UNDERGROUND: OOM PRT 2
"That's what you do see. You don't just jump out and get killed, you wait. You bide your time. You wait until your enemy's asleep and then you slit his fucking throat.
-Sal Bambini
New York Milita, 2120.
Following a 2008 election that placed a president in support of the Iraq war (now called the Arab Conflict), the United States reinstated their draft, insisting that all individuals report to their local draftboards for service home and abroad. The war raged into 2013, when the first of a series of terrorist attacks by La Revolution brought the United States Back to the Home Front. Functioning as a sort of "western IRA" they demanded that the government retract it's forces or face destruction in the forms of dirty bombs, chemical warefare, or even biological weaponry. These threats were ignored, until sixteen different individuals around the city of San Diego California detonated Biological weaponry using EBOLA on July 17th during the city's busy tourist season and at the height of the largest comic convention in the United States.
The City's population was virtually wiped out. Following that, the Government announced a full on vendetta against La Revolution, pulling scapegoats from the CIA's infamous "Terror list" to blame. In preparing for the threat, a top-secret commission known as "Black December" (Named ironically by the son of one of the commission's members) was dispatched to look into methods that terrorists might be using.
One of the two most notorious weapons that this commission produced was HV-1, which was later used in the battle of Ba Sing Se, Firefly, and Saliant. It was effective, and Xylyx soon withdrew from the third world war to rebuild-unfortunately creating a sub-class of humans known as Hemophages. In Xylyx, the archministry of Medical Defense was established to deal with the growing threat. They opened closeted camps where infected individuals were deposited. They tapped the phones of individuals with infected family members. They exhausted the resources of both the Chinese National Guard and the Korean Self Defense Force in tailing these individuals.
When La Revolution was later revealed to be based in the United States and formed by militant citizens who were tired of their government's destructive path, the damage was done. HV-1, now known as Hemophagia, had replaced AIDS as the number one killer of human beings.
Soon after the camp's establishment, members of the Arch ministry ordered special furnaces to be built beneath them. In a twisted mockery of the 20th century's "Holocaust" thousands of Hemophages were burned alive to prevent the spread of disease. ...
- William Cohen, "A history of the modern world"
High above the bustling streets of the capital of Xylyx, (Some damn name that James Wilson had never been able to pronounce) James Wilson sat in relative comfort drinking his afternoon earl gray.
Somewhere in his apartment complex a clock chimed signalling the arrival of both 4:15 and his guest who stood like a dark shadow in the doorway.
Wilson beamed, "...I thought it might be you." He set down his teacup, "I suppose you want what Preston's got on your man who killed Jurgen?"
"If you don't mind." the newcomer said, his voice smooth, "I'm in a bit of a rush I'm afraid, so I can't stay and chat. You destroyed his computer files?"
Wilson nodded, "Yes."
"And you made sure that the policeman who is responsible for destroying his computer files will have a sudden attack of conscience and be found dead in his apartment."
A grimace, "Yes."
"And, need I remind you, that his family will need to be shuttled out into the badlands of libria as soon as possible? Just so that-"
"Yes." Wilson said, irritated. He crossed the room and grabbed at a thick datapad, it's plastic worn between his hands, "Yes goddamnit. I'm not some child, and I'm sick of you treating me like one you-"
Before he could finish, the figure had a sleep gun pointed at his forehead.
Wilson froze, the datapad dropping to the floor with a crash.
"...Don't point that thing at me." Wilson said, voice a squeak, "Really now. That's not funny."
"You always make sure your loose ends are tied up." The man said, thumbing back the hammer on the gun, "I like these 20th century models..don't you?"
It was hard to offer an opinion when one was ready to kill you then and there, "...They're...all...right..."
"You know who else likes them?"
The man withdrew the gun, examining it, running over the barrel with his hands.
Wilson did not know. He shivered, "...The Tetragrammaton?"
"You are not to ever mention that name in my presence again. Do you understand me?"
The gun was up again.
"Yes! Yes god yes. Alright. Here, take it." He moved faster then he would have believed, his hand shaking as he held out the datapad, "-God. You're sick do you know that? You should see a doctor. Xylyx has several good ones."
He grimaces.
"...I'm fine." The man said, "I take my dose every day like a good little drone." The gun disappeared up a sleeve as he examined the datapad, "...Preston's sharp."
"Too sharp." Wilson said, "He's starting to suspect me of something. I can protect you, I've got that kind of power, but the council has started to ask him for reports instead of me. I want compensation. Entropia's still around, and given the right incentive I'll disappear once Preston gives up."
"The Tetragrammaton won't give up-wit-" His guest's eyes widened, "Did you just ask me for an incentive?"
He'd though about it for a week now, lying awake at night next to his Chinoi Gao whore. Given the right amount of money he could retire to Entropia, or perhaps an island. The islands were almost normal now.
"I am compromising my position for you and your cause Mr. Dupont." Wilson said, "And I want to understand that my time is worth something to you in this business of yours." He frowned, "What exactly is your business?"
"The business of our country." The man said softly, "The business that we've been in since our conception Mr. Wilson. I'm surprised you have to ask."
Wilson squinted at him, uncomfortably aware of the fact that if he screamed, all the way up here, no one would notice. His room had been soundproofed a week ago.
Under his order.
He studied his guest again, "..H-How'd that saying go? The business of america is business right?"
"It's not business." his guest said as he drew his gun and put a bullet into James Wilson's throat, "It's war."
The man clutched at his esophagus, blood oozing out slowly as he writhed on the carpet. Frowning, Dupont stepped over the body and crossed to the security cameras, replacing the tapes with clearly doctored footage taken from a battle at a blood bank four months ago.
A woman.
He slipped the tape into it's case, watching the monitor flicker to life as Violet Song Jat Shariff, a noted radical and hemophage to boot, blew James Wilson to smithereens. It even had her bending over the body to garner a handful of blood.
Perfect.
Careful to not step in the gore as he exited the apartment, Dupont slipped the datafile and the tapes into his pocket, marking him as the real killer. The tetragrammaton were smart, but they had weaknesses. The weakness being, that when presented with real evidence, the council would have no choice but to send John Preston, their most loyal servant, investigator in charge and now senior member of the diplomatic staff on Violet's trail.
Eliminate a threat to both governments before bringing them down. Preston was a good soldier in the end. He'd follow orders.
And one by one. Dupont said, Everything falls into place.
He waved to the maid in the buildings lobby, marking the time on his watch as he walked out to his waiting car, careful to slip his mask into place.
History was about to unfold above them with that woman's scream and discovery of James Wilson's corpse.