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  • 📅 February and March 2024 are YE 46.2 in the RP.

RP: 188604 Economic Permanence

R

Rizzo

My dearest Masumi,


There is no chance in an infinite universe that I would not answer you.


I write this as I prepare for the final conflict between the antiUSO revolutionaries and myself. At last this silent war is coming to an end. No one dare engage in open combat as our control over the Osman City airspace has become indisputable. These thugs resorted to quietly blending into the population and engaging in information warfare to kill my loyalists. Regardless, the economy has stabilized according to plan and is stronger than ever before.


I still have that picture of you in that skimpy succubus costume, you remember the paper one I kept on the dashboard of my fighter? I've had to stop pulling it out to keep it from getting worn out. I know, I'm old and outdated! I guess it simply reminds me of how long it's been since I've seen you in person. Since I've touched your skin. Since I've smelled your hair.


I miss you even more with every word I write. I'm going to finish this fight and then it will be safe for me to find you Masumi. I will be there soon.


Your Aijin,
Candon


Eyelids flicked open, the steel colored eyes of a predator narrowed as the message sped away toward the woman of his dreams at the speed of his immense love. Evenly contrasting his love rose the sea of hatred in which Candon now planned to drown his enemies in. The lives of 17 brave economic partners would not be lost in vain.


The headlights of the hover van flicked off as the vehicle drew close to its destination. Within sat eight men in Styrling Muur body armor armed with their choice of weapons. These men were beyond gold licensed FDS contractors. They had earned by their loyalty the black license that was so very rare. Candon knew this would be over quickly.


As the van came to a gentle stop the men began to calmly disembark into the gentle night, silently disappearing into the darkness outside a small warehouse. Intense flashing immediately broke out in an intense light show of automatic fire, the electric cap/rotors quietly whirring as pulse laser weaponry strobed their lethal light.
All went silent. The eight men returned to the van and they proceeded on their way.


From across the street a man wearing black leather jacket and Fedora stood from the bus stop bench and approached the entrance to the warehouse, entering without hesitation to find bodies strewn across the floor surrounding a single man handcuffed to a heavily damaged APC. The warehouse was packed with weapons, surveillance equipment, and even parts for powered armor. No doubt the Buttonless Brigade would appreciate Candon's next donation to their armory in return for the favors he'd needed to call in.


The trapped man made no eye contact with the shadowy figure as he approached. Even the defacto leader of the quiet rebellion knew when he was beaten.


"Your tactics are cowardly," Candon scolded, his voice flat and dull, "in my cultures ancient times a warrior could disprove his cowardice and regain his honor with a simple act before he died."


The beaten adversary looked up, his bloodied face burning with rage. You're the coward, you damned Yami! You murdered my wife!" Tears began to clean away the fresh blood that covered the bruises and abrasions as he gave way to sobbing.


Candon remained stone-faced. He could sympathize with the man for his loss, whom Candon was responsible for causing. "I told you to keep her out of this. Had you kept her out of our feud I promise you that she would still be alive to care for your son. You made her a combatant. However…," Candon paused, "if it's any consolation your son will not be harmed. I'll ensure that he finds a loving family."


With the rebel heaving on his knees, arm still connected to the APC's brush guard, Candon was ready to end this encounter. The conversation was mere vanity, and the suffering of his enemy held him back from his ultimate goal of not losing the one he loves. But still, even this murderer of FSCorp loyal shop owners deserved a chance to regain at least some of his honor.


A wazakashi clattered onto the ground before the broken man's knees.
"What's this?" He hissed and screamed, "will you just taunt me all night?!!"


"As I was saying, in the ancient times of my culture a warrior could regain his honor by taking his own life," Candon informed him, still emotionless, "It's your choice. Either way you're too dangerous to leave alive."


"Please," the man pleaded, "please, let me live to care for my son. I beg you, ple-"


"Choose, I won't ask again."


An uneasy silence gripped the air as the desperate man placed his shaking free hand on the wazakashi.
"Plea-" thump


Smoke rolled out of the barrel of Candon's classic HHG as the ever quiet mass driver cooled. Retrieving his wazakashi he turned on his heel and stepped toward the exit. The local authorities could handle the mess. With no one to resist the Banking Service the stabilization of the Arc mark was now guaranteed for as long as FBS maintained control.
 
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