05-30-2024, 10:30 PM
Vernceda KōpCent, Eiria
Natasha Robinson walked from the car park with Benjamin strapped to her chest followed by her security detail. Since the kidnapping, EICA had been unwilling to let the Robinson family out of their sight. This meant that her attendance at a local mothers’ group attracted considerably more security than such an event would normally require. Despite this, she had been going regularly twice a week, to both a general group and one specifically for younger mothers. She’d managed to make friends here as well as at her Eirian classes, and she looked forward to the outings away from the increasingly stuffy and overly secure family home.
That day, she was almost to the community centre entrance when a bird pooped directly in front of her, causing Natasha to automatically stop short, her speedwalk instantly turning to a hard stop. This was fortunate, as half a second after she noticed the bird poop, there was a loud crack and a projectile flew past, a centimetre from her face, lodging itself in the wall.
Many things then happened at once. The gunshot - for it was, indeed, a gunshot - was quickly followed by several others, though this time aimed in the direction from which the first came from. Naturally, this woke Benjamin up, causing him to begin wailing. Several EICA agents leaped forward to drag Natasha behind a bus shelter, and inside the community centre a cacophony of wailing babies could be heard drifting out of an open window.
Natasha sat behind the bus shelter rocking Benjamin as the chaos erupted, allowing denial to briefly cloud her acknowledgement of the situation in favour of focusing on her baby. She took a deep breath to steady her own breathing, half listening to the EICA agents tell her that the initial assailant was “down” and they were checking he was alone. But between her rocking of Ben, and her growing sheer fury with Kristofer, she barely heard.
*
Royal Palace, Zongongia
Prince Kristofer sat in the dark room with several of the mercenaries he had hired after his father cut off his access to official Zongongian agents. They met in a disused basement in a palace storage outbuilding that was last used for anything beyond throwing boxes inside around the year 1894. His father had restricted his movements outside the palace and this was the only place they could meet undisturbed.
“When will we know?” he snapped at one of the mercenaries.
“Patience,” she sneered, sharpening a knife. A skull tattoo bulged on her muscled arm, under which were words in a script Kristofer could not read.
“What does it mean?” he pointed at the tattoo.
“Only in death is freedom won,” she replied, her expression unchanging.
“Cheery,” he mumbled, regretting asking. “Come on, you must have some idea!”
“Do us a favour and get us more food,” one of the other mercenaries, a scrawny man who specialised in hacking, said.
“I am the Crown Prince of Zongongia, and you do not get to speak to me like that!” Kristofer snapped imperiously.
“You’re an abandoned baby daddy hiding in a basement trying to murder his ex,” the tattooed woman remarked. “Titles don’t mean shit to us.”
Kristofer saw red and moved to slap the woman. Casually, she grabbed his wrist mid swing, had him against the wall and a knife at his throat. Her breathing remained as steady as it had been standing still.
“Listen, Prince,” she began, “you want this kept from the ears of Daddy Majesty, so you don’t get to use your titles. We work how we work, and if you can’t deal, go dance at a ball or something and come back later.”
He snarled, but she kept still and eventually he had no choice but to allow his expression to go sullen and silent. She moved the knife and he stormed out of the room.
*
Kerlian Intelligence HQ, Kerlile
“Ma’am, look at this,” a Kerlian analyst said to her passing superior. The woman turned, tucking her stack of paperwork under her arm and watched the satellite footage on the screen. It was grainy and low quality, as befit a live feed from a surveillance satellite. From above, it showed people running across a street with guns towards what seemed to be a newly created corpse.
“What is this?” the supervisor asked.
“Eiria, ma’am, Natasha Robinson. The Eirians jumped and began to shoot at the figure on the bottom-right of the screen. I believe it was an assassination attempt.”
“Natasha?”
“Appears fine,” the analyst replied.
“Where is this exactly?”
“Community centre; it hosts a mothers’ group Natasha attends.”
“A mothers’ group? The Zongongians - I presume - sent an assassin to a mothers’ group?”
“Conjecture, ma’am, but most likely yes.”
“Fools,” the other Kerlian agent burst into laughter, attracting attention from the other analysts in the room wondering what their boss found so funny. “They’ll have every damned democracy, patriarchal and otherwise, at their throats. Not to mention what the Council will do when they hear of this. Get me actual facts, Agent.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Natasha Robinson walked from the car park with Benjamin strapped to her chest followed by her security detail. Since the kidnapping, EICA had been unwilling to let the Robinson family out of their sight. This meant that her attendance at a local mothers’ group attracted considerably more security than such an event would normally require. Despite this, she had been going regularly twice a week, to both a general group and one specifically for younger mothers. She’d managed to make friends here as well as at her Eirian classes, and she looked forward to the outings away from the increasingly stuffy and overly secure family home.
That day, she was almost to the community centre entrance when a bird pooped directly in front of her, causing Natasha to automatically stop short, her speedwalk instantly turning to a hard stop. This was fortunate, as half a second after she noticed the bird poop, there was a loud crack and a projectile flew past, a centimetre from her face, lodging itself in the wall.
Many things then happened at once. The gunshot - for it was, indeed, a gunshot - was quickly followed by several others, though this time aimed in the direction from which the first came from. Naturally, this woke Benjamin up, causing him to begin wailing. Several EICA agents leaped forward to drag Natasha behind a bus shelter, and inside the community centre a cacophony of wailing babies could be heard drifting out of an open window.
Natasha sat behind the bus shelter rocking Benjamin as the chaos erupted, allowing denial to briefly cloud her acknowledgement of the situation in favour of focusing on her baby. She took a deep breath to steady her own breathing, half listening to the EICA agents tell her that the initial assailant was “down” and they were checking he was alone. But between her rocking of Ben, and her growing sheer fury with Kristofer, she barely heard.
*
Royal Palace, Zongongia
Prince Kristofer sat in the dark room with several of the mercenaries he had hired after his father cut off his access to official Zongongian agents. They met in a disused basement in a palace storage outbuilding that was last used for anything beyond throwing boxes inside around the year 1894. His father had restricted his movements outside the palace and this was the only place they could meet undisturbed.
“When will we know?” he snapped at one of the mercenaries.
“Patience,” she sneered, sharpening a knife. A skull tattoo bulged on her muscled arm, under which were words in a script Kristofer could not read.
“What does it mean?” he pointed at the tattoo.
“Only in death is freedom won,” she replied, her expression unchanging.
“Cheery,” he mumbled, regretting asking. “Come on, you must have some idea!”
“Do us a favour and get us more food,” one of the other mercenaries, a scrawny man who specialised in hacking, said.
“I am the Crown Prince of Zongongia, and you do not get to speak to me like that!” Kristofer snapped imperiously.
“You’re an abandoned baby daddy hiding in a basement trying to murder his ex,” the tattooed woman remarked. “Titles don’t mean shit to us.”
Kristofer saw red and moved to slap the woman. Casually, she grabbed his wrist mid swing, had him against the wall and a knife at his throat. Her breathing remained as steady as it had been standing still.
“Listen, Prince,” she began, “you want this kept from the ears of Daddy Majesty, so you don’t get to use your titles. We work how we work, and if you can’t deal, go dance at a ball or something and come back later.”
He snarled, but she kept still and eventually he had no choice but to allow his expression to go sullen and silent. She moved the knife and he stormed out of the room.
*
Kerlian Intelligence HQ, Kerlile
“Ma’am, look at this,” a Kerlian analyst said to her passing superior. The woman turned, tucking her stack of paperwork under her arm and watched the satellite footage on the screen. It was grainy and low quality, as befit a live feed from a surveillance satellite. From above, it showed people running across a street with guns towards what seemed to be a newly created corpse.
“What is this?” the supervisor asked.
“Eiria, ma’am, Natasha Robinson. The Eirians jumped and began to shoot at the figure on the bottom-right of the screen. I believe it was an assassination attempt.”
“Natasha?”
“Appears fine,” the analyst replied.
“Where is this exactly?”
“Community centre; it hosts a mothers’ group Natasha attends.”
“A mothers’ group? The Zongongians - I presume - sent an assassin to a mothers’ group?”
“Conjecture, ma’am, but most likely yes.”
“Fools,” the other Kerlian agent burst into laughter, attracting attention from the other analysts in the room wondering what their boss found so funny. “They’ll have every damned democracy, patriarchal and otherwise, at their throats. Not to mention what the Council will do when they hear of this. Get me actual facts, Agent.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
LIDUN President 2024 | she/her | Puppets: Kerlile, Glanainn, Yesteria, Zongongia, Zargothrax