Post

21:08, March 10th, 2021
Industrial Unit #16, Codeword: 'Firefly'.
Hamaya, Isshiki

The wailing sirens of a patrol car, the fifth now in as many minutes, howled its way through the agents' makeshift base, blue lights poured in through barred windows as they rushed past, drowning out screams and shouts alike. Ioanna let out a startled squeak , an ironic emulation of her nickname. Despite the audible, approaching calamity and rapidly deteriorating situation, it was an irony not lost on her partner.

"Brave heart, Mouse." He called out as, with a practiced eye, he started mentally assessing which files would meet their end in the makeshift burn pit she was preparing out of lighter fluid and a waste paper bin. He hoped, as his mind wandered, that Mouse hadn't seen the dated space opera he had so reassuringly quoted, deciding , with a sigh which spoke of both effort and relief, she was probably too cool for that , and she had every right to be, he envied her generation

It had been days since the riots had torn through Hayama. Crime, civil unrest even, was nothing new to the nation at large or the city in particular, even before the war; the Executive's briefing pack had gone to lengths to explain this to the pair upon confirmation of the assignment.

"Pjatrik Stjepan Ionnitt", muttered Afpyper aloud.

That name, that face, had meant nothing to him, days prior, but with chaos reigning on the streets and a summer storm raging outside their sanctuary, he had learnt all he could; and had gained an intense dislike for the deceased in the process.

A young citizen gone awry, scornful of the security and homogeneity of the Principate, trying to make his way as an Internet personality, filming the plight of Anteria's oppressed; it didn't compute to Fredric, it was like the boy was broken. Still, that bleeding heart sense of justice had ultimately lead to the young boys demise, a lesson to be learnt for any others who were considering flooding his wayward path.

"Can't believe the Tuarans did our job for us'" mused Afpyper as Mouse joined him at the desk, his face was lit by the harsh light of the service laptop.

The thick screen was playing a shuddery video blog; a wiry young man, no older than Ionna , wearing a sweatband and a rock tour T-shirt was shakily making his way through a thicket of jungle, he switched cameras, and at the limit of his smart phone's zoom, a group of local military personnel could be seen. The twenty men in dark green brushstrokes fatigues, were being lead around an idling main battle tank; the machine was certainly of a vintage but the paint was fresh as the day it first rolled of the assembly line, new national insignia and numerals could be seen around the turret. The instructor seemed so very out of place, amidst the steaming forest clearing. Pale skinned and sporting a bushy moustache that met his sideburns, and a sweat soaked, khaki bush shirt.

The camera switched back towards the young man, who gave a quiet thumbs up symbol, before retreating into the underbrush.

"Any closer and he'd have blown things wide open" replied Mouse as the video was replaced by an advert in a local language.

"Indeed" nodded Fredric "If we weren't playing for the other team, I'm sure the Exective would've sent the Tuarans a cake" he chuckled.

*THIS POST IS BACKDATED WITH THE CONSENT OF THE RP HOST*