01-23-2016, 06:12 AM
Counter-Terrorist Initiative Headquarters, Capital City, Neu Berlin.
15/09/822 A.S
15/09/822 A.S
The Capital was quiet. It usually was, at this time of year. It was emerging from the dark cycle, and people waited in anticipation for the sun to shine once again on the planet. Below, on the lightly snowed streets, people bustled in large winter coats, dragging bags or children behind them. During the dark cycle, people tended to get a little... mad. Reported cases of homicide, robbery and vandalism increased dramatically. But it wasn't just the citizens that had a tenacity to lose their minds, it was the ones who defended the Republic that seemed to tip the most.
Could I ever blame them? No. I've worked with the Polizei, and the MND, for a while. To them, life is always in a dark cycle, always shrouded in some form of uncertainty or mystery. Admittedly, in most cases that works in their favor. The CTI, the Counter-Terrorist Initiative, is ruthless at detective work and uncovering enemies of the state. Their obsession with their work transcends passion and delves deep into the heart of insanity, as they exhaust themselves studying every detail of every instance of evidence, in some from of sick romance with security. Always in a dark cycle, I conclude. The large sliding metal doors behind me opened with a swish, and I heard light footsteps approach.
"Brandt," she said "they'll see you now."
The CTI is no ordinary charter into anti-revolutionary action. Its directors and heads are made up of the finest minds of the MND and police state departments. They have branches upon branches of operatives and assets that they can throw away if needed. They're merciless, as many agents will tell you, as they recall the instances where targets were executed before even the slightest interrogation could occur. They have power, and they aren't afraid to use it in order to make a demonstration of themselves. How lucky I must be, I think, to be working with such a wonderful organization.
I enter the large meeting room. Four of them sat at a table, which was the only illuminated object in the room. Behind them, in the inky darkness, I saw the gentle movements of other people, watching and listening. I took a seat as they slid the folder of neatly aligned, stamped and organized documents across the steel table, and into my hands. I flicked through them as they spoke.
"As we have suspected, the HVEB have been lobbying more support from the middle class of..." The HVEB are a Hamburg political group, or something like that. They appeal to corporate figure heads and the financially rich to move against the government. The brief outlined that they've been trying to install a "terrorist sympathetic politician", alongside using populist support to incite riots and unlawful behaviors. The briefs were always one sided, I've found. Always paints the other side as the definite villain, never exposes their humanity.
"...they've been trying to cover their tracks, yet the work is amateur. They've been leaving bread crumbs where ever they go..." Amateur work. There was a certain sting to the way the threatening intelligence officer said that. Of course they mean its child's play, they don't expect much from what is essentially a lobbyist group. I suppose that's a side effect from the dark cycle, everyone else always appears to be inferior, except yourself.
"...we've traced down their support to the 8th Sector of Harburg city. We have reason to believe that the density of the amount those sympathetic to their cause is far higher in Sector 8 than anywhere else in Hamburg." I smirked to myself. 'We have reason to believe' was jargon for 'we're totally speculating here, but there appears to be a mild correlation between these two factors.'
"We're moving you to Sector 8 immediately. We need you on call and ready to act at a minute's notice once we uncover the suspects." Another side effect of being caught in a perpetual dark cycle is that people become paranoid. They want the target dealt with, since their existence is a threat to the Republic, or something like that. Once they find this person's identity, they want them neutralized at the click of the fingers.
I listened a while longer, while they outlined the middle class flat I'd be moved into. I signed the acceptance of the brief (I doubt they'd let me leave without it), and I was off. Out the door and on my way to Harburg City.
19 days had passed since I first stepped onto the icy city, and stared at it's tall, looming towers, that gently brushed the sky. Harburg City was really something else. While most cities kept to a horizontal axis when expanding, Harburg flipped that idea upwards. The entirety of the urban landscape consisted of pillars that shot up into the sky, connected through a pedestrian highway of walkways and hovering platforms. Atop the skyscrapers were heating systems that guaranteed the richer patrons of the top were warm and cozy in their luxurious spas and king sized beds, while those who lived in the slums below defaulted on wrapping themselves up in thin blankets, while gathered around a dying fireplace. I tried not to think too hard about the bottom slums. I wasn't being paid to evaluate someone's life, I was being paid to end one.
As the days passed from within my comfortable flat, I almost started to fit in with the citizens. I began to recognize their faces down the hallways, in the ration stores and down the narrow alleyway streets. I was alarmed by this, as the notion of assassination had never left my mind, it now only brewed larger as I recognized that I might have to silence someone that I know, or that knows me. Could I bare to see them squirm as their skin turned pale, their eyes gently fading and blood draining from their body and onto my hands, so that I may arise baptized in the blood of murder? I shook the thought away, I wasn't going to be caught in the dark cycle, I repeated to myself.
I swiped my neural-net card at the door. With a satisfying beep and click, I pushed the door open. Home sweet home, I thought. My watch buzzed. A message, simply titled "Job" and from the "CTI". I gulped, they had found the target.
Cristofer Breisacher was a part of the richer society of Harburg. He owned a manor, and a servant that attended to it too. I flashed quickly through the images headquarters had provided to me of the interior of his home, as I hastily strapped my boots to my feet. The manor was extravagant, with polished wooden floors, mahogany tables and burgundy chairs. It was probably warm too, I thought.
Then I was out into the streets in the sky, walking past people at a fast pace, then lightly jogging once they had left my sight. I began to ascend on a platform, then I zig-zagged across the maze of pillars, walkways and people, until I had finally reached the Breisacher Manor. I approached the front door, and knocked. Discretion wasn't totally endorsed for enemies of the state. They were to be made an example of.
The door opened. I pulled the taser. The butler fell to the ground. "Servant down, investigating scene."
"Be thorough." The response came. I was. I flipped the mahogany table, checking for carvings under neath. Various vases and ornaments in the doorway were thrown to the floor, in case they held important information. I kicked out the legs of the chairs, just for a little fun. I heard the door open.
"Joachim? I'm home. Joachim?" came the voice. Target identified. He moved through into the dining room, and continued calling. "Joachim?" I closed in from behind as he admired the mess I had made of his house. I pulled my silenced pistol, aimed it to his head. I hesitated. He began to turn back towards the exit and in a moment of anxiously fueled action, I pulled the trigger. He fell to the ground.
"Target neutralized." I said, rising to a standing position and glaring at Chisofer's body.
I laid out the evidence on the kitchen bench. A datapad, a weapon, a handful of files from an office and pictures frames, with images of his family on them.I slid them all into the black bag and headed for the exit. On my way, I snatched the keys off of Joachim, who was now awake, yet tied to a support beam and targeted for police pick up.
A quick run over the datapad proved it to be a gold mine for evidence. A large amount of information, contacts and data had recently been exported to a character named "Jane". I was going to get paid, I thought, I was going to get out this city, and I was going to escape the dark cycle.
Could I ever blame them? No. I've worked with the Polizei, and the MND, for a while. To them, life is always in a dark cycle, always shrouded in some form of uncertainty or mystery. Admittedly, in most cases that works in their favor. The CTI, the Counter-Terrorist Initiative, is ruthless at detective work and uncovering enemies of the state. Their obsession with their work transcends passion and delves deep into the heart of insanity, as they exhaust themselves studying every detail of every instance of evidence, in some from of sick romance with security. Always in a dark cycle, I conclude. The large sliding metal doors behind me opened with a swish, and I heard light footsteps approach.
"Brandt," she said "they'll see you now."
The CTI is no ordinary charter into anti-revolutionary action. Its directors and heads are made up of the finest minds of the MND and police state departments. They have branches upon branches of operatives and assets that they can throw away if needed. They're merciless, as many agents will tell you, as they recall the instances where targets were executed before even the slightest interrogation could occur. They have power, and they aren't afraid to use it in order to make a demonstration of themselves. How lucky I must be, I think, to be working with such a wonderful organization.
I enter the large meeting room. Four of them sat at a table, which was the only illuminated object in the room. Behind them, in the inky darkness, I saw the gentle movements of other people, watching and listening. I took a seat as they slid the folder of neatly aligned, stamped and organized documents across the steel table, and into my hands. I flicked through them as they spoke.
"As we have suspected, the HVEB have been lobbying more support from the middle class of..." The HVEB are a Hamburg political group, or something like that. They appeal to corporate figure heads and the financially rich to move against the government. The brief outlined that they've been trying to install a "terrorist sympathetic politician", alongside using populist support to incite riots and unlawful behaviors. The briefs were always one sided, I've found. Always paints the other side as the definite villain, never exposes their humanity.
"...they've been trying to cover their tracks, yet the work is amateur. They've been leaving bread crumbs where ever they go..." Amateur work. There was a certain sting to the way the threatening intelligence officer said that. Of course they mean its child's play, they don't expect much from what is essentially a lobbyist group. I suppose that's a side effect from the dark cycle, everyone else always appears to be inferior, except yourself.
"...we've traced down their support to the 8th Sector of Harburg city. We have reason to believe that the density of the amount those sympathetic to their cause is far higher in Sector 8 than anywhere else in Hamburg." I smirked to myself. 'We have reason to believe' was jargon for 'we're totally speculating here, but there appears to be a mild correlation between these two factors.'
"We're moving you to Sector 8 immediately. We need you on call and ready to act at a minute's notice once we uncover the suspects." Another side effect of being caught in a perpetual dark cycle is that people become paranoid. They want the target dealt with, since their existence is a threat to the Republic, or something like that. Once they find this person's identity, they want them neutralized at the click of the fingers.
I listened a while longer, while they outlined the middle class flat I'd be moved into. I signed the acceptance of the brief (I doubt they'd let me leave without it), and I was off. Out the door and on my way to Harburg City.
Sector 8, Harburg City, Planet Hamburg.
04/10/822 A.S
04/10/822 A.S
19 days had passed since I first stepped onto the icy city, and stared at it's tall, looming towers, that gently brushed the sky. Harburg City was really something else. While most cities kept to a horizontal axis when expanding, Harburg flipped that idea upwards. The entirety of the urban landscape consisted of pillars that shot up into the sky, connected through a pedestrian highway of walkways and hovering platforms. Atop the skyscrapers were heating systems that guaranteed the richer patrons of the top were warm and cozy in their luxurious spas and king sized beds, while those who lived in the slums below defaulted on wrapping themselves up in thin blankets, while gathered around a dying fireplace. I tried not to think too hard about the bottom slums. I wasn't being paid to evaluate someone's life, I was being paid to end one.
As the days passed from within my comfortable flat, I almost started to fit in with the citizens. I began to recognize their faces down the hallways, in the ration stores and down the narrow alleyway streets. I was alarmed by this, as the notion of assassination had never left my mind, it now only brewed larger as I recognized that I might have to silence someone that I know, or that knows me. Could I bare to see them squirm as their skin turned pale, their eyes gently fading and blood draining from their body and onto my hands, so that I may arise baptized in the blood of murder? I shook the thought away, I wasn't going to be caught in the dark cycle, I repeated to myself.
I swiped my neural-net card at the door. With a satisfying beep and click, I pushed the door open. Home sweet home, I thought. My watch buzzed. A message, simply titled "Job" and from the "CTI". I gulped, they had found the target.
Cristofer Breisacher was a part of the richer society of Harburg. He owned a manor, and a servant that attended to it too. I flashed quickly through the images headquarters had provided to me of the interior of his home, as I hastily strapped my boots to my feet. The manor was extravagant, with polished wooden floors, mahogany tables and burgundy chairs. It was probably warm too, I thought.
Then I was out into the streets in the sky, walking past people at a fast pace, then lightly jogging once they had left my sight. I began to ascend on a platform, then I zig-zagged across the maze of pillars, walkways and people, until I had finally reached the Breisacher Manor. I approached the front door, and knocked. Discretion wasn't totally endorsed for enemies of the state. They were to be made an example of.
The door opened. I pulled the taser. The butler fell to the ground. "Servant down, investigating scene."
"Be thorough." The response came. I was. I flipped the mahogany table, checking for carvings under neath. Various vases and ornaments in the doorway were thrown to the floor, in case they held important information. I kicked out the legs of the chairs, just for a little fun. I heard the door open.
"Joachim? I'm home. Joachim?" came the voice. Target identified. He moved through into the dining room, and continued calling. "Joachim?" I closed in from behind as he admired the mess I had made of his house. I pulled my silenced pistol, aimed it to his head. I hesitated. He began to turn back towards the exit and in a moment of anxiously fueled action, I pulled the trigger. He fell to the ground.
"Target neutralized." I said, rising to a standing position and glaring at Chisofer's body.
I laid out the evidence on the kitchen bench. A datapad, a weapon, a handful of files from an office and pictures frames, with images of his family on them.I slid them all into the black bag and headed for the exit. On my way, I snatched the keys off of Joachim, who was now awake, yet tied to a support beam and targeted for police pick up.
A quick run over the datapad proved it to be a gold mine for evidence. A large amount of information, contacts and data had recently been exported to a character named "Jane". I was going to get paid, I thought, I was going to get out this city, and I was going to escape the dark cycle.