Rabble Rousing

[Ace Pace]

This is the initial log post, the OOC chat goes by the same name


Petro ducks back into crowd and lets them take the hammering, prepares press release for the following day... Let's see, 'Brave citizens, exercising their human right of peaceable assembly, assaulted by jackbooted agents of the STATE.' Has a nice ring to it. Rather formulaic, but you can only give these things so much original zest.


Police officers close in from behind Petro with SMGs "no evidence, no evidence" in broken english.
'SHIT. Last time I rabble-rouse in a totalitarian state. I'm getting too old for this shit.' Petro pulls out his badge. “Internal Security! Step aside! “

The police officers move aside, as Petro passes through he sees a double cordon of State Security. "You come with us, NOW. Or we shoot you and plant bombs as evidence on your body"

Petro goes into full-on bureaucrat browbeating mode “I am on a mission from the director himself, authorized at level sigma seven delta niner. You will stand aside unless you wish to explain this to him! Personally!”

Officers step aside to show the waiting jeep,”come in, we see boss, boss see you, boss say you lie"

"Fine fine, let's get this over with. He'll clear me, and I'll get back to work. Just hurry the fuck up." Petro bounced into the passenger seat confidently.

The jeep slowly,very slowly drove to the imposing Main Central All Controlling Internal Security Office(MCACISO). "Go out, we come with you, you tell boss, boss shoot you"

He got out of the jeep, then suddenly looked past the guards. "I'll be damned... LOOK! It's ELVIS!" He pointed.

As some of the guards looked away, he threw the smokebomb down at the ground, kicked the nearest guard in the nuts, THEN ran.

Whereever Petro would go, he would have no escape, there were two doors in, one the main gate, guarded, the other, a small postern gate for manegement to escape early, that was under repair.

But he didn't head for either gate, instead flashing his ID as he entered the building. "Assassins! They're trying to kill the director! Full security alert!"
Immdietly, the office went into lockdown, armed agents manhandled the director into a safe room and guards began rounding up people into secured room to be interogated. Petro got tossed in amongst the clerical staff in room 1138.
Whereupon he stealthily zapped the man next to him with a stun gun. "Oh my god, he's having a heart attack!" As he lowered the man to the ground he snagged his badge and keycard, then began CPR, accidentally breaking several ribs...
Security officers rushed in with tasers, hitting everyone but Petro.
He rose to his feet, straightening his jacket. "Good work, men. You caught the traitors."
"Come for debriefing, we need to talk about your latest mission". Two security guards manhandled him into a little cubicle with no other exits and locked the door. "Oh, okay."

In walked a man wearing what could only be described as gay outfit. It reeked of the person wearing it being a transgender homosexual furry.
He looked Petro up and down, and suddenly seized him with one arm and dragged him to a wall, pinning him at the ceiling. "Now listen to me. You're getting a promotion for your great effort in operation PAROLE, People Arguing & Rioting Over Little Eggs. Good job, now come up with me to meet your new boss. The Director"

"Delighted."

They walked into the Directors room, where 7 men where standing at attention facing the wall and the Director was sitting behind his desk that could carry a fighter if the country had any. The director stood up. "Welcome Petro, delighted to meet you, after we finsh this regretable buisness we'll go down to discuss your next assignment. But there is this one matter to take care of.
These men, you have condemmed them to death by allowing them to interfere with your work, only you can execute them. Here, take this pistol, you have 45 seconds."

He accepted the pistol, racking the slide, then fired a test round into the floor...
Two security officers appeared out of no where. The director glared,"Now see this young man, you will shoot them or they will shoot you, 35 seconds."

He turned and shot both guards, then looked back. "Oh. Did you mean the other guys?"
The director pulled out a pistol and calmly said "If you attempt to shoot me, there are 16 differant guns all aimed at you, none crossfiring on me. You will die before you pull the trigger. 15 seconds"

He stared at the director. Fifteen. Fourteen. Thirteen. Twelve. Eleven. Ten. Nine. Eight. Seven. "You realize I only have five rounds left. Can I get a fresh magazine?"
"yes." And a magazine appeared in his hands, he threw it at Petro. "Catch." Do not dissapoint me"

He ejected the magazine, slammed the new one home, then burst forward over the desk, landing next to the director. "None set to crossfire on you, y'said?" he held the gun to the man's armpit, where no armor could protect him. "Let's talk."

A gun appeared in the directors hands, in an instant it was in Petros nose, partially engulfing it.
"Yes, lets. who are you?"
He grinned. "Petrosjko. You can call me Petro, I know it's a mouthful. I was just passing through, checked out a bit of your riot action, then your people tried to kill me. Y'know, I admire a guy who puts himself into a situation like this just to get to the information. Gutsy."

"I am the director, if I cannot do it,who can? Anyway, I am formally offering you a contract to work here as a rabble rouser, payable to any expenses you need to live here. IF you can move around the room and find the hidden gunners. Then we shall talk again."

He tugged on the man's jacket. "Let's go find the hidden guns then." Maintaining his grip and the positioning of his weapon, he glanced, then jerked his head over. "One. Spotted it as I came in." Toward the ceiling. "Two."
"So far so good, I'll give you one, the ceiling has 3."
"Actually it has five. I was just getting started. Though that corner one is borderline for ceiling or wall, I'll grant."
"Good, next?" The director was grining, tossing the pistol from one hadn to another while keeping a firm grip on it.
He kicked the desk. "Two, rather obvious there. Floor vent there, repositionable. Filing cabinet. You are ONE PARANOID MOTHERFUCK, you know that?"
"You're not the first, I get over 50 attempts a week, roughly half reach the grounds, less then a fifth of the remaining get inside, around 3-4 get to the office. It pays to be prepared."
"Yeah, well I honestly didn't intend to kill you. I was more interested in getting out of here in one piece, but when you're hunted it pays to move in the opposite direction of what's expected. Wall stand. Lamp, the brightwork's faded around the barrel. Happy yet?"

"Yes, now the second part. Convice these 7 men standing next to the wall, without threatening them, to attempt to kill me. If you suceed yet control them, you have the job.”

"Hey guys, you realize that every time you go out into the field, the boss here calls your wives in and has a big fucking orgy with them? Ever wonder why so many of you have blond kids?"
The men stared back at him impassive. All blond.
He cleared his throat. "Regular buncha fuckin' Aryans around here. Did I mention the part about how he was ordering me to kill all of you just a minute ago?"
A few of the men grinned, relaxed.
"A corner office, plasma screen TV as well as a secretarial pool.."

The men were visably straining at their training, but one snapped out, running at the director but moving aside to attack Petro's throat.

He shot the man through the head. "Fine, kill him or I kill all of you." He slid back behind the director. Fucking goons.

The director clapped, "Admireable but you lose points for the threat. Good, your hired. Your first assignment, should you choose to accept it, is to go down to the secterial pool, find yourself a staff, a few more officers and report to Major Kalligafi."
"Would this be a good time to ask about my vacation?"
"Yes, 45 hours every sucessful operation."
"Three squares and a place to flop. Well fuck, I wasn't doing anything worthwhile anyway." He slid the pistol into his pocket. "You really should switch to tile floors, with as many people get shot in here."
"its okey, the cleaning staff is very good at eliminating blood. Now shoo, I have reports to file and you have hot secreteries to choose"
"This job is looking up already. Hey, nothing personal guys," he grinned brightly on the way out the door.

A man was waiting outside, "Follow me to the clerical pool, you're listed for 3 secreteries, 2 IAOs-thats Interal Affair Officers and an accounting guy. Everything here needs to be filed in Hex so we have special people for that."
"Hex? Okay, sure. So, what's it like working around here? Bloody, I take it. Fifty attempts a week, I heard. Anybody ever plonk RPGs into the building? Do I need to send somebody out to warm up the car for me?"
"Actully not really, there are several office organised apartment blocks in a 5 minute walk radius, but some of us live anywhere we want, mostly only once a month will someone whack those. And rpgs? Ha! The walls are a joke, theres a triple buffer before we can get hit."
"I'll keep that in mind. Smoking cool in the office?"
"Sure, aslong as you're not in the top sec areas, then the guards get testy when the smoke makes them clear the floor."

“Come on, its here.” The man opened the door into the clerical pool.
He looked around at the collection of voluptuous, nubile, and many other adjective secretaries, and steadfastly worked to play cool and casual. "Mabbo," he said coherently.
A small pert female came up to him and led him to the main desk. "We hear you need 3 secs, I suggest the left side, it has the ones with the most experiance in everything." She smiled and led him over to a row of secreteries working hard.
He lit a cigarette and looked over the secretaries. Tempting as it was to abuse the holy hell out of the situation, he rolled his eyes and looked at the woman. "Alright, who actually does the job here? I mean, real secretarial work, not kneepad service."
She pointed at the first, 4th and 7th secreteries in the row. "These. Want me to sign them up?"
"Yeah," he said. "And get the rest of the staff squared away with people who can actually work. Priortize organizational skills, then bring me a spec list of additional skills they have, covert work stuff. Get me people who can actually do field work."
"At once, your office is at block 341, thats 3rd floor, 4th corridor, 1st office, get yourself an office there and I'll send them up within 15 minutes."
"Good then." He walked out the door, casting one last, regretful look at all the jiggly-giggly action in the room. As he walked out, he muttered under his breath. "I am an abject failure as a hedonist."

He made his way up to block 341, looking around and picking an empty office. He proceeded to wander about the room, locating all the surveillance devices and other nifty bits.
Having located a plethora of bugs, cameras, a discarded condom and a half-burned love letter to somebody's mistress, as well as several patched bullet holes and a few bloodstains the cleaning staff missed, he plopped down and gave his chair a try. "Oooooh... massage." He hit the button, starting it up.
Someone knocked on the door.

He slid the pistol from his pocket and held it under the desk before replying cheerfully. "Come in!"
Two men came in, behind them the head secretery from the clerical pool, She stepped forward and laid some documents on Petros desk. "This is the personal file of each of your new staff members, officers on top. Your orders are on the bottom."

He smiled, sliding the pistol back into his pocket under the desk. "Good. Anything else?"
She slid over a last letter and leant down. "Read this when you're alone, it gives you what you need to know."
"Oh, that's a story I've heard all my life, and I have yet to hear what I really need to know. But thanks," he grinned brightly. "Now, if there's nothing else, let me go over the material."

She left, and the two men settled down on the chairs infront of him.
"Okay, which one of you is Rafik, and which one is Sari?"
The rather large guy with little eyes spoke up,"I'm Rafik, he's Sari, can we go and get an office to settle in?"
He waved his hand. "Yeah, sure. Get some coffee while you're at it." He started looking over the files, mentally marking Rafik down as the one with more initiative.

[Pcm979]

Agent X kicked back in his chair, grinning easily. His blond hair was slicked back in a jet-setting, up-and-coming-young-businessman style, with a fringe hanging into his aqua blue eyes. He lit a cigar and studied the man sitting opposite him.

The man was doing his best to appear classy, and failing miserably. Bulky and shaven-headed, he looked like he'd been crowbarred into his poorly-made suit, and wearing sunglasses indoors was just cliché.

"So." X said brightly, tapping the waitress on the ass as she dropped off his drink. The bottle had a large skull-and-crossbones on it, and the glass she'd poured a little into looked like it was smoking. "Arms." He continued.

"Arms." Said the huge gangster nervously. This wasn't how it was supposed to go down.

"Guns. Rockets, bombs. Illegal weaponry." X breezed, puffing a huge curl of smoke into the man's face. "You have them, I want them."

"You can't say that." Hissed the gangster, his fear shifting to anger. "Not here."

"Why not? Everyone here's your man." X asked with a raised eyebrow. "Give me the shit, I give you the money and we all walk away happy." He conciously imitated the lower-class accent and manner of speaking stereotyped to the criminal classes.

"I will not deal with you." Growled the man, standing up quickly, the outline of a holster visible against his bulk.

"Oh, you will. One way or another." X said softly. "I'm with Internal Security."

The man gaped for a second, then reached for his gun. But X was already moving, kicking the chair back onto the floor and flinging his lit cigar- Right into the drink. WHOOMPH. As he hit the floor and rolled to his feet, the chaos unfolding around him, he sighed happily.

"I love my job."

[Surlethe]

General Johnathan Adams leaned back in his recliner. Ahh, he thought; life is excellent. Retired, renowned, respected; what more could one ask for? The fire flickered as he wiggled his toes, soaking in the warmth. Behind him, the door opened. Eyes closed, he said, "Bates, is that you?"

No sound beyond footsteps.

Adams smiled: a little smile; almost sad. There were three gunshots, and he swiveled his chair to look at the would-be assassin. Sixth one this week. They're getting more persistent. He pressed the button on his chair. "Bates, would you please come in and have the mess cleaned up? We'll need a new rug in here tonight -- you know my preferences."

Bates' voice responded hollowly, "Yes, sire."

Adams rose, and, stepping gingerly around the body, made his way to the balcony door. Opening it, he stepped outside into the warm evening air.

The wind of ten thousand voices raised in a unison shout threw his hair back, and the blast made him cover his ears. He raised his hands, and there was silence.

Ahh, he thought, rabble-rousing. This is the life.

[Bratty]

Down in a cold, dank basement, Virginia, also known as Gin to the guys she has fought beside, curled her sweaty body up to another chin up. Her body was a well oiled machine. She grunts, "99" as she pulls herself up for another. Her mind is blank with pain and the inevitible pleasure that endorphins provide. But it is more than the endorphins. She imagines in busting in some of the faces of her oppressors. She imagines every time she pulls herself up for another chin up, one of them trying to keep her and the cause down. And then singular focus, she imagines holding the Agents to her knees with barrel of gun to their forehead, and following the path of the bullet as it shoots the brains through the backside.

She is a vigilante with a cause.

All of her free time that she is not on mission is spent fine tuning her body and fighting skills. She is the best tool she has at her disposal. Especially because a lot of those pricks go in for the guts and glory. Not her. She protects, and also has a score to settle.

The phone rings. Goddamn it, who could be calling her? It isn't like she is miss popular. Granted, she is easy on the eyes, but she does not make herself up in the slightest, and any man gets near, she breaks whatever body part tries to touch her.

She grabs a towel and begins to wipe her body down. "Hello?" She says in a quiet voice. After a few moments on the other end, "Major Kalligafi, sir yes sir. Yes sir, I will be there at 16:00 hour."

She hangs up the phone. A new director. Hopefully this one has more balls then the last one. Nearly got her and her entire task force assigned to her killed on a bombing mission because the asshole would not listen to them. She remembers it clearly. The blood, the dying, the fires, her screaming into the walkie talkie, "For gods sake man, we were ambushed. Someone leaked our plan. We have to pull out." He ordered her to hold the line. It was a suicide mission. And she knew that he was just throwing men, HER men, good men, to the wind. She gave the order to pull back, despite the directors orders. The director got what was coming to him. She got the crap beaten out of her and released from duty. 47 trained and skilled fighters died that day. Only a dozen or so survived, herself included. All of them had wounds, even if they were not external.

Now the Major is pulling her back from her release. There is a new director. Bout time to meet the fucker and evaluate him - friend ...or...foe.