"So you want to join the Adriano Liberation Front (ALF)" asks a shadowy figure smoking a cigarette? "Well I must say you are not the first but our little revolution is in a precarious situation. It has been 20 years since that bastard Cortez got elected and tore down our democracy within in favor of his own corrupt military junta and our organization's leader Ernesto Diaz cobbled together this guerrilla movement out of most of the political factions on the island. But they are only loyal to Mr. Diaz a social democrat himself has managed to garner support out the fascists, communists and the like with their leader's mutual hatred of Cortez and admiration for Diaz but the death of either of these two men threaten to expose our movement to extensive infighting that would dramatically shift the track our nation is heading." The majority of the population want Cortez dead but are to afraid of the crackdown that would follow. That's where you come in try to sway the population into assisting our freedom fighters. Our numbers are few and far between and we are low on supplies but this can still be pulled off. Be wary of the superpowers though they might help us now but when it is all said and done they will be ones calling the shots." tl;dr You assume the role of a rebel fighting against the dictatorship of Cortez, the rebellion is home to a vast political spectrum and could easily fall into infighting. You can choose to back various faction to decide the fate of the nation of Adriano or try to make a deal with Cortez back stab your comrades to preserve the status quo. The choice is yours.
We don't know anything about the dictatorship, though. For all we know he could be benevolent and well-intentioned.
I find it offensive that the leader is Hispanic and it takes place in a Hispanic country, But i will play along for now. I am Enrique Zaragoza Di Chihuahua Hispania Or you can call me Enrique.
Me llamo Guillermo de Rojo y quiero luchar la administracion por que mi padre, un mason, muerte en los manos de ellos. Y por la razon voy a luchar con los cabrones. Los cabrones, pueden ir a infierno. VIVA LA REVOLUCION! Does anyone understand this?
Welcome to thw world that is the banana republic Niether Cortez nor his vampire elite have not garnered much support over the years. All factions left of the center right seek to bring him down for the rampant corruption they perpetuate to keep their lavish life style. Even the resident Fascist party is considering throwing it's hat into the ring because Cortez allows foreign companies to ruthlessly exploit the population for a lavish kickback. Cortez keeps the population in check through his control of the military, people are seen as nothing more than tools for forced labor. Public executions and government sponsored violence is commen here.
Enrique puts his Insurgency group together known as "Los Angeles de Dios" (God's Angels) We are a Militant group who wishes to bring a Social Democrat type of government to our nation. We are in no way affiliated with the radical christian group set up on the island. Who wishes to join our Corps!!
A bearded guy with a hawaiian shirt by the name of Joe Harris comes to the recruiter of the ALF saying: Hell yes! That bastard Cortez killed my wife and he'll pay for that.If you ask me if I have any combat skills or what.I'm a korean war vet and I've got an M1911 pistol if that's any matter." (I presume it's the cold war time,if not Gulf War vet)
And me, Oscar Melvides Olivare Cardoso, has a natural-born leftist thinking brain from a family of oppressed peoples, my father being a fisherman and my mother a housewife whom cooks the shrimp that comes from my father's boat. oh yes, and I have acquired a beautiful little SKS rifle with it's own bayonet viva Cardoso
Ernesto Diaz leaned back in his wicker chair and ran his hand across the stubble that had formed on his chin as the evening sun poured into his small and rather unkempt office. It was near dusk and so still was the air inside his alcove that even the dust remained stagnant in the rays of burnt-orange light that had peeked through cracks in his blinds. The old ceiling fan swung lazily above as it made an audible click each time it rotated, somehow failing to both cool the air or circulate it. Though relatively spartan, the small chestnut-floored and French-wallpapered office was still a mess. Thick reams of office paper covered every surface, from the squat metal file cabinets to the oaken bookshelf that held a sizable collection of legal texts to one of the two wooden chairs that sat in front of Ernesto's desk. It was purely silent in the room as Ernesto turned his chair to face the window, cracked the blinds with his hand, and peered out. Outside he could see the midriffs of the few skyscrapers that existed in the Adrianan capital, and far below he could see a scant few cars puttering along. Driving had become a luxury most could not afford since Cortez had taken power and commandeered most of the nation's oil. Far into the horizon he could see verdant hills and the coast right alongside them, bisected cleanly by a modern road. Ernesto sighed and turned back to his office in time to see a shadow move through the translucent glass pane that sat in his door frame. "Come in," Ernesto grunted. The door opened loudly and a young man walked through, his footsteps made more significant by the dark loafers he wore. He was dressed in a black suit coat, worn open, with a white dress shirt sans tie, and black slacks. His dark hair was styled in a particularly chic fashion and his face was, like Ernesto's, covered in stubble, though it was thicker and darker. "Mr. Diaz," the man said, taking a seat in the chair that wasn't already occupied by paper, "I assume you know why I'm here?" "Of course, Mr. Alonso's team had told me that they were seeking mediation, and said that I should expect you to drop by. So, mister mediator, what's your name?" "Adrien Powell, Mr. Diaz, Adrien Powell. Though I don't really prefer the title mediator," he said as he reached into his coat, "I prefer fixer." "Well then, Mr. Powell, how do you intend to fix our dispute?" "The way I see it," he said as he pulled a Rolex from his coat, "is that the dispute isn't really central to the problem." "Oh?" Ernesto questioned as he eyed the expensive watch, "Then what is?" "The affected parties haven't got a particularly vested interest in the actual dispute," Adrien said, placing the watch on Ernesto's desk, "but instead are fighting to get their own share of the spoils." "Do you take me for a crooked man, Mr. Powell?" Ernesto said, leaning forward. "I will not stand down because you throw some trinket at me." "I take you for a smart man, Mr. Diaz, a smart man whose integrity puts him into conflict with powerful men. Know that there are no strings attached here, Mr. Diaz, and that I'll be in touch." Adrien rose from his seat and headed for the door when Ernesto called out from behind, "Your watch, Mr. Powell. You've left it here." "Keep it, consider it the beginning of a mutually beneficial relationship, Mr. Diaz," he said, and walked through the door. Ernesto felt flustered after the meeting, and wanted to shout down Alonso's lawyers for their obvious attempt to corrupt him. He picked up the phone from his desk and was about to dial their number when he looked up. The ceiling fan had stopped. This wasn't in and of itself particularly unusual, but the problem was that Ernesto still heard clicking. He picked up the Rolex, turned it over, and pulled it closer to his ear. ******* Adrien Powell was already down onto the street when the explosion ripped through the 22nd floor of the Adelaide-Stark building.
He stood there in the shadow, the only visible indication that man is there, a ciggarete. This man is waiting, for a man, a man of immeasurable sadism. Vincete Bahamonde. The Chief of Police in San Antonio, the man responsible for the death of his father. His watch, the last property of his father that he owns reads in invisible, the night sky that he uses to his advantage also hinders his cause - there are no allies into todays society. He was must due to leave anytime now. The door across street opens and out he steps, at the sight of him Guillermo's blood rushes. His heart beats faster, preparation, focus and determination are now all that matters. The beads of sweat begin to perspire on his forehead, he feels as if he is about to pass out. Blood leaves his brain quicker than it should, his heart working twice as fast. The chief crosses the street, he unlocks his Cadillac '62 De Ville. Now, as he climbs in a gunshot rings out across the town inhabited by several thousand people, birds take flight as he should now. The Chief's head hits the floor and it cracks, the bullet, that has hit him in the left cheek and exited through his chin, has failed to kill. Guillermo walks to the barely alive body, he cocks his revolver and fires two shots into the mans forehead. Then, he runs.
"Hello, I am Amelia Whitney standing here with what use to be the Adelaide-Stark building behind me..." ?????? watched the broadcast after receiving a phone call from a supplier. Richard could now understand why. One of his main companies were based their and it was his main source for cheap supplies. His glass of whiskey was digging into his hand as the gold poured onto his black suit. He finally set it down as the pictures were shown. It didn't matter about the reputation of the company (he could always replace that), but the man that he had used so hard to get become the new leader of a new communist controlled country. He would now have to start again. "...It was after being able to move the debris and the rubble that the detectives found the ashes of what was presumed to be Ernesto Diaz. The Chief..." The television screen went blank and the room silent. The strings he had pulled are being cut one by one, and the revolution would be put on a standstill... He would have to replace Ernesto Diaz with a stronger yet more secure man, perhaps someone more manipulative even. ?????? picked up his phone and called a few numbers. Then he set the phone down, picked up his whiskey and swirled it. A new plan was in motion.
Harris walks in his bar and he spots some of Cortez's men in it.He saw that they were armed and were drinking so he paid them some drinks to get 'em passed out.Then they were brought to the basement where their weapons and money were taken away and sent to the ALF leaders.Cortez's men were brought at the junkyard so no one knows that it was the ALF that did it. In the basement of the bar a priting operation is under it's way.The operation is anti propaganda against Cortez and inspiration to citizens to join the fight for freedom.
"I don't care how, just get this revolution started. You know we have the weapons to supply them and the information... You still haven't found someone to replace him!?!... Get it done or else you won't be coming back to russia to see your family." ?????? put down the phone. He couldn't tell who was worse. The capitalist who are in the way of an easy island to rule; the rebels who cannot organize themselves; or his own men who cannot follow orders! He needed his recuiter to find a man and quick! If the rebels took the island with no "aid" from the communists then he would have to send his own men to "keep the peace". The last time it almost caused a Carribian war... The winter was setting in and the country just outside his window was at its height! Only if we could find an easier way to keep the workers warm and working. Oh well...
Torstein Erikson was staying at the Great Western Royal Hotel in London. He needed to sleep, in just a few hours he would be on his flight to Kenya and he was allready jet lagged enough as he had just returned from a trip in Oman. Torstein was just about to close his eyes when the hotelroom phone rang, Torstein swore than got up and picked up the phone. "Hello Mr. Erikson, there's a Pierre-Louis trying to call you i will patch him trough now. " said the cute receptionist Torstein had spoken to earlier. " what do you want Louis? it's 1:00 at night and i need to sleep." "I am sorry, to call so late buut i have news, tensions are growing in Adriano and i thought it would be wize for us to get there before any competition arrives, no? " "well yhea but i allready set up a time to meet the majori in Kenya" "Weber can take care of that, he could sell anything to the beduhins in the shara so he could try in kenya whilst you go to Adriano but it's your call" "fine i'll go were short on cash anyways, see if you can get some samplers from our jugoslavian supplier that i can bring with me." Torstein ended the call. He was glad he had hired the former french legionnaire, busniess hadn't gone to well when only Torstein and Weber were working. Torstein is an Arms dealer, he supplies mainly small arms to insurgents and other millitant groups aswell as training them (for a price). Torstein didn't sleep that night as he was to busy planning his trip to Adriano... were the hell was Adriano any ways? Torstein cursed at himself for not asking Louis over the phone.
A few of hours after the shooting the reprisals had begun, from all over the area well known troublemakers were captured. Sites of executions, by the police, were visible on walls with skull fragraments gracing the ground. But Vincente Bahamonde had been killed. His father was avenged and he had taken a step in the direction of change, a step for the betterment of his country's society. He sat, a week after the execution of the chief, watching the news. Guillermo was ready for further action. After the killing a close group of his friends, victims of the regime, had contacted him. They all suspected him, six in total, that he had done it. A mere no had give them the answer, he felt that Bahamonde did not deservewords from his mouth, he had liberated the Earth of this vile scum and so far was he was concerned it would be the first of many. The news was spouting out the same old crap about the regime, portraying the cities as urban metropolises fit for millionaires. Bullshit. The streets had not seen a single pound of tax. That went into the pockets of government officials, corrupt bastards. "Does anyone believe this shite" he thought to himself as he left his house. He walked for half an hour to the designated meeting spot. In the week since the shooting he, and his closest most trusted friends, had assembled a small force of 21 men. Every Saturday they would meet in this spot and discuss plans. When he arrived he noticed 9 men their already, Basilio Garcia, Nataniel Araya, Teo Echevarria, Adrian Escarcega and himself were considered the "leaders" althought he had already insisted that he wasnt much of a leader. All 21 men were gathered within 20 more minutes, all had come alone and all had made sure they had not been followed. The meeting was split into two arguments, there was him, Basilio, Nataniel and Teo that argued the most sensible course of action was one of patience. Adrian on the other hand wanted action, his argument "Why let the revolution come to us? It won't, those repressive bastards in the capital won't let. We must take action!". Slowly, bit by bit he managed to coax the other members of his group into his point of view. All except Basilio, in the end he was defeated. It was decided that they would designate their attack at the police station during the shift change. There would be 4 rifles between 21 men. To the eyes of Basilio it was suicide. In five nights it was decided, they would meet here and proceed to plan the attack.
?????? stopped writing his report to the USSR as the phone rang. As it's third main manufacture, he always had to keep on top of the reports; and with winter filling the land with snow, the cost were not low. He needed to take the island in the name of communism, but with no leader, the figures were not looking good. He picked up the phone. "Sir, we have a new inside source in one of new rebel groups... It's planning a raid on the police station." "Well then, a nice way to get our "peace keepers" in the country. Set them up inside the police station and let the policemen take the hits before saving them. Maybe we can collapse this country's governmen on itself." "And the informant?" "Leave none alive..." He hung up the phone and continued his reports.
