|
|
Post by The Realm of Moderal on Jun 30, 2023 22:09:09 GMT
Adrian Propescu
Adrian braced himself against the motions of the crowded tram car as it made its way through the city smog of the early morning. He yawned and glanced around at the other people in his car, their eyes dull and lifeless, something most people would attribute to the early hour. He, however, was different, he could see past what they wanted him to see. He knew it was the drudgery and boredom of life in this hell hole of a city. The same thing day in, day out. Of course, he knew that these thoughts were dangerous and if they thought, even for a second, that he was having them he would be disappeared. His family would be told he had been chosen for work in the deep south though he knew that he would be killed, just like his father and his friends had been. So he never even considered breathing a word of his conspiratorial thoughts to anyone. Eventually the tram came to a stop outside his factory and the doors swung open with a loud clatter. A large number of people trudged out of the car and towards the gates, preparing themselves mentally for a seemingly never ending day of mind numbingly boring work.
A couple hours before the end of his shift, a terrible scream of pain rang throughout the factory. Adrian quickly but carefully stopped his assigned task and hurried toward where the scream originated from. As he got close a horrible scene emerged. An older man was missing both his arms from the elbow down. As he moved over to offer what little help he could, the supervisor in his unreasonably fine suit moved into view and began bellowing.
“What are you doing!?” As one of his fellow workers opened his mouth, assumedly to explain, the supervisor cut him off. “You’re not here to slack off and talk! You should all be back at your stations working!” The supervisor turned to the armed guard stationed to the factory, probably a blood relation of some kind. “You. Make sure they get back to work.” With that final remark the supervisor waddled back into his office, slamming the expensive glass door shut. Adrian turned back toward his station as the guard bristled half heartedly behind him. As he started his work the dangerous whispers in his mind grew in intensity.
‘Why should they have all the power? What makes them better than us?’ and after the old mans accident he didn’t quite have the strength or will to quash them.
The soldier shifted, still slightly uncomfortable in the peasant clothes that his mission required him to wear. His eyes drifted over to his mark, one Adrian Popescu, one of many agitators identified by the Gascas as people who could be convinced to agitate for the correct cause. Not that he knew what that cause was, only that he was supposed to wait until there was some sign that his mark was ready to begin to rebel and then leave a message in the form of a plain, sealed envelope. Well, it was time. He had seen the conspiratorial thoughts flickering behind those dull brown eyes. The old mans accident had changed something in Adrian, so he finished his day at the factory, handed in his resignation, and discreetly followed Adrian home. Once he was certain Adrian was not watching him he slipped the plain envelope through his letter slot, knocked twice on the door, and slipped back down the stairs and out onto the street amongst the crowd.
|
|
|
|
Post by Wilhelm Cransnikov on Jul 22, 2023 19:36:37 GMT
The bar is a dingy little thing hidden away in some back alley. Adrian nearly lost his nerve upon entering the establishment, but he soldiered through despite the stares and walked up to the counter. The bar man, a leathery old bastard, gives him a curt greeting, "G'evening, what're ye drinkin?" Adrian swallows down his nervousness before giving the answer written in the envelope, "I want a Laurian carbomb." The man blinks, "A carbomb?" Adrian nods dumbly as the man looks him over, "Why don't ye head into the back."
Following the man's gesturing, Adrian finds himself in a small back room with five other man. Immediately a foreign man gestures for him to take a seat. "Mr. Adrian, we've been expecting you." Adrian nervously replies. "What is this all about? I got the letter and..." The foreigner chuckles. "There's only so much I can say so I'll cut to the chase. I'm offering you the chance for satisfaction. The old fat bastards running everything? Well, we want them gone and we want your help. In two weeks a riot is going to break out and you are going to help make sure the citizenry take to it. Do you understand?" Adrian considers this for a moment. A chance to strike at the bastards who made every moment of his life hell? How could he say no?
|
|
|
|
Post by The Realm of Moderal on Jul 24, 2023 5:02:29 GMT
Adrian slowly made his way through the horde of people traversing the streets of Vesmjil making his way toward the apartment of the factory manager which had been blacked by decades of soot and smoke from the nearby factories. Nervously he checked his wristwatch, only a minute to go. He readjusted his large, heavy overcoat usually a common occurance in the chilly northern city but the weekend was the time for everyone to dress up in lighter more fashionable clothing and party the night away. The unnatural weight under his arm was fastened incorrectly and so moved around with every small jostle as he pushed his way through the crowd causing him a large amount of anxiety. Eventually he managed to make his way to the door of the apartment building, a much nicer one than his, and cautiously enter the lobby. Thirty seconds. He lengthend his stride as he made his way across the lobby toward the stairwell, deliberately not looking at the attendant. The attendant looked up at him and opened their mouth to say something when they were interupted by an extremely loud bang which echoed through the lobby. Adrian flinched at the not unexpected sounds but kept his pace, making his way up the stairs toward his targets penthouse.
The penthouse doors were closed as he came up to them. He slowly reached under his coat and withdrew the small Baby Nambu pistol concealed beneat. holding the pistol low and out of sight he inhaled deeply, steeling himself, before he reached forward and rapped sharply against the door. A slow shuffling came from behind the door before the door silently swung open before reaching the end of its chain. A short and fat man peered out from behind the door and questioned him sharply, "Who're you?" Adrian responded, following the plan set out earlier that week to the letter, "Security, riot's going on outside." The man behind the door looked relieved and stepped back from the door unhooking it from the chain, as he did so he began to drawl in a voice dripping with self importance "It's about time! My wife has been terrified, what with all that noise going on out..." before he could finish he sentence Adrian raised the pistol and pressed it to the mans forehead before squeezing the trigger and sending the man to the floor with his brain matter covering the hallway behind him. Adrian quickly turned and began running back down the corridor, down the stairs, through the lobby, and out onto the street where the mood of the crowd had shifted. Earlier that night the streets were full of music and laughter as the people enjoyed the end of their week, but now screams filled the air as peoples faces were lit with the orange glow of fires. Adrian wasted no time shoving his way through the crowd as he made his way to the predetermined safehouse.
|
|
