been wantonly neglected, and therefore, as ever, we must needs perform the task ourselves. But while we may not have explicit support from the world powers, we are far, far from alone in our fight. We have united the free world under one banner, one hopeful vision, transcending political boundaries and continental divides, consolidating the will of the people into a single combat force. Whereas China is one state ever splintering itself into quarrelling factions, we have brought together all nations, bound by a singular purpose.
You rejected us, Otto; now we reject you.
Where the Union of Nations has failed in safeguarding world peace, global security, and human rights, we, the tireless vigilantes, will take up the standard. Once we have freed China from the bloody talons of the illegitimate monarchy and all the slave-drivers before it, we will at last be poised to liberate the world from the vile corruption of the despotic classes. Change is needed; the people clamour for it. As the world rots in nuclear hellfire, the wholesale destruction of the human race draws ever more dangerously close to realization; an overthrow of realpolitik is all but demanded. Iblis grows quiet. Italy has thrown off its shackles. The Russian empire is on the verge of extinction. All that remains of the old imperial alliance is the devious pope who contents himself in excusing his deplorable machinations as God's will. Republicanism emerges resurgent, and we shall speed its flowering as much as we may.
But first, the fate of China.
From Christos to Otto, George the president and George the king, to the joke of the dictator Chiang, China has been used and abused by self-serving individuals who respect not their own people, their own heritage, their own humanity. Time and again we challenged them to prove their competence, and time and again they failed the test. We were mistaken for an idle threat; the China Six grew complacent, believing the audit would never come. But now, ready or not, it is time they answer for their actions. Our patience is exhausted; rather than repeat the same demands they have consistently ignored, rather than hope for dialogue when none shall come, we shall now dictate our terms:
In addition to numerous petty charges pertaining to abuse of power, Christos Xinjiang, Mr. George, Mr. Chiang, and Otto I stand accused of war crimes, crimes against humanity, and high treason. They have 24 hours to dismantle their government, cede authority to the Scarlet Lancers, and surrender themselves to our operatives. Failure to comply will result in our immediate ousting of them by force.
Before running off to war, little Otto, you may wish to know the reality of your situation. Your greed is your undoing; your invasion of Siberia has stretched your monstrous horde thin, too thin to protect borders that have nearly doubled in size. Not only do we match your numbers, we exceed them in training, dedication, and armament. Our legions amass along your frontier, equipped with the most advanced technologies pooled from every nation around the globe. The Chinese dictators have ruined the world, and the world will have its revenge. Our agents have already penetrated your borders, sleepers lying in wait within the highest echelons of your command structure. Do not bother trying to root them out now; they have been in place for years, rubber-stamping your illicit decrees while passing the plans to us. The people grow restless; the masses you have wantonly trod upon for so long will turn on you as the wounded dog turns upon its cruel master. You desecrated this country; now reap what you have sown.
There will be no escape this time; we have made sure of that. You have one last chance to take responsibility for the horrid legacy of you and everyone who carries your bloody train. If you are a man, surrender; the wise man knows when the battle is lost, and this fight is decided before its has even begun. As head of state, you are duty-bound to act for the good of your people, to protect them from harm, to ensure them a future; thus the only ethical action is to admit your failure and turn yourself in. Otherwise, hide behind your slaves, see how long they will protect you when offered a venue for justice, and let your reputation as a murderous coward be forever cemented in historical memory.
I will arrive to accept your capitulation either way.
Long Live Free China.
(First of 6-8)
The man opened the door and silently stepped through. The Red Lotus was throwing darts into a photo of Christos Xinjiang stuck on the board across the room. "I'm listening," she said as she continued her barrage.
"Milady," he hesitated, clearing his throat. "General Townes reports his unit is ready to move out on your order."
"And Mohmar?" she asked, retrieving the darts before beginning again.
"In position. Juhziz is still mobilizing, but he says he can start without him."
"Best wait until everyone is accounted for."
"Shall I inform him—?"
"Already have," she grinned. Setting down the darts, she turned to the officer, nine tails swaying in unison. "I can sense your apprehension," she said, matter-of-factly, "Don't censure yourself on my account."
He nodded, somewhat nervous, before straightening up. "Far be it from me to question your logic, but... are we really in a position to take on China? So soon?"
"GUNS' actions have pushed the schedule forward, further forward than I would have liked myself," she confessed. "And now, China has tried to overthrow Siberia." She lightly skimmed a finger across the surface of the small desk beside them. "The world has gone to pot. Perhaps not as violently as the failures before, but if we wait any longer we'll soon enough be acting alone. It is as the GLA said: we strike the monster before it can grow any larger. Besides," she smirked, "2179 is the twentieth anniversary of the fall of Christos Xinjiang. What better way to honour the democratic spirit?"
The man nodded in understanding, but was still visibly apprehensive. The Lotus adopted a more serious expression. "Do you know how Comrade Xiurong lost her eye?"
"Only the story everyone else knows. Not anything in detail."
Throwing her hands behind her back, she paced deeper into the room. "It was her misfortune to have lived out in the countryside. The authorities were held by a tight leash around the cities, but rural garrisons ran their allotted protectorates as their personal fiefdoms; as long as order was kept and the citizens paid their dues, abuse of power was completely ignored. One day when Xiurong and her family were outside, the squad leader of a passing patrol thought he'd have a little fun with her. She resisted, of course; so, he ordered his men to arrest her family. He asked her again; she refused. One by one he had them shot, right outside the house. Mother. Father. Uncle. Her little brother, who was barely sixteen years old. It didn't matter how much she screamed or whatever she promised him to stop. And he did it slowly.
"Then, he turned on her, drew his knife, and stabbed her in the eye, making some joke about lack of foresight. The only reason he didn't follow through on his original intention was because, miracle of miracles, at that very moment the patrol leader's commanding officer drove by with a squadron on exercise. He was so appalled by what he saw that he threatened to shoot the man right where he stood. The patrol stood down and left with the squad, leaving her to bleed; not a particularly enthusiastic rescue. She knew the man would return, sooner or later, so she gathered up what she could carry, fled her home, fled the province, and eventually found her way to the Lancers."
The Lotus turned around, face somewhere between a lament and a vengeful snarl. The officer swallowed, lowering his gaze. "She did nothing wrong," she said softly, but punctuating each word. "The family kept to itself. She worked those outrageous hours, abode by the ridiculous curfew... and lost almost everything because of a random soldier's lustful fancy. That is why she wears that eyepatch." She gestured to her own eye. "She could have tried for surgery. She could have asked me. But she chose to bear her scar as testament to Christos Xinjiang and his despicable régime. Before that day, she wasn't political in any sense. They made her political. She's been fighting back ever since."
She walked back over to where their conversation began. "Meanwhile," she said more forcefully, gesturing to the ruined photo of Christos, "The man responsible for the whole corrupt system escaped with nothing more than a fine, sat in the successive governments, and participated in the overthrow of Xinjiang's true democracy." Her voice remained unnervingly calm, the slight wrinkles in her muzzle the only suggestion of the seething hatred lurking underneath. "Not since Mao Zedong was China subject to such pervasive terror. Comrade Xiurong's story is but one of untold millions that turn the farce of Chinese politics into a human tragedy. Christos raped the country; George enslaved it; the kings destroy it. Meanwhile the petty tyrants split the world's attention and stall any hope for global advancement." A pause followed, and the Lotus' expression eased into a crafty grin. "I was content to play by their rules, but now," she rolled up her sleeves, drawing invisible lines down her forearms; "The gloves come off."
At that moment, a third figure entered the quarters; the officer hastily made room. His brow rose in a brief show of astonishment as he set eyes upon the indefatigable visage of the Secret Asian Man. The super-spy nodded to him before facing the Lotus and clicking his heels. "Preparations are complete. Viper is on standby," he stated.
"Very good," she replied before turning back to the first officer.
As if on cue, his radio cut in. He responded affirmatively before addressing his comrades. "Juhziz is ready," he reported.
The Lotus smiled. "We are ready to begin."
The officer took a breath, mustering as professional an air about him as he could manage. "Your orders, milady?"
"All units are to assume Phase I readiness and prepare for combat." She nodded to the Secret Asian Man, who bowed and quickly departed. "Ready the studio," she instructed, "The Kingdom of China is overdue for its concluding chapter."
She picked up a dart and landed it square between Christos' eyes before she and the officer left the room. Riddled with holes, the paper couldn't support its own weight, and gradually split itself across the needle until it tore through completely, fluttering to the floor.
------------------------------
What is a revolution?
The word itself stems from "revolve", to return to where one began. In pragmatic terms, it does not mean politics transcends the old order; it only pretends to. The violent French Revolution burned itself out into the conservative Directory. Nicholas II was supplanted by the Czar Stalin. Capitalist oligarchy ousts socialist autocracy, and vice versa. The dictator is not overthrown, it merely exchanges its vestments. In this sense, then yes, the Chinese Resistance Forces were revolutionaries, eclipsing a brief spark of republicanism, restoring Asia to the dark ages under the false mantra of "progress".
Yet now we can claim that same literal meaning, in a brighter context. We founded Chinese democracy in 2165, and our revolution will restore it. The monarchy is the aberration, a bloody experiment in failed statehood; a brief interruption on the road to world betterment. Even as free nations the world over succumb to the temptation of despotism, or merely succumb to other states, our cause grows stronger than ever. We shall prove that democracy is achievable, build ourselves as a beacon of hope to the international community by striking down the infernal symbol of fear, oppression, tyranny, chaos, and murderous incompetence that is the China Six. Previously, we erred on the side of optimism, misjudged the willingness of states to forsake global advancement for blind ambition. It was a learning experience, one we have taken to heart. This time, no mistakes: we shall leave no quarter for the resurgence of the criminals.
No doubt Otto gazes upon the deteriorating world stage with glee: as global solidarity fractured in the face of upstart despots, the threat against his usurpation waned proportionally. He was self-confident enough to apply for membership into the imperialist club of the IRA. He was arrogant enough to make designs upon his neighbours, foolishly believing his appetite for the prosperous Middle East would pass unseen. The Federation destroyed, democracy under siege, he convinced himself that we were no longer a credible threat. So self-assured is he of his own immortality that he thought to use us as his attack dogs, thought to render us willing enablers of his insidious vices.
No, Otto. This vixen will never be tamed.
A Chinese proverb states that to know a man's mind, one listens to his words. Evidently, Otto is not Chinese. So convinced is he that the world dances to the beat of his drum, he thought he could buy our allegiance, as his father did before him. He may be content to shift his stance in whichever direction will best benefit him at a given moment, but our convictions are made of stronger stuff. Nevertheless, we must thank him for the generous donations he has given to our cause. Rarely has a tyrant so willingly paid into his own overthrow. Without his altruistic support, we would not be able to embark upon the liberation of China so soon.
2159 was the year that the first oppressor fell. 2179 shall mark the fall of the last. This farce has cost too many lives, destroyed too many futures to be allowed to continue any longer. The China Six have long been overdue for their just deserts; international resolutions have failed, global responsibility has been wantonly neglected, and therefore, as ever, we must needs perform the task ourselves. But while we may not have explicit support from the world powers, we are far, far from alone in our fight. We have united the free world under one banner, one hopeful vision, transcending political boundaries and continental divides, consolidating the will of the people into a single combat force. Whereas China is one state ever splintering itself into quarrelling factions, we have brought together all nations, bound by a singular purpose.
You rejected us, Otto; now we reject you.
Where the Union of Nations has failed in safeguarding world peace, global security, and human rights, we, the tireless vigilantes, will take up the standard. Once we have freed China from the bloody talons of the illegitimate monarchy and all the slave-drivers before it, we will at last be poised to liberate the world from the vile corruption of the despotic classes. Change is needed; the people clamour for it. As the world rots in nuclear hellfire, the wholesale destruction of the human race draws ever more dangerously close to realization; an overthrow of realpolitik is all but demanded. Iblis grows quiet. Italy has thrown off its shackles. The Russian empire is on the verge of extinction. All that remains of the old imperial alliance is the devious pope who contents himself in excusing his deplorable machinations as God's will. Republicanism emerges resurgent, and we shall speed its flowering as much as we may.
But first, the fate of China.
From Christos to Otto, George the president and George the king, to the joke of the dictator Chiang, China has been used and abused by self-serving individuals who respect not their own people, their own heritage, their own humanity. Time and again we challenged them to prove their competence, and time and again they failed the test. We were mistaken for an idle threat; the China Six grew complacent, believing the audit would never come. But now, ready or not, it is time they answer for their actions. Our patience is exhausted; rather than repeat the same demands they have consistently ignored, rather than hope for dialogue when none shall come, we shall now dictate our terms:
In addition to numerous petty charges pertaining to abuse of power, Christos Xinjiang, Mr. George, Mr. Chiang, and Otto I stand accused of war crimes, crimes against humanity, and high treason. They have 24 hours to dismantle their government, cede authority to the Scarlet Lancers, and surrender themselves to our operatives. Failure to comply will result in our immediate ousting of them by force.
Before running off to war, little Otto, you may wish to know the reality of your situation. Your greed is your undoing; your invasion of Siberia has stretched your monstrous horde thin, too thin to protect borders that have nearly doubled in size. Not only do we match your numbers, we exceed them in training, dedication, and armament. Our legions amass along your frontier, equipped with the most advanced technologies pooled from every nation around the globe. The Chinese dictators have ruined the world, and the world will have its revenge. Our agents have already penetrated your borders, sleepers lying in wait within the highest echelons of your command structure. Do not bother trying to root them out now; they have been in place for years, rubber-stamping your illicit decrees while passing the plans to us. The people grow restless; the masses you have wantonly trod upon for so long will turn on you as the wounded dog turns upon its cruel master. You desecrated this country; now reap what you have sown.
There will be no escape this time; we have made sure of that. You have one last chance to take responsibility for the horrid legacy of you and everyone who carries your bloody train. If you are a man, surrender; the wise man knows when the battle is lost, and this fight is decided before its has even begun. As head of state, you are duty-bound to act for the good of your people, to protect them from harm, to ensure them a future; thus the only ethical action is to admit your failure and turn yourself in. Otherwise, hide behind your slaves, see how long they will protect you when offered a venue for justice, and let your reputation as a murderous coward be forever cemented in historical memory.
I will arrive to accept your capitulation either way.
Long Live Free China.
(First of 6-8)
Thorvald of Lym
A Little Sketchy
Mosher
Mushroom dad
Very nice epilogue, Thorvald. 
Thorvald of Lym
A Little Sketchy
Ohh, and it's only just beginning. 
When I said I be makin' movies... I meant it.
When I said I be makin' movies... I meant it.
