11-17-2021, 05:19 PM
Outside Desmarais Royal Logistical Base, Western Auria
November 17, 2021, 11:42 AM
Pierre Faucher watched carefully through the open car window as the orange-suited security guard read his new ID. Faucher's entry pass sat in the guard's other hand, identifying Faucher as "Special Operative Roger Boyer". Please don't call command. Please don't call command. Faucher silently prayed, his knuckles white on the steering wheel. The guard glanced up at him momentarily, before handing back his documents. “Poivers entret, Kuren. Lienav as Desmarais.” You may enter, sir. Welcome to Desmarais.
Faucher breathed a long sigh of relief as the guard waved him through, driving his car slowly through the tight winding roads inside the base complex. The base outside Desmarais was used for weapon and provisions storage, and was the nerve center for the military contingent in Western Auria. The number of local troops stationed at Desmarais had greatly increased over the past two months, as uprisings and protests enveloped the country. They think that conscripting more people to put down riots is going to do anything about the food shortages or public unrest. Sheer incompetence. Faucher glanced over to the forged ID documents on the passenger seat, biting his lip. Why the hell did I agree to this again? This is practically suicide.
He looked up through the windshield, seeing a group of Garda Nationals in orange policing uniforms march past his car, barely sparing a glance at him. Focus. You can do this. Quickly, in and out. He noted the largest building in the complex, a wide rectangular building made out of fading brick. The Arms Warehouse. Perfect. He pulled his car over right next to the building and unlatched his seatbelt, turning his car off, but leaving the key in the ignition. He glanced over to the passenger seat as he stepped out of the vehicle and grabbed the two ID documents. Just in case.
He shut his car door gingerly and immediately started at a fast walking pace away from the building, moving carefully to not attract unnecessary attention. He followed a winding maze of pathways throughout the complex, passing company after company of conscripted police soldiers. His heart raced as each one passed, feeling as if the forged documents were almost burning a hole through his coat.
He noticed the guard post up ahead, almost on the exact opposite side of the base that he had left his car on. Two guards kept watch over the barrier, looking out down the road for any potential threats. Well, it’s now or never. He pulled out his cell phone and dialed a long number, sighing for a moment before pressing the “call’ button.
The noise was immediate and deafening. A loud explosion echoed throughout the area, sending a dark cloud of debris into the air. The two guards were running in his direction, staring at the large cloud behind him. Faucher looked at his phone for a moment, before mentally smacking himself. Idiot. Look at the explosion. He turned on his heel, acting dumbfounded as the two guards quickly ran past him, rounding the nearest corner out of sight.
Faucher took one last look over his shoulder, before sprinting for the unguarded exit, quickly vaulting over the barrier and running for the nearby woods. He didn’t dare pause to look back. The sounds and smells of chaos and carnage caused him to run further into the woods, running alongside the winding road.
Towards salvation.
---
Aurian Royal Palace, Lumiere
1:17 PM
“This is absurd! You can’t even keep your own soldiers safe!” First Minister Sarah Berenstein shouted at the four assembled members of the Aurian High Cabinet, her tone leaving little room for debate. She was the only one standing, making her statement exponentially more intimidating. “Auria is in disarray, our rations are running dangerously thin, and we’ve still got several nations’ armadas parked on our doorstep! I can’t believe none of you are panicked by this. Our soldiers are dying, our people are rebelling, and you don’t care!”
She closed her eyes and sighed, her fiery temper fading to a passionate irritation. She turned to General Michelin, seeming almost apologetic. “I’m sorry for yelling. Out of everyone here, you are currently doing the most to help this crisis. My anger was not intended towards you, but to this… Situation.” She casually ran her hand through her hair, turning to Jonothan Gerand, the new Minister of Information. “You. You are doing fairly well with your broadcasts. That being said, every broadcast I’ve seen kept mentioning the resource situation over and over. I get that you want to address it, however that’s only going to irritate the people more. And you don’t need me to tell you that that’s not what we need right now.”
She turned her gaze to Scott Lautrec, who was absentmindedly staring at his nails. “Now, you. You threw a huge party for your ‘business partners’, and then let the public know about it! How is that smart, in any way?! We are in the middle of severe food rationing, and you threw an expensive, grandiose party after letting the public know!” Scott opened his mouth to try to protest, but Berenstein shook her head. “Save your breath for actually trying to fix the mess you’ve made.”
She paused, glancing at the final person at the table. King Andrew Laurent-Cordonnier stared at her, waiting for a rebuke. Almost taunting her with a spiteful smile. She blinked, silently speaking to himself. Control your tongue, Sarah. Don’t give him the satisfaction. “Well?” He asked, adjusting one of his orange gem cufflinks. “Any advice for me?”
She sat down without a word, the intensity of her glare making her opinion clear. The king’s smile widened. Bastard. “Thank you for that enlightening speech, Madame Berenstein. I believe we can take your kind words and advice to heart.” He stood, gesturing at Michelin. “Dispatch every local Garda contingent out into major populated zones. Declare official martial law, with a curfew of eight o’clock. Anyone outside at those times is to be arrested and taken to questioning. Anyone who resists is to be shot. Is that clear?”
Michelin nodded, silently standing and leaving the meeting room. The King nodded at Lautrec, and the Minister of the Economy followed suit. Cordonnier turned his attention to Berenstein, who was still seated at the other side of the table. “Ensure that all government workers are loyal to the Kingdom. We wouldn’t want any disloyal ideas to sprout high up in our ranks.” She gave a short bow of her head, pushing in her chair as she left. He seemed to wait for her to leave, turning his body towards Gerand, the last seated Minister at the table. He wants to talk to Jonothan alone? As she closed the door, her mind was racing with curiosity.
What could he be planning?
November 17, 2021, 11:42 AM
Pierre Faucher watched carefully through the open car window as the orange-suited security guard read his new ID. Faucher's entry pass sat in the guard's other hand, identifying Faucher as "Special Operative Roger Boyer". Please don't call command. Please don't call command. Faucher silently prayed, his knuckles white on the steering wheel. The guard glanced up at him momentarily, before handing back his documents. “Poivers entret, Kuren. Lienav as Desmarais.” You may enter, sir. Welcome to Desmarais.
Faucher breathed a long sigh of relief as the guard waved him through, driving his car slowly through the tight winding roads inside the base complex. The base outside Desmarais was used for weapon and provisions storage, and was the nerve center for the military contingent in Western Auria. The number of local troops stationed at Desmarais had greatly increased over the past two months, as uprisings and protests enveloped the country. They think that conscripting more people to put down riots is going to do anything about the food shortages or public unrest. Sheer incompetence. Faucher glanced over to the forged ID documents on the passenger seat, biting his lip. Why the hell did I agree to this again? This is practically suicide.
He looked up through the windshield, seeing a group of Garda Nationals in orange policing uniforms march past his car, barely sparing a glance at him. Focus. You can do this. Quickly, in and out. He noted the largest building in the complex, a wide rectangular building made out of fading brick. The Arms Warehouse. Perfect. He pulled his car over right next to the building and unlatched his seatbelt, turning his car off, but leaving the key in the ignition. He glanced over to the passenger seat as he stepped out of the vehicle and grabbed the two ID documents. Just in case.
He shut his car door gingerly and immediately started at a fast walking pace away from the building, moving carefully to not attract unnecessary attention. He followed a winding maze of pathways throughout the complex, passing company after company of conscripted police soldiers. His heart raced as each one passed, feeling as if the forged documents were almost burning a hole through his coat.
He noticed the guard post up ahead, almost on the exact opposite side of the base that he had left his car on. Two guards kept watch over the barrier, looking out down the road for any potential threats. Well, it’s now or never. He pulled out his cell phone and dialed a long number, sighing for a moment before pressing the “call’ button.
The noise was immediate and deafening. A loud explosion echoed throughout the area, sending a dark cloud of debris into the air. The two guards were running in his direction, staring at the large cloud behind him. Faucher looked at his phone for a moment, before mentally smacking himself. Idiot. Look at the explosion. He turned on his heel, acting dumbfounded as the two guards quickly ran past him, rounding the nearest corner out of sight.
Faucher took one last look over his shoulder, before sprinting for the unguarded exit, quickly vaulting over the barrier and running for the nearby woods. He didn’t dare pause to look back. The sounds and smells of chaos and carnage caused him to run further into the woods, running alongside the winding road.
Towards salvation.
---
Aurian Royal Palace, Lumiere
1:17 PM
“This is absurd! You can’t even keep your own soldiers safe!” First Minister Sarah Berenstein shouted at the four assembled members of the Aurian High Cabinet, her tone leaving little room for debate. She was the only one standing, making her statement exponentially more intimidating. “Auria is in disarray, our rations are running dangerously thin, and we’ve still got several nations’ armadas parked on our doorstep! I can’t believe none of you are panicked by this. Our soldiers are dying, our people are rebelling, and you don’t care!”
She closed her eyes and sighed, her fiery temper fading to a passionate irritation. She turned to General Michelin, seeming almost apologetic. “I’m sorry for yelling. Out of everyone here, you are currently doing the most to help this crisis. My anger was not intended towards you, but to this… Situation.” She casually ran her hand through her hair, turning to Jonothan Gerand, the new Minister of Information. “You. You are doing fairly well with your broadcasts. That being said, every broadcast I’ve seen kept mentioning the resource situation over and over. I get that you want to address it, however that’s only going to irritate the people more. And you don’t need me to tell you that that’s not what we need right now.”
She turned her gaze to Scott Lautrec, who was absentmindedly staring at his nails. “Now, you. You threw a huge party for your ‘business partners’, and then let the public know about it! How is that smart, in any way?! We are in the middle of severe food rationing, and you threw an expensive, grandiose party after letting the public know!” Scott opened his mouth to try to protest, but Berenstein shook her head. “Save your breath for actually trying to fix the mess you’ve made.”
She paused, glancing at the final person at the table. King Andrew Laurent-Cordonnier stared at her, waiting for a rebuke. Almost taunting her with a spiteful smile. She blinked, silently speaking to himself. Control your tongue, Sarah. Don’t give him the satisfaction. “Well?” He asked, adjusting one of his orange gem cufflinks. “Any advice for me?”
She sat down without a word, the intensity of her glare making her opinion clear. The king’s smile widened. Bastard. “Thank you for that enlightening speech, Madame Berenstein. I believe we can take your kind words and advice to heart.” He stood, gesturing at Michelin. “Dispatch every local Garda contingent out into major populated zones. Declare official martial law, with a curfew of eight o’clock. Anyone outside at those times is to be arrested and taken to questioning. Anyone who resists is to be shot. Is that clear?”
Michelin nodded, silently standing and leaving the meeting room. The King nodded at Lautrec, and the Minister of the Economy followed suit. Cordonnier turned his attention to Berenstein, who was still seated at the other side of the table. “Ensure that all government workers are loyal to the Kingdom. We wouldn’t want any disloyal ideas to sprout high up in our ranks.” She gave a short bow of her head, pushing in her chair as she left. He seemed to wait for her to leave, turning his body towards Gerand, the last seated Minister at the table. He wants to talk to Jonothan alone? As she closed the door, her mind was racing with curiosity.
What could he be planning?
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