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Post by Heikki Toivonen on Mar 19, 2005 15:00:41 GMT -5
Heikki returns to his hotel and gives a call to Dariya. She should have been here by now and he has some anxieties doing things himself. "When will you be here? I need help planning. We have to take this seriously..." He says over the phone.
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Ariel "Sheva" Zinner
Card Carrying Member
Mossad Operative
"By way of deception thou shalt make war"%\2\%
Posts: 169
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Post by Ariel "Sheva" Zinner on Mar 19, 2005 15:03:14 GMT -5
Ariel changes into her civvies and walks down to the base. She is wearing a pair of jeans, a sweater, and a pair of sneakers. She shows her clearance before she enters the holding cell where they are keeping Connor Callahan, the same one wanted for planting a car bomb outside of the house of Britain's late Minister of Finance. It didn't take long to get clearance, since no one at the base seems to consider the IRA much of a threat to Russia, despite the train. Of course, Ariel knows better. The organization has rather heavy ties to certain Middle Eastern terrorist organizations.
" 'Bout ye, Mr. Callahan. My name is Maura Finian, and I'm here to help get ye home," she says in perfectly accented English. "I'm your lawyer."
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Post by Dead Character on Mar 19, 2005 15:09:49 GMT -5
Antero has two days off now. He devotes most of his day off to sleeping in, catching up on all the rest he missed when he was working. When he works he can hardly sleep. He feels that by sleeping too much he misses out on the few hours a day that he is free of work. So, he sleeps about 4-5 hours on workdays, which are 5 relentless days a week. Sleeping in feels good. He feels less depressed and angry about life. It is funny how working seems to take your very soul. Over time, the routine makes you lose zeal and happiness. There is a feeling of ownership, that you are owned by your job. For some this feeling is hardly noticeable, but for him, it weighs on him like the gravity of an exotic deep space planet.
His job is always short staffed so he can never call in sick. He feels this obligation to show up, even feeling terrible, just because he owes it to the other workers that work there.
He sometimes fantasizes about ending his pathetic life. He sees no hope in his future. He thinks that he would wait until after closing time, after everyone is gone, and shoot himself in the pizza kitchen. The next day they would find him, his head split open, spreading its contents on the floor like pizza sauce.
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Post by Nea Jokinen on Mar 19, 2005 15:49:36 GMT -5
Nea nods and goes to her room, throwing some clothes in her bag and tossing in her id and the like. She quickly wrote a note and tacked it on the front door for her roomates to see. "I'm done."
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Post by Salome Weil on Mar 19, 2005 18:37:11 GMT -5
I call for a taxi, which arrives and takes the three of us to the airport. We purchase the tickets and wait a while at the airport for our flight. In the meantime, I eat a strawberry chocolate blizzard at the Airport Dairy Queen.
When the time comes, we board our flight and take off for Finland.
"I hate to rush the two of you, it's just things are heating up and I thought it best to leave early." I explain to them after the plane takes off.
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Post by Lamumba on Mar 19, 2005 18:54:07 GMT -5
Several months ago, a bright young leader was elected to be Prime Minister of Zaire. He is a kind and idealistic man, who assumed power under a socialist banner. He calls himself a democratic socialists, but in recent months Westerners have come to doubt this. Lumumba has begun nationalizing some key industries in Zaire, but has done this without the consent of many of the Multi national Corporations which operate there. The MNCs argue that he has nationalized private business and property which the Zaire or Democratric Republic of Congo government has no right to.
Congo, rich in raw materials has caused an international stir in recent months as both Europe and the United States see their business interests being challenged there.
Lumumba calls these reforms necessary towards the full liberation of post colonial influences. Today, the well liked president stands before the people of Zaire to speak.
*Zaire is called the Dem. Republic of Congo, but I am going to use the names interchangeably, since I am not sure what it would be called at this point in time.
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Post by Cynthia "Sparkles" Twostars on Mar 19, 2005 18:59:13 GMT -5
Cynthia wakes up in a nice warm cushy bed, her head throbs, and she feels nauseous. She rolls out of bed onto the floor, still wearing what she was the previous night, and climbs to her feet, dizzy and sick to her stomach. She makes her way into the kitchen and still has no idea where she, or anyone else is, but guesses that it's Mories' house. She sits down on a sofa and waits for the room to stop spinning.
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Post by Lan Zheng-Lafleur on Mar 19, 2005 19:02:20 GMT -5
Emergency meetings over Syria continue early into the morning. The U.S. State Department comes to the point where it no longer will hear our pleas. They charge that Syria harbors terrorists and weapons of mass destruction. They say that the UN is weak and that we can not adequetly meet the challenge of global terrorism. They even go as far to say that we are obsolete and will go the way of the League of Nations.
We threaten sanctions against the United States.
They reply that sanctions will not be enforced or upheld.
It goes on like this until the silence of morning when the State Department ends dialogue on the issue telling us that United States politicy will not be decided by Europe or the the global community.
I feel powerless and defeated, but can only make some angry statements of how the United States cares nothing for human rights.
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Post by Mikhael Nadyezhda Kirsanov on Mar 19, 2005 19:06:14 GMT -5
A half an hour into waiting, and the CO still doesn't show up. "Fuck it..." I say, then just decide to run with it.
"Alright, listen up. Today, you will be trained in close quarters combat." A groan makes its way through the crowd.
"SHUT IT! You may not have taken me seriously before but I am training you now." They shut their mouths.
"We'll start with the mp5 submachine gun, since you're all used to working with the ak100's, then work our way down to the fibre wire." The CO finally comes in, an hour late. He's sober surprisingly, and hands me a sheet of paper.
What? I'm going to be transferred again? I fold it up casually, and slip it into my pocket. "You are to ship out immediately. I will take care of things here."
I salute, then leave the confines of the garage, running back up to my room.
I pull out my cell phone and call Tanya, feeling guilty that I haven't spoken with her in such a long time. She doesn't answer... I prepare my 'wuss voice' as the others have dubbed it.
"Hey hon, I guess I missed you again... I'm going to be out of the country for awhile again, but I'll be back as soon as possible. Love you, bye." I say, then hang up.
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Post by Lamumba on Mar 19, 2005 19:07:36 GMT -5
"I know that our government is recieving criticism from the United States and Europe as we take control of our own natural resources and industries. But as they shout and wine, I know we are doing the right thing. We may be politically free, but we are still an economic colony of our former masters. I seek to smash the last chains of servitude to a foreign master, the binds of economic dependance and exploitation..." Lumumba begins. He takes a sip of water and adjusts his thick black glasses.
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Post by tounela on Mar 19, 2005 19:14:12 GMT -5
I arrive back in Helsinki late. I go back to my apartment, minimalist in design and decorated all in white. Everything is just as clean and perfect as I left it.
"It is so good to be home again." I say as I set my suitcase down in my bedroom.
I flop onto my white down comforter and crawl into bed. I click on the television to watch the International News before falling asleep.
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Post by Lamumba on Mar 19, 2005 19:18:00 GMT -5
"I would like to recite a poem by one of our more famous leaders. I hope it inspires you like his words and expample have inspired me..."
"Dawn in the Heart of Africa..."
For a thousand years, you, African, suffered like beast, Your ashes strewn to the wind that roams the desert. Your tyrants built the lustrous, magic temples To preserve your soul, reserve your suffering. Barbaric right of fist and the white right to a whip, You had the right to die, you also could weep. On your totem they carved endless hunger, endless bonds, And even in the cover of the woods a ghastly cruel death Was watching, snaky, crawling to you Like branches from the holes and heads of trees Embraced your body and your ailing soul. Then they put a treacherous big viper on your chest: On your neck they laid the yoke of fire-water, They took your sweet wife for glitter of cheap pearls, Your incredible riches that nobody could measure. From your hut, the tom-toms sounded into dark of night Carrying cruel laments up mighty black rivers About abused girls, streams of tears and blood, About ships that sailed to countries where the little man Wallows in an ant hill and the dollar is king, To that damned land which they called a motherland. There your child, your wife were ground, day and night In a frightful, merciless mill, crushing them in dreadful pain. You are a man like others. They preach you to believe That good white God will reconcile all men at last. By fire you grieved and sang the moaning songs Of a homeless beggar that sinks at strangers' doors. And when a craze possessed you And your blood boiled through he night You danced, you moaned, obsessed by father's passion. Like furry of a storm to lyrics of a manly tune From a thousand years of misery a strength burst out of you.."
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Tanya Schandez
Provisional Member
Owner of KissKiss Cosmetics
Mischa, get over here.%\2\%
Posts: 69
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Post by Tanya Schandez on Mar 19, 2005 19:18:15 GMT -5
I wake up and realized I was trapped. i get up and scratch my head. It looked like i was captured. "Wha?" I yelped looking around. I suddenly remmebered what had happened.
I walk up to the door and start slamming it it with my fists and kicking it with my legs. "Get me out now! How dare you treat an eris like this! Open up NOW!!!!" I screeched causing a racket. "DID YOU HEAR ME!?! MISCHA WILL COME AND KILL YOU ALL FOR THIS TRAVESTY!!!!!!" I bellow still pounding on the door.
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Post by Lamumba on Mar 19, 2005 19:19:50 GMT -5
The poem continues...
"In metallic voice of jazz, in uncovered outcry That thunders through he continent like gigantic surf. The whole world surprised , wakes up in panic To the violent rhythm of blood, to the violent rhythm of jazz, The white man turning pallid over this new song That carries torch of purple through the dark of night.
The dawn is here, my brother! Dawn! Look in our faces, A new morning breaks in our old Africa. Ours alone will now be the land, the water, mighty rivers Poor African surrendered for a thousand years. Hard torches of the sun will shine for us again They'll dry the tears in eyes and spittle on your face. The moment when you break the chains, the heavy fetters, The evil cruel times will go never to come again. A free and gallant Congo will rise from black soil, A free and gallant Congo-black blossom from black seed!"
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Post by septimus aslakhanov on Mar 19, 2005 19:21:20 GMT -5
septimus can finally walk, with a crutch. he has been using a walking stick that has been donated by the local pub. he takes a train to the warehouse where the two hostages are being held.
he arrives almost an hour later, just in time to hear tanya pound on the door he turns his head to the commotion, then to aslan. "where's the other one?"
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