A United State of Terrorism
September 12 2009: major middle east losses incurred when nuetron bombs are deployed
October 12 2009: Putin is 'elected' new Tsar of Russian Empire. Purges begin, creating a new socialist country.
November 4 2009: the remnants of the United States signs an unconditional surrender. All officers above O-2 are marked for death. All intelligence personnel are also marked for death though most backups were purged by fast thinking information officers. The US is now a client nation of the Russian Empire, occupied by Imperial troops.
December 24 2009: 17 backpack neutron bombs destroy the Chinese government. China joins the Empire.
December 27 2009: a cabal of information officers begin planning: they decide on training a new breed of spies, kidnapping the children of Imperial Occupiers to raise as infiltrators, teaching them old school and new school spycraft.
August 6 2024: the first infiltrator is accepted to the Imperial War College.
February 6 2034: Protag O'Nist infiltrates into Russia and begins using the network her predecessors have built to create havoc and prepare for a decisive counterstrike.
Watch_dogs meets tom clancy meets fallout/ultraviolet
Protag O'Nist is a terrorist. She will kill innocents, destroy infrastructure, and sow terror to pave the way to do what must be done to win back America.
Practical magic:
Flawless illusions, able to hide much larger items as smaller ones unless someone touches them which shatters the illusion.
H-space: a neutral, timeless space where nonsentient items can be held. Food also can be held there or transmitted. Transmitting through H-space is the ultimate food sterilizer, removing all deadly pathogens, irradiation, and the like.
Protagonists tech:
Colt 1911 assassin (fixed 8" barrel upper, 3x blue ring scope, suppressor, foregrip, stock)
Colt 1911 GI (fixed 5" barrel upper, night sights, extended magazine, laser/flashlight)
Kriss Vector (11" integrated suppressor barrel, magpul angled foregrip w/integrated laser/light, acog)
Colt AR-10 rifle (10 round flush mags, 3-44x nightforce shroud scope, bipod, infrared laser designator)
Colt AR-15 (60 round coffin mags, acog, integrally suppressed 14.5" barrel, magpul angled foregrip w/integrated laser/light)
Infrared laser designator (long distance)
Technomagery target designators (target)
C4/ball bearings
Mini-grenades
Laser trip-mines
Capabilities:
2035 August 4:
Alexander Palace, 1245 UTC
The Palace: once the home of tsars, now the home of the new Russian Fascist.
I snapped a few more pictures then slipped backwards into the shadows, slipping my tubeweave hood into place, 'disappearing' off everything except motion sensors and those were defeated by my slow movement.
As soon as I was far enough away, I flipped the hood off then let the nanotube cloak slide off and brushed a few wisps of sweaty sun-streaked hair away—I'd chop it all off if it wouldn't blow my covers—and started jogging in my hotel's 'complimentary' sweatsuit.
As I ran, I constructed a three dimensional map of the palace grounds, placing cameras mentally. My network would take care of that, a grand necessity since America only had four working satellites anymore and launching new ones was difficult. Japanese officials were compromised and/or sympathetic to American interests but it was difficult to hide imaging capabilities and launching technomancical satellites was impossible. No American cell was going to allow technomancy to fall into Red hands.
I heard a siren and saw green and blue lights flashing and slowed, sighing.
Turning, I saw two Imperial Magistrates approaching in their incredibly stupid steelplate armor. Putin was fucking insane. It might have looked good but it wouldn't stop a bullet much less the polymer weave blades i wore on my wrist—though hidden in H-Space at the moment for my safety.
I plastered a nervous smile as the two leering IMs, reeking of vodka—who ever said that shit was scentless is a fool—came to a stop, one stating, "Papers!"
I answered in broken Russian with a Japanese-Swedish accent—my main cover was as a Japanese raised Swedish citizen, the only country whose sovereignty Russia wasn't threatening—as I handed him my identification packet, four plastic ID cards(Swedish, Japanese, and EuroZone ID's and an Imperial Russia work Visa), one RFID card with my current resident alien status, and the sixth was a mini-computer that looked like a border pass card but was actually a fingerprint, DNA, biometric, and retina reader, designed to compromise identities when it was near a municipal computer system.
I repressed a shudder as their eyes roved up and down my 5'11" 111 pound body, especially annoyed by how their eyes felt as if they were actually groping my chest. Stupid genetics, I thought. D/DD cups[if only they would fucking standardize] were a pain in the ass—well, chest—when running, shooting, anything required to retake America.
Finally they looked at their beeping tablet and let me go, making crude comments about my ass as I headed back to the Imperial, the hotel I was staying at for the lingerie shoot I was doing for Pravda's Fall edition.
😡
Sitting in my room staring at my fauxbook pro—when America was destroyed, the Chinese just kept producing American goods with even lower standards—idly rubbing the back of my photographer's caucasian puppy and waiting for him to stop talking to me so I could really work.
There was a knock at the door and I said, "Be right back, Iuri. That's my dinner."
"Just bring Net back before you go to bed."
Net ruffed at his name surprisingly deeply for a three month old and I closed the FBP.
When i opened the door I saw the waiter, who happened to be a cell member, smile at me. "Hello Miss Häst. Welcome to the Imperial. Your dinner and a care package from your family." Lisbet Häst, my public identity. Or one of them.
I let him in and he took out his phone from his pocket, flipped the device in half, turning it into a security probe.
As he checked the room I looked at the dinner. Borscht, bread, a Russian wine—and doesn't that sound hideous, and Russian chocolate—full of lead. Nothing was edible.
The cell member saw my grimace and smirked then waved his fingers. The illusion of the terrible meal disappeared to be replaced with Sushi shadowwalked in from Japan not that long ago as evidenced by the receipt. I smiled and sat down as he finished checking my room.
He nodded. The room was secure. The box disappeared a small attaché case was revealed. "Supplies from Sec. And a new H-space modulator." He pulled an epi-pen from his pocket and jammed it into my throat once he was sure I had swallowed.
A pained grimace and a couple cupfuls of sake and and I rubbed at the spot. The nanogoo would migrate to the base of my skull and integrate with the colony there.
He nodded goodbye then his eyes went wide when i tucked a thick wad of rubles in his hand but he smiled and left as my HUD informed me it was now version 8.8.4.4.
The map box in the lower right corner of my right eye disappeared then was replaced by a slicker looking map devoid of extraneous information—elevation in a hotel room was rather pointless—as the compass at the top to the screen migrated to the bottom and the weapons selector went from a row of numbers to a radial wheel off to the left. I concentrated on weapons and the radial showed my eleven weapons currently stored in H-space then a moment later my Colt Peacemaker filled my left hand. It disappeared and my Colt 1911 Assassin appeared, scoped, suppressed, and sporting a fixed barrel upper for preciser shooting. I decided two working perfectly was fine for now and would test my others later.
It went back to its storage space and I fell backwards onto the bed, smiling as Net crawled onto the bed to curl up next to me.
Tired, I took him back to Iuri then settled in to read more about our targets from my real computer, a swiss built Droid tablet i kept in H-space, the data hidden in high res headshots of myself and my model friends. I smiled. Being a beautiful blonde for my main cover was great, my sex life was filled with sexy women and, the few times I met a man I wanted, they were easy to pull too.
Shedding my clothes I pulled on a pair of sheer bikini panties and a matching tank then settled into bed, asleep almost instantly.
😡
My assistant—not a member of the cell, just a local model that wasn't as famous—awoke me precisely at seven with a plate of the excellent local yoghurt—all the Russians seemed to do right in my opinion—covered in honey and mint and a large plate of tropical fruits and i fell onto it like a ravenous beast as she spoke in broken english (still the universal language no matter how much the tsar hated it) informing me of the day's schedule.
I nodded along, admiring her outfit. Fashion had gone cyclical and the elegant gothic lolita look had become hot in Imperial Russia with an Imperial Russian bent for the boys and a late nineteenth century look for the girls.
When she turned and bent over to pick up something, I grinned at the new view. Six garter straps holding a pair of ornate stockings and sheer ruffled panties over them and a number of piercings down there I wanted to tug on as I ate her to a gooey mess.
But she was my assistant. Maybe the day before I left I'd invite her to bed. Or look her up with a different face.
It began. Computers, televisions, radios, any type of media transmission across russia and the world were filled with "There is nothing wrong with your television set. Do not attempt to adjust the picture. We are controlling transmission. If we wish to make it louder, we will bring up the volume. If we wish to make it softer, we will tune it to a whisper. We can reduce the focus to a soft blur, or sharpen it to crystal clarity. We will control the horizontal. We will control the vertical. For the next hour, sit quietly and we will control all that you see and hear. You are about to experience the awe and mystery which reaches from the inner mind to...." In each country subtitles translated for those who didn't speak English.
It faded out to me, standing tall and proud in a USMC uniform, rank of captain on my collar. "There's no need to change the channel Russia, as the man said, I control it. The net too. And the radio.
"I am Liberty Belle, voice and mastermind for A Free America.
"Russia, you will release American interests, free all political prisoners, repatriate our citizens, pay restitution, and submit to your masters.
"See our will.
"I am the world's greatest terrorist," I said to the camera on me then pressed a button on the remote i held up to the camera's field of view. Behind me on screens live feeds of Alexander Palace, the Moscow subway system, St. Petersburg's Grand Church, The Imperial Ballet Centre, Lubyanka Square, Red Square, and the centralized power stations throughout moscow exploded in gouts of fire and holograms of flames sprung up, framing me, creating flickering shadows. "this is only the beginning russia. you will free america or we will strike again. give us Putin's head or your children die. liberty belle out."
the screen shifted and the image of me disappeared, showing the flag of Imperial russia burning in front of alexander palace in rubble. the us flag--the old us flag, not the new red one with 53 stars under the hammer and sickle--rose high and patriotic music began playing, an image of american soldiers began to fade in, building a hospital then cowardly attacked by their then russian allies, then our symbol. the american eagle, clutching a bloody dagger in the sinister and a bomb in the right. no need for olive branches, we'll never settle for anything but our freedom.
the members of my cell began packing up. this site would be abandoned but our technology would come with us. the commie pigs had yet to crack technomancy and there was no way we'd leave anything for them to find to get it now.
across russia, televisions, radios, computers all began doing what they had been doing before we had taken control.
my face shifted from the well paid model i had been for the past eleven years to my true face, a dusky natural redhead but the same figure.
My team nodded and we disappeared, shadowstepping from the safehouse to another. The old disappeared in a gout of hellfire.
A visitor was waiting. My father, smiling. He took my face in his hands and kissed my cheeks. "My little freedom fighter!"
I knew i wasn't biologically his. every member of my class were half-Russian at the least, most of us the children of the raped or prostitutes or the stolen children of high ranking officers--myself--shown eventually the horrors our biological parents wrought. my dna donors run a camp for dissidents where new tortures are tested. or they did until i killed them as my graduation mission.
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