Thomas Grimshaw

Liars, everyone knows I'M The Most Interesting Man In RoK. I like this idea. O/

Thomas chuckled, "I have the feeling, that there are things he's done that you probably wouldn't want him to tell you about." With that, he leaned forward, elbows on his knees and face in his hands. He listened to the rhythmic turning of the helicopter blades, a symphony of machines as opposed to that of instruments. "Usually, when a man carries around spring-operated knives in his sleeves, he knows how to use them." ---- As the door opened, Shane's foot made contact and jammed his ankle. He limped back and landed against the wall, still managing a contemptuous glare at Violet. [i]"So, something about Vester Wenzel has obviously aroused your ire. I know our system isn't perfect, so what did we miss about him?"[/i] Shane ignored the question and looked from Violet to Michelle with a stare so intent as if he were trying to crawl around inside her skull and peek into her very soul. "You know Sorensen you were right...you really can't trust anyone. Just letting you know in advance: I'm going to destroy both of you, and everything you love. Then, its Carter's turn." He slid down the wall into a sitting position, looking at the ground. "You think you know pain girl? You think you know pain? Let me tell you, I've discovered the true nature of pain. My friend Vester, he helped me with that."

Not according to my screen. However, I suppose it is probably a timezone issue and would be a moot point to debate over, so I'll leave it. As for my commentary on this thread in general, I'll give a HEARTY HAIL TO NpO and RoK! o/ And a hearty (if not uncouth) "fail" to the people who have nothing better to do but whine about such a treaty, or the past in general.

[quote name='kriekfreak' date='01 April 2010 - 03:55 AM' timestamp='1270112121' post='2243507'] I think (and sincerely hope) this is an April fools joke. [/quote] [quote]Posted Yesterday, 09:59 PM[/quote] I love to disappoint.

"Yes, yes I would be Thomas Grimshaw." He flattened down a lone strand of hair sticking up from his head, after noticing it in the almost polished interior of the helicopter. He racked the slide on his pistol ejecting the spent round as the helicopter took off, an effective sacrilege at his efforts of grooming. He ejected the magazine with his thumb and let it fall out of the open door. He tossed the weapon out along with it. Leaning back against the seats he looked from face to face, observing the strike team. All masked, muscles tensed, locked loaded and ready to rock. "So, you're Anthony's daughter. He isn't the normal suit you know. He's got history, you can tell by the way he carries himself. He's different than others, heavier foot steps, sweeps of the perimeter from left to right, callused hands...not to mention the spring-operated knives he has in his sleeves. Tell me, what [u]did[/u] he do before this whole political thing? ---- [i]Twenty-six...Twenty-seven...Twenty-eight...Twenty-nine...[/i] Shane's one-legged kicks at the door shook his whole body, chaffing the skin on his cuffed wrists, sending vibrations and severe pain up into his calf muscle. "I KNOW YOU'RE OUT THERE CARTER! FACE ME LIKE A MAN!" he shouted the same thing he'd been shouting for a good half hour, although his call-out was getting progressively weaker. [i]Vester Wenzel, wherever you are...when I'm through with every god-damned collaborator on this pathetic excuse for a hellhole, I'm coming for you. I know you can hear me...in the day, in the night, in your dreams, YOU WILL HEAR ME.[/i]

[i]"Well Brisbane has always been a city that prided itself on its cultural achievements, while the nations of the world show their military power, their economic prowess, we provide our population with a city and a country, trust me the cultural reform is sweeping all of Australia. But we provide the people with a reason to think, with a reason to want to live here. During the reign of the Lady Protector, this was the Cultural Center of the Pacific, I can only hope Australia returns Brisbane and the rest of the country to that status. As to your life, the people of the USET will always have a place in my heart to be defended from chaos and any aggressor that comes your way. That I swear."[/i] Michael smiled, "Your philosophy reminds me of my own leader's. Give purpose to life and pride to country. I am grateful for your protection in our time of need. As long as I and my compatriots rule over USET, you shall hold a special place in our minds and our souls. In battle we will defend you, in peace aid you, and should a defeat ever come, we will be the first riding in on the cavalry. Now, as for land expansion, I am here with plenipotentiary status due to the...interim, state of USET's government." Michael stepped closer and cupped a hand to the side of his face, whispering into Hannah's ear, "Although between you and I, The Unified Commonwealth of Seraphim will soon be the nomenclature. Hail democracy and pax populi." He stepped back. "Back to the subject at hand though. As long as there are no cultural rights we would be intruding on, I am certain we could expand to the islands you mentioned. It would certainly ease the burden of our population, as well as providing other benefits. But, let us discuss business later in private. If it is acceptable," he gave his hand to her, "I would very much enjoy a dance."

"Please, call me Michael." With that, he followed Valeria's movements and his eyes beheld Hannah. For some reason he hadn't expected the queen to quite so stunning but expectations were at least in this case, deceiving as they said. He approached slowly with his hands visible, for the moment pride and trust were meaningless to him, he could be humble to repay what he had been given. Upon reaching Hannah, Michael lowered himself to one knee momentarily and took one of her hands in both of his own. "Ms. Asgeirsson, I make no mistake when I say, it is an honor and a privilege to make your acquaintance, I would like to thank you personally for the air I am breathing now, for without action on your own part, I would surely not have such a gift." With that, he rose. Perhaps in the future he might be regarded as an equal in her eyes, but what he had at current would suffice for the while for he was in her debt. "It has been said that if you save a man's life, you are responsible for it for as long as either he or you lives. I will hold you to no such burden," he chuckled, "what you have given me already is precious, as is the pleasure of visiting such a beautiful city and an entertaining event. I see you are in no lack of cultural talents," he gesticulated with a sweep of the arm to the musicians. "I am glad that in such tumultuous times, men and women with so much to lose with words can trust each other like this, in thought and deed."

[i]"Well I did hear about the recent problems in USET, actually Mr. Christensen, you were the evacuees correct? I believe the Queen had asked about your people, that she had a greater plan for your people within the Oceanic Union. Perhaps you would like to be introduced?"[/i] Michael clapped his hands together lightly, "Yes we were caught between a fusillade of gunfire and a hard place. But let us not dwell on such things, this is a night not for sorrow but for celebration of the saccharine. That said, I would very much enjoy being introduced to your Queen, I would like to thank her personally for all she has done for us, my dear."

“…sir, I really should come inside.” “No, you really should stay in the car.” “Sir, after all that’s happened do you really think—” “Al, let me tell you something. With all the problems we have, we need to make friends. Do you know how you make friends?” “How’s that sir?” “By not making them think you’re a crazy loon who doesn’t go anywhere without a bodyguard in a gas-mask…no matter how attractive they may look in them.” Al chuckled momentarily, in retrospect; the gas-mask might have been a poor choice in attire. “Well, thank you sir but…” “No. I’m going inside, I’m going to relax, I’m going to earn us some points in the international relationships department, and I’m going to thank our Australian allies for all they’ve done for us. They’ve saved my life already; I am not going insult them.” “Yes…sir.” With that final assurance that the matter was settled, Michael Christensen looked himself over in the mirror quickly. He wore a black, silk velvet suit with a raspberry sorbet high-collared dress shirt. His shoes were identical in color to his suit, with a slight heel to them. Finally on his right index finger he wore a signet ring displaying his family’s seal, two snakes biting each other’s tails surrounding a shield. “You know, for having been in a fist fight, having been shot at, and having survived a military coup d’état no more than twenty-four hours ago, I look damn well.” “Yes you do sir.” “Oh cut the formal nomenclature Al, it ill becomes you.” “Yes s-, Michael.” “That’s more like it.” Michael stepped out of the back seat, but paused before he shut the door. He stuck his head in and whispered, “Feel free hit the town while I’m in, lord knows you could use some livening up.” “I’ll stay.” “Pity.” It was inside that Michael’s mood hit its peak of the week, so to speak. Having not been formally introduced to [i]any[/i] of the Australian government, much less the Queen, he decided it would be most polite to seek out the host and introduce himself. Having been informed of the event on his flight in, Michael had quickly been briefed on Valeria’s appearance and status, which made it easy for him to hone in on her…that and the fact that she was in a sense the life of the party. Sliding through the crowd with surprising ease for a man of 6’2” height, he approached the woman with a slim smile and his paw of a right hand extended, “Ms. Sangral? If I may introduce myself, my name is Michael Christensen, I hail from the islands of Micronesia under the dominion of ‘The United Sovereign Entities of Tanelorn’ and I would like to formally thank you and your entire government for my life.” The words he spoke, while eloquent to the point of sounding put on, could not have been closer to his feelings. While a bit of assuming and generalizing may have been present in the statement, the intent was sincere.

The atrium of the training facility was auspicious in contrast to rest of the base; no shadows hid in the corners of the eyes here, no stoic stamped steel architecture ensconced the recruits. But for all its creature comforts, it as all such places was one laced with the greatest poison…complacency. The recruits’ presence here was calculated and methodical, for no matter what pleasant bonhomie seemed to overtake the atmosphere, Shane knew each step in was one step deeper into the labyrinth. He had enemies; everyone who had ever stood up for something had enemies, however most men had never been surrounded by their enemies. Now, as always, Shane was surrounded by his enemies. The only difference between now and the last fourteen years, was that now he had no way out. And while his confidence had for the moment returned…Shane was still “the good soldier” when Violet beckoned him. Sat in the chair, he set to work on the task at hand. No flashy techniques were necessary or available, due to the nature of this test being improvisation, rather than prepared infiltration. In minutes he had administrative permissions, and had several low-level security files open so as to avoid rebuke. Scanning over one of the files, immigration records, he noticed a file labeled “USET Immigrants of note”. It was small, not exceeding the kilobyte size. [i]Fair game[/i], Shane thought. He opened the file and saw a list of names, each with their own separate file, presumably a dossier. With no real goal in mind, he began to scroll through the names… …as he found one he recognized, his grip tightened on the mouse, the cheap plastic cracking. It was a low popping kind of sound, but if you were close, or paying attention, you could hear it. [i]Vester, Wenzel…here? [/i] [i]They’re here…for me…[/i] [i]This is why Thomas wanted me here…[/i] [i]He set me up.[/i] His hand twitched, slowly at first, then a constant tick, tick tick. He stood. His hand reached for his knife… …and in a flash, his knife went for Violet’s throat. ----- [i]"We'll get you to the roof, where we have aircraft waiting to evacuate you, our medical personnel, and any loyal members of your government to a safe location. Your wife can easily be carried out on a stretcher."[/i] Thomas listened carefully to the plan and although he was hesitant, he had little other option. “Well then, Ms. Harlem,” he made the connection, “let’s get a move on shall we?” One by one the injured members of government made their way up the elevator shaft, with Zhanna being the last. Those not injured made their ways up the staircases, escorted by a few Lillians. Once the groups coalesced, the high government members made their way into two of the vehicles, while the military split up between them, and a third transport helicopter, the one attended by Thomas, Zhanna, and the Lieutenant. As the departure began, Thomas took the Lieutenant’s hand in both of his, “Thank you…now, if I may be so bold, what is your name?”

Remembering the blow to the head from his last defiance, Shane opted out of the comment he normally would have responded with in such a situation. Besides, he knew he didn't need a badge or a patch to back up what he said. He snatched the patch and shoved it in his pocket, he could hardly be expected to attach it with an invisible sewing kit. That done, he walked at his own pace towards the building for his next test, followed by the other recruits. ---- The number of weapons pointed at "Ms. Lillian", was almost comical, even more so considering that it was the majority of the higher government members of the nation, surrounding the woman, aiming them at her. A variety of small and large caliber pistols, one rifle, and even one short-barreled shotgun, were all locked loaded and ready to go, prompting Thomas, "Gentlemen, ladies, you're all pretty, I'll take you all to the event, but I'd be a lot more comfortable if you'd all lower your weapons..." Most obeyed, Rikke, however, kept her Walther P5C readied. "I'm holding on to this." "What can I do?" Thomas sighed. "Now, Ms. Lillian, what, exactly, is your plan for getting us out of this mess...my wife isn't exactly in walking condition," he gestured to his morphine-sleep induced partner.

OOC: Vlad's surname is Desya, Shane goes by his first, If any others are bothering you, let me know. [i]"So, recruit, you continue to impress," the Major commented, something unseen in his fist. He opened his hand to reveal an insignia patch. "We, your instructors, agree that you should command this platoon for the duration of your training here." He handed the patch to Shane, and upon close inspection, it would turn out to be the insignia of a Sergeant.[/i] Shane grimaced as he handled the patch. He flipped it over in his hand and extended it back towards the major, "All due respect, I'm a killer not a leader. That patch'd be better off going to your 'XO'," he gesticulated with his left thumb towards Vlad. "If you want someone dead, wind me up and point me at them. If you want someone led, searching for someone else would be your best bet, sir. As for the test, let's get on and be done with it, shall we?" Vlad merely stood back, observing the situation.

Shane, being the 'sophisticated' fellow that he was, grabbed components for two types of improvised explosives each with varying degrees of complexity. The first, was a pipe bomb packed with match heads and bits of black powder, enough to make a bang and cause some minor injuries, but not enough to kill unless someone was particularly unlucky with a bit of shrapnel. The second was interesting, after inserting two "blank" shells from a box into a shotgun (and sawing down the barrels), he cut down a broom handle enough to fit it into the barrels. Once the device was completed, Vlad approached him. "What the hell is that abomination?" "This is a mortar." "A mortar? Are you kidding me?" Vlad began to laugh but stifled it, he didn't want to attract attention, nor did he want to break the unlit molotov cocktail now in his hand. "Don't believe me? Hand me that thing," Shane gestured to the bottle. "Fine, show me oh mighty one..." Shane turned to a bench and with work and some innovative use of industrial permabond, attached the bottle to the broomstick. Hoisting it up in front of Vlad he chuckled a bit; it was like riding a bike. ----- The zen of creation had eased Shane's tension slightly, and it looked as if the performance might as well. The rest of the group armed with a variety of improvised or modified (and basic) incendiary weapons, Vlad and Shane presented as a group, awaiting instructions on the grounds they had ran on only yesterday. ----- Most of the time the team spent would be searching and clearing, as most of the opposition had fortified and concentrated from the fifth floor down, excepting the third floor which was barricaded well enough to keep the assaulting forces out for the time being. With a bit of strength and thinking, the team might be able to rappel down the elevator shaft, although that would put them directly in a funnel of death if they tried to make their way through the lobby, rather than breaking into a ventilation shaft. Information of course was the key, something that could be found on most of the computers the men would be passing while moving through the building.

Despite the positive nature of the slight inflection, the mere change in Violet's voice struck a sickly cord down Shane's spine. That, combined with the subtle but attentive glances his way from Michelle, unnerved him. However he did his best to get some blood flowing, and bit down on his tongue a few times to keep him ready. A slight taste of iron in his mouth, he spoke "I am able to assist in training if you wish it, Ma'am. I will demonstrate whatever praxis of weaponry you wish upon command." The shock from Shane's initial listing wearing off, Vlad, noticing the furtive tells of Shane's uncomfortable state, also stepped forward. "Ma'am, I also have experience with weapons of an explosive nature. While less...intricate, I am familiar with building demolition, controlled and otherwise, hand grenades, molotov cocktails, and...modifications of civilian systems, blow-torches for example." For a moment Vlad almost grinned, but considering the demeanor of the woman in front of him, he abstained and awaited orders. -------- The men who had been opening fire from the roof lay dead or dying, their blood spewing from various wounds on their bodies thanks to the automatic gunfire of the rescue team. Once landed, the team would quickly realize that rappelling from the roof would be a long and unfeasible proposition, considering the height of the tower. The best option would be to move down the two sets of stairs in fireteams, taking at the various pockets of opposition ever couple of floors, if any men skilled in tactical reconnaissance were with the team, they would quickly be able to find a map of the building, an escape route map unique to each floor, and if they had any skills in electronics, would quickly find the location of the hospitalized Diarch, which would lead them to the immediate government officials now gathered on that floor.

Always glad to add more Vikings to the world! And on the bright side, if this doesn't work out, we'll have some more preparing for the fight against Loki.

Shane could under pressure, work for three days without sleep...that did not, however, make it an easier for him to get up and face the realities of life. The night had not been kind to him, something about Michelle...he didn't trust the weakness from her, it made him suspicious and thus he strapped a Fairbairn-Sykes in a sheath to his calf, under his camouflage pants of course. He had smuggled a break-apart small caliber pistol, but he decided against it, what was he going to do? Shoot his way off the base? No, he thought, the knife made sense even to his captors, he'd keep it. With the other recruits he assembled and followed obediently into the technical building, which was what Shane assumed it to be, a training facility in the finer arts rather than a barracks. Still on edge, Shane flinched the second he saw Violet. While the other recruits assembled in front of her, he froze, he [i]was[/i] being hunted...this confirmed it...he'd entered the wilderness of mirrors. After a moment, Shane broke out of the lapse and quickly took his place chagrin aside, muttering an expletive wasn't going to help. Then, after whatever response he garnered from his 'superior' officers, he stepped forward upon the mention of explosives and computers. "I can wire Semtex or C4 into a car nine different ways, I can make a person into a walking claymore mine, I can draft and distribute ANFO and I can use or disarm ten odd types of landmines with my bare hands and a sharp stick, I can make a thousand nasty things that kill and maim with items from your local hardware store and a trip down the cleaning supplies aisle at the supermarket. As for computers, I can do everything from running a traceroute to setting a software or hardware keylogger on most computer systems. In terms of specialized software, there was once a sniper worrying a superior of mine due to the fact that he could make shots at over a mile with a CheyTac Intervention, only one arms dealer with that kind of hardware existed in 'that market' at the time, I convinced him to sell the man the full package, with PDA and computer assistance for calculations. When he made his shot, he missed by enough and gave away his position." While the other recruits, Vlad included, stood in shock, sweat was a appearing on Shane's brow, and his right finger twitched...for the first time in fourteen years...he was afraid again. "Is that adequate Ma'am?" He was a piece of silly-putty in the sadistic grip of his memories...rather than in those of Violet, whom was merely a catalyst. ---- The sounds of the helicopters alerted not only the foes, now preparing a defense in hallways and the front gate, and a few of them took pot shots at the helicopters until they landed on the roof of the spire, which was, ironically enough, squared off. Michael, after collecting Rikke Edith, had made his way down Thomas' floor and shouted down the hall, "Thomas?! You still alive?! It's Michael! If you are, I'm coming in! DO NOT SHOOT ME!" In the chaos, Thomas couldn't tell whether or not the man was whom he said he was, so he backed into the corner, .45 caliber handgun readied. Michael burst hands up and for a moment the two men shouted at each other in a strange kind of synchrony, closing in on each other, equal parts commands and denials of them. For a moment Thomas pressed his gun against Michael's face in a two-handed high grip, Michael merely placed his hands on the sides of Thomas' head. "I love you mate, in a platonic manner." For a moment, Thomas kept his gun ready, but took it off of Michael and slid the hammer back into a resting position with his thumb. "Yeah, I'm sure you do. Did you catch anyone else?" "Rikke." "Rikke? RIKKE! Come in here!" Upon the command one petite platinum blond of medium height adorned with salient crimson lipstick sashayed her way into the room. She wore a cream colored pants-suit and a sky-blue blouse, her hair was disheveled but almost in a way that suggested passionate attraction, she was for all intents and purposes cursed with the beauty that bible-thumping Baptists liked to call sinful by its very nature. However despite her appearance one would need to be a fool to underestimate her, as even as she entered the room with a nonchalant demeanor and one hand raised, she had her dominant left behind her back, resting on a compact Walther P5 pistol. "Come on Rikke, we're all friends here, show me yours and I'll show you mine," Thomas flipped the safety on his weapon and let his finger run through the trigger guard, allowing it to hang with the barrel pointing to the ground. Rikke smiled and he white teeth shone like the moon, she showed the gun to the group before slipping it into the pocket of her suit's jacket. "Handy," Michael chuckled. "Very," she said. As the noise of helicopters reached the compatriots, Rikke almost burst out laughing, "You? Call for help Thomas? Did the playground bully get too big and mean this time?" Thomas shot her a stern look, "Not funny, we're in the same boat my dear, I hang, you hang." She sobered up. After a moment's collection of thoughts, Michael interrupted the silence "So what's the plan? Apparently one of the security guards took the grenades from downstairs and blew up the elevator. I assume he went out the hard way...guy deserves a medal." Thomas sighed and sat in a folding chair, "They all do, and they'll all get them. But not here, not now...they'll get them in Seraphim." "Where?" The other two asked. "The Unified Commonwealth of Seraphim, that's what I'm thinking of calling it when we reform, with Zhanna's permission, of course," he chuckled and pointed to the sleeping Diarch. "Reform? What in the ever-loving hell are you talking about?" Rikke said. "Look, this system it isn't what we wanted and it doesn't work...its just a benevolent dictatorship. Before the assassination attempt, I started drawing up some documents, a constitution, a bill of rights, figuring out how things would work in a democracy..." "Thomas..." this time Michael spoke. "I've put some serious thought and time into this, it isn't pure democracy, but it does decrease our powers to a point that puts us closer to our goal, while giving us some leverage to be practical. We can discuss it later, I just thought you both should know, you and a few others are going to be a part of the appointed interim government when we take back control of these islands." "If we live that long..." Rikke said. The helicopter noises were getting louder, they had to be close. "Yeah well, let's have some faith in our Australian allies, maybe they'll give us a courtesy 'roo steak."

While the rest of the trainees slept soundly, one recruit sat in his quarters fidgeting with his gun, practicing drills, pressing it to his head. Funny, he thought, how such durable facades fell at the first opportune moment. Funny, Shane thought. ---- In the main lobby of Eire's Spire, three floors below Thomas, loyalties were being tested and lines drawn...in the form of a firefight. Although the guards downstairs had sided with Thomas, they were outgunned and outnumbered, as the forces immediately outside the building up to the perimeter wall had mostly sided with Karl. The [i]clang-clang-clang[/i] of automatic weapons echoed throughout the lobby, whilst bullets battered the walls and shells rolled all around. A contingent of six guards had managed to hold off Karl's forces long enough to take cover behind a decorative fountain near the elevator, but their .30-30 carbines and their .45 caliber Colt New Service revolvers weren't going to hold off the AK47s of Karl's men. John Hopper, one of the men unfortunate enough to be on duty that particular day, fired off the last few rounds from his carbine and nudged the man next to him with the wire stock of the weapon, gesturing to an office about ten yards from their position, ten yards of open air. "How much ammo do you have?" he asked. "Half a mag left, a full one stuffed in my pocket, why?" "You and I both know we aren't making it out of here alive. The White Stallions," he used the codeword for the Diarchs, "are upstairs. When we die, a bunch of traitors are going to go up in that elevator and shred them." "What's your," a bullet clipping his cover interrupted the man, "point?" "Inside that office, we've got some grenades and some M3s, you know, grease guns, some real artillery. If you can cover me I can get in there and get them. If we can take out that elevator with those grenades, we give the stallions a fighting chance." "That's a lot of ifs." "Ifs are all we've got, are you with me or not?" "Yeah John, I'm with you." John set his weapon down and drew his sidearm. He sighed, took a few deep breaths, and began his sprint. Immediately he drew fire, and to the credit of his partner, most of it missed him. However as he dived the final yards to the door, a stray round from a pistol slammed into the right side of his vest. He grunted and fought through the pain, taking cover behind the wall as his position was showered with gunfire. With a little bit of jury-rigging, John managed to mount the grenades on his vest, with each individual pin linked to one cord through a series of others, enabling him to pull them all if necessary. The gunfire on his position subsided, and directed back towards his compatriots. John clutched an M3 tight to his chest and, as he prepared to charge back into the melee, he saw the picture. The picture of his wife. The picture on the desk. He grunted, "Say cheese traitors and filth," before charging out into the battle screaming and firing. ----- The moment the explosion wiped out the elevator in the lobby, was the moment Michael Christensen disarmed his guard and forced him to the ground. With a knee in his neck and a pistol in his face, he took a moment to compose himself and spoke calmly and slowly. "What is going on?" "I'm sorry sir, it was just a good opportunity, it wasn't person-" "Shut up. Again, I ask," he racked the slide on the pistol, it hadn't even been ready to fire, "what is going on?" "A coup, Karl Racwiz's idea. He's got control up to the perimeter wall and the lobby, if things went according to plan, the Diarchy is already dead." Michael froze, he pressed the gun into the younger man's face. "What was that explosion?" "It wasn't part of the plan! I don't know what it was, I swear." "I believe you." Michael pulled the trigger. ---- Fortunately for the transport craft, due to certain military infrastructural damage caused during the revolution, as well as the chaos enveloping the nation, defenses against exterior threats were not a problem.

(OOC: The Michelle/Shane bit shall be soon to follow.) "I appreciate the report, but that's absurd, Karl represented me at the council of Bangkok, we fought together. He's trying to deceive both of us, he's a game player and he's playing games as per usual, just like with the two-way glass." Then, the elevator doors opened and Karl arrived. Thomas stared at him a moment, then spoke into his phone, "Actually, yes I'd love to entertain Ms. Lillian at the event, I'll see you soon Anthony." Thomas prayed Anthony was erudite enough to get the message as he slipped the phone into his pocket. He recalled Shane's line, "Karl, dearest of all my friends, what can I do for you?" Karl smiled and slipped his weapon from his jacket and held it on Thomas, "You can rot in the same grave as Pablo." Thomas pulled his weapon from the back of his waistband. In a symphony of bullets the two fired in synchrony, Thomas falling onto his back in an attempt to avoid the incoming fire, Karl taking cover in a doorway. One bullet grazed Karl's arm, and when he jumped out to return fire, another two hit his vest. Thomas scrambled to his feet to reload, while Karl, having not expected such a fight, retreated to the elevator screaming orders into his radio. Thomas fell back to Zhanna's room, blocking off the door. It was clear that things were going to hell.

Paco said nothing, he merely sat pathetically in his cell, alone and wretched. ---- Karl smiled, he put on his vest, he fixed his tie, and he began his descent to the medical ward of the building, gun in hand. As the elevator began dinging with each floor, Thomas cell phone rang in synchrony. After a moment of composing himself, he answered, unaware that Karl Racwiz was descending and fast. "Hello?" ---- With permission and directions to the infirmary, Shane lifted Michelle up in a two-shoulder fireman's carry. With a little time to recover, he winked at Vladimir, his jocular nature reemerging ever so slightly. After a few minutes of walking and even more of explaining to the medical staff, Shane set Michelle down in one of the beds. Excluding the small slices she physically seemed fine, however Shane had a suspicion there was a battle going on inside her head. He decided to temporarily abstain from his meal, and wait...survivor's syndrome you could say. The other recruits, excluding the two lowest scoring, one woman and one Romani, went off to get their dinner. The two lowest merely went to their quarters and slept early. Vladimir couldn't help but think of what Shane might be doing, considering how hungry he must have been...he was either a masochist or he had a damn good motive for his actions.

Paco closed his eyes and lowered his head in contemplation, "They taught me the same thing you know. When being interrogated, deny everything, admit nothing, have an alternate explanation, make [i]counter-accusations[/i]. This was no Coup, it was a preemptive action. Even now there are men and women amongst Thomas' government who are dissatisfied with his reign. I could have brought them under control, used them for the right reasons. Disillusionment is a powerful thing, you can use it to manipulate for good or evil. I think we both know which it will be used for now." Paco merely looked up at Anthony, "Thomas wanted me out of the country. How ironic that little did he know, I was the only one who could save him." ---- Meanwhile, Karl was racking the slide on his pistol several floors above Thomas, reacquainting himself with the old days. He knew he had plenty of time, he was in no rush. ---- Thomas sighed and put a hand on Dr. Farshaw's shoulder, "You did what you could. The fifth floor of the building is the suites for guests. Go get yourself a drink and some sleep...I'll break the news in a little while." ---- Shane tossed away his chipped knife and raised a clenched fist in victory. Then, as he turned around to offer a hand to his "commander", he noticed she wasn't moving. Immediately his heart tightened, and he had a little flashback of his own. After a pause, he waved the Major over and upon his arrival, became sober. "Request permission to escort Captain Sorensen to the infirmary, Sir." While it might have been expected that he was being sarcastic, the lack of a gleaming smile, and the fact that despite his normally near obsessive fascination with looking well he had not wiped the dirt nor the congealed blood from his face, said otherwise.

Paco's glance drifted for a moment before his eyes snapped back; their full rage rejuvenated. "Well then my friend, you have a quandary. Either Karl is a loyal member of Thomas' cabinet...or...Karl's private army is working against him as we speak..." Paco chuckled slightly, "Better hurry back...wouldn't want your investment to [i]flat line[/i] now would you?" ---- The Romani chuckled, "You expect correctly." By this point, the group of light brown skinned men were aching for another fight, cracking their knuckles and fidgeting anxiously. One man in particular was smoothing down his hair obsessively, as might be expected by an anxious voyeur or an adolescent sports star. However, upon seeing the combat knife the Romani very cautiously waved a hand, "We're more used to broken shards of glass than ad hoc weaponry." Shane however, stepped forward, "Alert! Says the acolyte, showing abeyance of his arcana in affable hopes of an apposite approbation; his acumen of assault is revealed to not be apocryphal but in fact altruistic, an acquiescence in hopes of amelioration, an armistice if you will, apt to addle the arbiter's allegorical aubade, quite possibly augmenting an acrimonious response. However, my speaking in such an argot may in fact make aware the auditor of the audacity of such an act, causing only things abject. Such a response ardent though it may be, might cause you to admonish me. Thus, I will be candid and say, I would be happy to fight with knives for you today." The women seemed flustered, whilst the Romani, unaware of what their trainers' response might be, managed to contain themselves. Vladimir however, clapped once, with hopes that he wouldn't get the stock treatment. ---- Thomas turned to Zhanna, "Don't try and climb out the window while I'm gone, the doctor and I are going to go celebrate your recovery." That said, Thomas led the man out the door and down the hall, when he was satisfied that the distance was sufficient, he spoke. "What's wrong?"

Thomas released the doctor and set the pen on the bedside table. "My good man, my apologies. I owe you a great deal, what can I get you? Gold bullion? A harem? A drink?" With a slight smile, he looked at Zhanna, "I was defending myself, dearest. Don't you know I hate needles?" He chuckled

Paco laughed, "Mentor? Brother? Friend? None of the above. He didn't betray me. He was an ally of convenience. No he owes me nothing, it is the DEBT to the PEOPLE of MICRONESIA that he owes. He promised things and went back on them, something I should have expected." Paco grinned, an evil thought dawning in his mind, "Let me give you a little background information on Thomas. Thomas was the acolyte of the main figurehead of the military junta of Micronesia. He personally participated in overseeing 'internment' camps, torture, dealing with 'dissidents', a myriad of things. He said it was to gain trust, and trust he did gain. I trusted him. I believed him." A smile passed through Paco's lips, "You are aware of Karl Racwiz? Even in that hell, Thomas told me certain things. Like that farce you call a regional conference. Karl Racwiz attended, did he not? Receding hairline, brown hair at that, olive oil skin and kraut charm? Well...he was the minister of internal security in my country's previous incarnation. If Thomas had even a care about what he promised, Racwiz would be dead, buried in the camps along with the rest of the traitors he 'hunted'..." "...unless he doesn't know?" Suddenly, Paco's voice dropped a bit. "...he didn't know?" ---- One of the Romani stepped up, "I can fight with tools....rocks, mattocks..." Just then Vlad was about to volunteer however Shane circumvented him quickly, allowing him time to recuperate. "I can fight, knives, razor wire, anything that holds an edge," Shane let a slight wry grin crack his visage.

Shane dared not peek at the officers, he was bold but not stupid, one crack with the stock of a rifle was good enough for the day. Together, Vladimir and Shane merely enjoyed their little competition, although they masked their surprise when they found out that they had been out shot by the women. "There's a reason they make better snipers." Vladimir interjected. "I could think of several." "Physiological, not psychological." "I did say [i]several[/i] did I not?" The two stifled a bit of laughter and were quickly shuffled along, with the rest of their compatriots, off to their next test. ---- Rested and ready, Vladimir and Shane met on the concrete. To what was expected to be the surprise of the officers, the two shook hands, "Mobilis in mobili." "That was Vosgi's motto?" "Mine." "Ah, morior invictus." "Well met." With that, the two began the fight. The fight began with a few fake-outs, Vlad landed a few blows to Shane's lower body, while Shane brought down a hammer fist onto Vlad's back. Quickly he retaliated with a headbutt and a trip, getting on top of Shane. Wasting no time in futile struggling, he repeatedly drove his fist into Vlad's sides, earning a blow to the face. Vlad made one mistake, believing his position gave him dominance. Shane caught one of Vlad's fists and squeezed, pushing back the wrist. Vlad shouted in pain, giving Shane just enough room to slam his free hand into Vlad's temple. He was knocked off, Shane rolled free and knocked Vlad's feet from under him. He grabbed him by the throat and shouted, "Submit!" Vlad refused, he continually tightened his grip, slamming his other fist into Vlad's ribcage. Vlad kicked and clawed with everything he had, but he could not get free. Then, Shane cocked his head and noticed a look in Vlad's eye...he understood why he had chosen the motto...and what it meant to him. Shane loosened his grip, and Vladimir took the opportunity to slam his fist into Shane's face. Shane was back on the ground, and in the position Vladimir had been. Barely, he managed to choke out the words, "I...submit." Vlad brought their heads together and whispered, "Thank you." The rest of the fights went off without incident. The women were evenly matched, mostly winning via arm-bars and choke holds. As for the Romani, they enjoyed the fighting, as if it were a pleasant memory. In fact, one Romani after beating his opponent, even took on the other two, although he resorted to a bit of dirty fighting to win. It was clear they had no fighting system, merely one of pride and boasting. Shane and Vlad on the other hand used modified Krav Maga. The test was not over yet...something Shane did not know. ---- Paco laughed at the man. "Pain? Irrelevant. Guilt? Irrelevant. BETRAYAL. IS NOT. IRRELEVANT." After his moment of mockery ended, he chuckled, "Do you even know why I'm here?" ---- Thomas awoke startled, rather than holding Zhanna, he got up calmly. Then, in an instant, he grabbed the doctor by the tie and with his free hand grabbed a Bic Pen. He choked him with the tie and forced him into a human shield position, the pen being a secondary weapon at his throat. He loosened his grip slightly on the man's larynx, "Who. Are. You?"