Legacy of the Old [RETCONNED, CLOSED]

Wellington, Lanorth
Approximately 13:00
30th of August, 2016

The man walked swiftly through the decorated corridor, as he walked along the red carpet, leading up the stairs towards two large golden double doors. He looked to his right slightly, inclining his head. He admired the series of paintings, decorations and lights which were evenly spaced out along the walls.. He noticed He smiled, looking back towards him. He adjusted his shoulders slightly, before lowering his hands, pulling his black suit jacket down, to try and get rid of any creases that may have formed as he walked. He looked down to ensure his white shirt was tucked in, which it was. He placed his dominant right hand on his red-coloured tie, straightening it. He looked on either side of the walls, as guards, their heads following the man as he walked up the stairs.

He raised his head slightly, lifting his shoulders up, straightening his back. He sighed, as he looked up. He was approaching the end of the corridor now, as he approached the large double-doors. As he approached, he saw the double doors open. He walked through, looking through the corner of his eyes. Two guards in ceremonial uniform, their heads up, their chins sticking out slightly. He immediately noticed the vast rows of people, who were all standing, facing the door. As he walked, the room erupted into clapping, as the rows of people continued to clap. As he walked, the first orchestral song began to play, which was sung by a choir made of women, who volunteered to fulfil the "patriotic" act. He walked down the red carpet, nodding as a way of thanking the clapping audience. The carpet made a ninety-degree turn, which he followed accordingly, before walking down the red carpet further, now approaching two more golden double doors, which were rather tall - about the same size as the previous ones.

The room beyond was tall and equally as vast, decorated with huge paintings and many different golden decorations, with a large seal above the two doors, also made of gold. The walls were made of marble, with large golden chandeliers dangling from the ceiling above, which to the man, seemed far away. The man approached the stage, walking up the four steps in order to reach it. The stage was also made of marble. There was a marble podium, which was upon it, had the constitution of Lanorth, in a red book, with the word "Lanorthan" written on it, and then under it, the word "Constitution" in a golden colour, with the seal in gold above it. The man shook the hand of the head of the second-highest council in Lanorth. By this point, the songs being played by the orchestra ended. He then turned, facing the front, as a religious figure stepped forward to a separate microphone, where he spoke.

"According to section five of article two of the constitution of Lanorth, the President of Lanorth must take the oath of office before stepping in to become or resume his term as President, in order to assume or re-assume the powers of the President. Mr Brian Alexander Reid, please take the oath of office."

The man was the President. And this was his inauguration. Reid stepped forward to the podium, placing his right hand almost immediately on the constitution, which also listed the requirements to become President and the powers it possessed. Before the ceremony the President read this twice.

The inauguration ceremony is attended by representatives of the every council within the technocratic country, the President Executive Office, the Central Electoral Commission, representatives of Lanorth's main religions, representatives of the President’s election campaign (for the secondary council) headquarters and campaign supporters, representatives of public associations, members of the Presidential Councils for science and high technology, culture and arts, physical education and sports, representatives of the business community, and the media. In all, 1,700 people are attending the ceremony.

Reid leaned forward slightly, before speaking into the two microphones provided in-front of him. "In executing the office of President of the Republic of Lanorth, I solemnly swear to respect and protect the rights and liberties of men, women and of the citizen, to observe and protect the constitution of the Republic of Lanorth, to defend the sovereignty, independence, security and integrity of the state. Hereby, I shall faithfully serve the people, without refusal or reluctance." Monmouth stepped back, removing his hand. He straightened up, his arms stuck to his side, almost.

The religious figure stepped forward again. "Brian Alexander Reid has taken the oath of President of Lanorth." He stepped back. Clapping erupted, which was almost overwhelmed by the sound of trumpets, playing a consistent note for three seconds, before being joined in by an orchestra. The choir comprised of the patriotic females, who were dressed in ceremonial uniform with skirts reaching down to their knees. The national anthem began to play, as the choir erupted into singing. President Monmouth stood, his eyes facing the front, as thousands of people across the country joined in singing the anthem.

On top of the dome of the building they were in, which was the home of all councils within Lanorth - nicknamed "The Citadel", which is what it used to be, the Lanorthan flag, with the seal of the country placed in the centre, was raised above, flying high and gloriously. A line stuck with Reid.

"Be glorious, great country, we are proud of you."

Reid thought of Arthur Wellington, the first leader of the country, who was seen as the greatest President of Lanorth - of all time. Expectations for him were high. He was ready to deliver. He stood proudly, his eyes widening slightly. Outside, the military parade joined in song, singing the anthem. The 1,700 people inside did too. The military parade took off following the ceremony, as the President, surrounded by officials, watched as the military marched past, saluting the President. He smiled, admiring their synchronised march. He knew what he was doing. He wasn't stupid, more the opposite. Intelligent, cunning, a great thinker. He was prepared to sacrifice his life for his country - however he hoped he wouldn't have to.

Temporarily removed.

Wellington, the President's residence, 13:44
21 August, 2020

Reid sat at his desk, reading a book titled "Forgotten Voices of The Revolution", which was a book about the journal entries of rebels and royalists during the revolution between 1791 until 1793. His office gave off a modern glow, with a tan-coloured carpet decorated with the Lanorthan Coat of Arms, was a tan colour, in an oval shape which covered the whole floor within the office. Beneath the seal sat a rectangular coffee table, which was the colour of a dark brown wood, with coasters and a bowl of many fruits. On either side of the table were two couches, coloured a light brown colour, with pillows positioned precisely along each of them, symmetrically too, as Reid liked it. Behind the table, positioned diagonally opposite, were two brown leather chairs, which had armrests on the sides. They were facing the table at an incline. The chair on the left had a smaller coffee table to the left of its armrest, with coasters and a vase of flowers, alongside a lamp and a small bowl. The chair on the right, which Reid favoured, had an identical smaller coffee table which also had coasters on it and an identical vase of flowers, an identical lamp and bowl.

The walls were precisely decorated with numerous paintings, as well as evenly spaced out windows, with a dark-brown chest of drawers positioned under a painting of Lanorth's first President, Arthur Wellington, with golden handles to pull out the drawers. The walls were a plain white colour, with the evenly spaced out windows about eight feet tall each, with small white squares connected to the walls on either side of the window dotted across the windows evenly. The windows were bulletproof, specially designed to stop a .50 calibre bullet. The President's desk was a dark brown, made from oak timbers from an old Lanorthan naval vessel in the mid-1800s, which has been kept in pristine condition. Behind it was a dark-brown leather chair, which could be moved about with the wheels fitted to the bottom of it. The President's desk, in this instance, didn't have any documents or papers on it and had its own fruit bowl with a variety of fruits within it. Behind his chair, were two desk tables, with photos of family members, relatives, etc, as well as other personal items.

Reid had a rough childhood. His mother was distant and did not often treat Reid as well as he would have liked. His father was an authoritarian man, who was a politician himself and ran for President in 1986 aged forty, however stepped back from the race due to ill health and five years later, died in 1991 of bronchopneumonia complicated by immune system disorder when Reid was only twelve years old. Reid inherited his father's money and this was given to him aged 18. Reid became a businessman and a lawyer, having graduated aged 21. He made 6,238,486 Crownes alone from being a lawyer over the course of nine years, having proven to be a fantastic lawyer, was often a lawyer for the wealthy and showed interest in politics at the age of thirty in 2009 and later became an independent politician at the age of thirty-six. He became the head of the business field in the highest council in Lanorth, representing public accountants, auditors, forensic accountants and more. In the 2016 election he was recommended for a presidential candidate however turned it down. He was recommended for President and accepted in 2020 and won the election.

Reid has been described as an autocrat as well as an authoritarian, likely an influence from his father. He has been described as calm in almost all scenarios, however has been described as ferocious in debates and even when he has won the debate, which he often does, continues the debate further. When he does this he was described by journalists as "a vulture picking at a corpse". He has been described as narcissistic by psychiatrists and has "a deep hatred for socialism and communism". He has a daily routine which he sticks to strictly; swimming, exercise, going to bed a late time and little alcohol and no cigarettes. Reid believes his father's constant smoking and drinking habits contributed to his death, so avoids anything unhealthy. His detailed routine involves him waking up at eleven in the morning, eating breakfast around noon, which is usually porridge with honey, or an omlet and drinks raw quail eggs on the side. After breakfast only does he have coffee. He doesn't drink coffee with any meals, instead he may sometimes have a cocktail of beetroot and horseradish juice. He has said in an interview that "I do not have time, nor do I care about food, too much. I like vegetables, a salad for example, I will eat. I prefer fish over meat, but I also like lamb."He also stated how he is not much of a sweets guy, but enjoys the occasional ice cream, his favourite flavour being pistachio. He also stated how he likes to try local cuisine when he goes away and likes green tea. He also stated how he rarely has dinner, as he "doesn't have time".

He stated that he likes to drink a healthy, mildly alcoholic drink, called "Kenyr", which has a sour and slightly bitter taste. Kenyr is made from fermented milk drink made with certain `grains’ that are comprised of bacteria and yeast. He stated that if Kenyr isn't available, he often prefers not to eat at all. He has also stated his love for "pies with cabbage, meat, or rice, alongside cottage cheese". Reid also enjoys a cocktail of with plenty of ice, a drop of lemon juice, mint, and 50 grams of champagne. After a meal, he may often knock back a small shot of a strong alcohol and during the evening after his swim may also have a foreign red wine. He told a reporter during a pres conference that he gets six hours of sleep a night. He goes to bed at around five in the morning and wakes up at eleven in the morning. He has described this routine as "adequate" and "good enough". Reid allowed journalists to try his grandfather's recipe, a special fish soup and lamb with Lanorthan herbs.

Reid often dresses in expensive suits and sometimes in usual casual clothing. His suits are often imported and are designer. He prefers to wear aviator sunglasses and owns hundreds of expensive designer watches. His salary is apparently "Six-hundred thousand Crownes annually", though others claim his salary is much higher than that. Reid today was dressed in one of his many designer suits, with a navy blue suit jacket, navy blue suit trousers, a white shirt and a black tie. He wore an expensive watch. Reid was apprehensive, as one of the most important events in the country was coming up. He often thought about the Lanorthan Revolution and had a big fascination about it.

The President sit there, with no-one scheduled to meet him for the next while. He was free to read his book without much disturbance.

However, disturbance came. There was a knock at his door. His hand reached behind the book's cover, pulling a small silk cord and putting it between the pages where he was reading, as it acted as a bookmark. He closed the book, sliding it to the side. He clasped his hands and placed it on the desk in-front of him. He pressed a button on the side of his desk, which opened the double doors, allowing the guest to enter. The double doors opened and the man stepped in. He was wearing a brown suit, with the buttons on his shirt done up wrong, with his tie looking rushed. His shirt was half tucked-in and his trousers baggy. The man walked up to the President and without gaining permission, sat down in the seat in-front of the desk. The President blinked a few times in a confused manner. "Excuse me?" The President asked.

The man then hastily looked up, making an "Oh" sound, before hastily stepping up, taking the chair with him, sending it to the floor. The man turned on the spot, picking up the chair and placing it uneven with the other chair in-front of the desk. The President was bewildered.

"What the bloody hell are you doing?" The President barked.

"Mr Pres- ahem - President, sir, I have some urg-g-gent news." The man spoke with a distinctive stutter and obviously wasn't confident when speaking. "C-c-c-can I sit d-d-down?" He asked, putting his hands together, twiddling his thumbs. The President surveyed the man, looking him up and down.

"You come into my office looking like you found that suit in a bloody homeless shelter, you sit down, stand up, knock over my chair, without saying a single word between this, then stand there, twiddling your thumbs, asking if you can sit down. Who the hell do you think you are?"

"My n-n-n-name is, uh, uh, Gerald Lee, Mr Presid-d-dent, sir." The President's eyebrow raised. Lee fiddled with his buttons, undoing one, seemingly by accident, before doing it up again. He then asked again. "C-c-can I sit down?" The President chuckled and gestured with his hand. The man raced to the chair, yanking it back and sitting in it. Lee then looked to his foot then hissed under his breath. Lee then stood up, turned around, ran out of the doors and came back inside seven seconds later with a briefcase. Lee placed the briefcase on the President's desk. He turned the briefcase to face the President and opened it. The President looked inside. His eyes widened somewhat. He rushed his hands inside of the briefcase, taking out a folder. He looked at the front of the folder, with letters in red, in all capitals, which appear to have been stamped on the front of the folder.

"Okay." Mumbled the President. He opened the folder up, to be revealed with a long document, typed in a formal font.

Dear Mr President,
We are sorry to tell this to you, however with the election coming up, we have decided you may not be adequate for another four years in office. You have proven time and time again you are an autocrat and authoritarian, we don't want an autocrat in power in Lanorth, which puts our way of life, our system at risk.

This has been decided by the secondary council. You will not have the vote of any representative from this council and instead, another party leader shall be added to the race for power. The Social Party of The State of Lanorth has been chosen. We are notifying you of this now rather than later, as we feel it would be better for you to know beforehand.

We know, as your council, who you trusted, you may feel betrayed, however please, do not. We do not wish for any drama, or conflict between us in the future. We have decided by ourselves we do not want to risk someone who is a threat to our lifestyle to lead the country for another four years. This is a decision by us, not by anyone else. Purely us.

We wish you the best of luck in your future endeavours.

Regards,
Thomas Kelly,
Head of the technological field
On behalf of the higher council.


The President closed the folder. A stern expression grew upon his face. He clenched his hand into a fist and slammed it down on his desk. "You mean to tell me, I have been misled by these utter morons?" He turned to the man on the chair. The man stood up and burst out of the room, shutting the doors behind him. The President walked over to his couch, sitting down. He sat there, his head in his hands, with his elbows resting on his legs. He swore violently many times. He was as stressed as ever. The results of the election would soon be broadcasted live to the nation. He wouldn't watch it.

22nd of August
Election Day

News programmes and other shows on national television had been broadcasting predictions for the election and live updates, with a picture of each face of every member of the highest council and who they were voting for. The election was rather tight. A few days prior the populace were allowed to vote in an election that wouldn't determine anything, however would give the members of the council an idea as to whom the people wanted in power. The majority went to the runners-up, a Conservative named Jim Hughes. The Social Party of The State of Lanorth were far behind, led by Leonard Chambers, who recently went through a surge in popularity. The Social Party, which many did not know, wanted to install absolute authoritarianism and a mix between socialism and capitalism economically speaking, in order to control the economy in the way they want.

The Social Party of The State of Lanorth, who mainly have Socialist ideas, however have sprinkled Capitalist elements over the policies they plan to implement in a way to make money, as they believe money speaks on the global stage. They have began to look into micro-management, which they quickly blacklisted, as they found out it would collapse Lanorth entirely. The public don't know this next part, but the party wants to implement absolute authoritarianism they would need to stay in power and want to align private profit with national interests, so they control the economy and ensure the companies they want to succeed to indeed succeed. They don't want anything to stand in their way if they managed to take power, which they may due to a recent surge in popularity. They would abolish the Environmental Agency in Lanorth, would abolish the Lanorthan equivalent of the Better Business Bureau, so the Government would have the final say in all matters. If they believe your company would be better off if it merged with another company, they would ask you if you want to merge with it. If they said yes, great. If they said no, great. As they would have their company and all of its assets stripped from them and would be merged with the other company anyway. And because every company in Lanorth would be state-owned and thus owned by the Government, and with a law within the companies stating each company in order to be legitimate must have party cells inside of the company to keep them in line. A law that they would want to implement basically allows the Government to compel any Lanorthan company to provide any information it requests. Any. Along with that, important companies get cash injections and would be backed by the Government. This is if the Social Party took power. It's plans are not known to the public, instead the Social Party have issued completely different statements to essentially trick the people into thinking they would do good for Lanorth.

It was about two in the morning. The results were in and were being sent to the news companies and television shows.

"Alright, people, we have the results of the 2020 Lanorthan General Election! The results are as follows. The major party, the Social Party of The State of Lanorth, has not been able to secure the leading party role. Congratulations to Thomas Hughes on winning the Presidency."

The television panned to a stage, where Jim Hughes stepped out, clapping. He walked to the podium.

"I'm tired, but I just won the Presidency, so now I'm experiencing mixed feelings."

Surprisingly, the public didn't laugh, or even react. Hughes was an unpopular candidate in the first place, especially amongst the military; Hughes neglected defence often. One general wanted to take action, as he sat in his armchair, watching the programme on the television progress. This man was named Robert Miller. With no political experience, with the right supporters, he could fight for someone who wouldn't disregard defence. He knew exactly who. Thomas "Tommy" Callaghan.

As It Began.

The "trio", as they were nicknamed, wandered down a dimly lit street, which had the name "Growson Street". The white glow of street lights shining down on the pavement and road glimmered. On such a breathless night as this one, it seemed nothing could go wrong. Robert Miller, Tommy Callaghan and an unknown man in a combat vest, with combat uniform on. He wore a tan beret, luxurious aviator shades and had a beard. As they continued walking, the night seemed to grow pale, as the gentle tap of rain began to gently fall on the trio.

Less than six miles from this street, there was a small estate. This estate was the private home of the now-President, Jim Hughes, who was preparing to leave the estate. He was to have his last meal, then would go to sleep and would move to the Presidential Palace the next morning. Jim enjoyed his estate and urged his security team to let him stay one more night. They had no choice but to let him as he was the President. The most powerful man in the country.

In this estate, was a chef, working for the man in uniform. This said chef, called Ashton Donahue, smuggled cyanide in a small bottle into the estate. The bottle was checked, however not thoroughly - all the guards did was gave it a sniff. It is a genetic trait to be able to smell cyanide and this particular guard was unable to smell it. If he would have been able to, it would have smelled like bitter almonds.

The term "cyanide" refers to any chemical containing a carbon-nitrogen bond. The cyanide binds to the iron atom in cytochrome C oxidase in the mitochondria of cells. It acts as an irreversible enzyme inhibitor, preventing cytochrome C oxidase from doing its job, which is to transport electrons to oxygen in the electron transport chain of aerobic cellular respiration. Without the ability to use oxygen, mitochondria can't produce the energy carrier adenosine triphosphate. Tissues that require this form of energy, such as heart muscle cells and nerve cells, quickly expend all their energy and start to die. When a large enough number of critical cells die, you die.

The President ordered fish and chips, with a side of salad and a lemon cut in half on a small side plate. The President always ate the salad first, which was something that was noted in the kitchen, so the chef decided to put a large enough dosage of the cyanide to kill him in the salad. This was an assassination. Meanwhile, in Growson Street, the trio stopped off at a restaurant run by Robert's cousin, called "The Local", where they sat down, in silence, ordering a meal each and ate it, again, in an awkward silence. They were too apprehensive to speak.

Back in the palace, the food was ready. The chef walked over, plating it up. As she did, her hand slipped swiftly into her pocket, where she took out the small bottle. She popped off the lid and sprinkled the cyanide over the salad, before swiftly covering the bottle with the lid and putting it back in her pocket. She sprinkled some salt over the chips and grabbed a fresh lemon, cut it in half and placed it on a side plate. She lifted them both up and walked out, turning her back to the door to push it open. She walked to the President's table and set it down in-front of him. "There you go, Mr President, sir." Ashton said.

"Thank you." Said the President. Ashton swiftly walked away. The President picked up his fork and scooped up a large scoop of salad and put it in his mouth. His eyebrows closed together slightly. His salad tasted somewhat acrid. Nonetheless, he thought it may have been a sauce or something they put on it. Instead of complaining about the taste, he carried on eating it, ignoring the bitter taste. However, soon, he noticed a burning sensation on his tongue. He drunk some water but it did not go away. He ignored it, thinking he must have done something to it. He stabbed his fork into some chips and began to eat them.

Within minutes he began to feel dizzy. A headache developed, as he felt himself almost becoming more uncoordinated and confused. 'What...' He thought, his eyes darting around the room, as if he would find an explanation somewhere around him. He felt his arms began to feel tired and weak. He rested his elbows on the table, leaning forward. He set his cutlery on his plate and held his head in his hands. "Is everything okay, Mr President?" He heard a voice come. The President thought it sounded almost like an echo in a long tunnel.

"Yes, I just need a second." Came the reply. His words seem prolonged and slightly drawn out.

"Okay." Came the reply. The President was ultimately feeling more of these symptoms by the second.

"Uh..." Said the President, as his vision became somewhat blurred. He darted his eyes around, trying to get them to focus on something. His blood pressure began to fall low. The dosage was too large. The President slipped into unconsciousness, his head held in his hands. His head slid through his hands and slammed into his plate, smashing it, sending shards of glass into his face. With this, his security team began swarming him, as they called an ambulance. The President entered a convulsion. By now, his lungs were too far damaged. His heart rate slowed. His respiratory system failed approximately four minutes before the ambulance arrived and he entered a coma.

Death from poisoning usually results from respiratory or heart failure. A person exposed to cyanide may have cherry-red skin from high oxygen levels or dark or blue colouring, from Prussian blue (iron-binding to the cyanide ion). Also, skin and body fluids may give off an odour of almonds. The President's skin seemed to be a cherry-red colour, or slowly turned into one, with a faint odour of almonds coming off of him.

The President arrived at the hospital and was transported to a private section, which was immediately closed off. He arrived at 20:22. He was pronounced dead at 20:27, from respiratory failure. Each chef was immediately arrested - including Ashton. However, the mission was a success. The news flicked on-screen in the restaurant the trio were dining in. "Breaking news - photographs of the President being wheeled into the hospital have emerged, with rumours spreading the President died a few minutes ago." The trio each looked at each-other, a distinct expression on each of their faces; relief. The man in military uniform chuckled.

"So sad that it ends, just as it began." The man in uniform stood up and walked to the counter and placed down a large sum of money. As Tommy and Robert looked confused, glancing at each-other, only now did they realise a distinct burning sensation on their tongues. The man walked out. He walked into the dimly lit street. The night remained breathless. He walked alone, the air around him almost giving off a cruel feeling. The man felt a tingle race down his spine. He ignored it. He knew what he had to do.

"Ah." Said Tommy. "As it began. I see." Robert slumped back in his seat. "What can we do to prevent it?" Robert asked, looking out of the window, watching the man walk off.

"Probably not much. The dosage is probably a big one." Said Tommy.

"Should we do anything?" Robert asked, panicking.

"No." Tommy replied. "Lets just sit..." Tommy began to stumble on his words. "Sit back and, uh, let it happen." Within ten minutes the pair were dead, each sprawled over their seats. The man was nicknamed "Arthur Volkan". Whether this was his real name or not, no-one knew. But he went by the codename "Volkan". The man is shrouded in mystery. And soon, he was to become feared by nearly two-hundred million people.

removed

The man in military uniform, known as Arthur Volkan, sat in a little room, which was dark, had a window, which had the curtains open, letting the dim moonlight shine through. He had a pen, as he wrote in a small little booklet set on a desk. His hand moved up and down a line in the book, as his pen galloped over to each side of the page. He wrote;

"Where shall I be, this time tomorrow... shall I have power at my disposal, or shall I be left in the middle of a road, bleeding from my body? I have a feeling I should be... should be fine. Hopefully my fortune, hopefully it won't fade. Well, lets get on with this. I've overstayed my welcome. Now before I lose too much altitude..."

He set down his pen and closed over his journal. He stood up, however immediately turned around, his face scrunching up. He gripped his ribcage, as he felt a sharp pain rush through his body. He took out a napkin and raised it to his mouth, where he coughed and spluttered into it. After his coughing fit was over, he took away the napkin and looked at it. There was droplets of blood stained across where he was coughing. He shook his head, tossing the napkin into a bin. He walked over to a coat hanger, where he took his jumper off and hung it up. He was now wearing an olive-green t-shirt, which was slightly tight, and designed to deflect sunlight. It was just the end of the Summer and still somewhat hot out, so he chose to wear it. He took a combat vest with plate-carriers inside and put it over his head, tightening it around him. He turned, picking up a random pair of his many designer aviator shades and placed them carefully on his face. He then took his beret from a peg and placed it on, lowering it over his forehead.

He sighed, looking down at his feet. He coughed again. He walked towards the door, still coughing. He opened it, as he felt the cold breeze from the outside blow gently against him. He turned to the wall behind him on the inside. He took his fist and slammed it into a red button sitting there, which activated an alarm across the facility; to mobilise and stand on the parade square in full-combat kit. Once done, he closed the door behind him. He sighed, looking over his shoulder. He spat on the ground in-front of him, producing blood. He felt a wave of anxiousness swarm his stomach. He shivered slightly, apprehensive. He looked in his pocket. He took out a small box, inside some cigarettes, which were vanilla scented. He stared at them, feeling drawn towards them. The box was black with golden writing, personalised as so they did not warn you about the dangers of smoking. Years prior, he was an avid smoker and due to this got lung cancer, however refused to get treatment. This was starting to backfire on him. He turned, opening the door again and tossing the box inside. He then took off his vest and tossed that inside too. "I won't need it." He thought He then closed the door, before turning. He jogged down the four metal stairs leading down to the tarmac. Once he touched the tarmac, he marched to the parade square, where he saw some soldiers lining up already.

As his soldiers lined up, he walked to a wooden podium, where he walked the stairs up to it. He stood at the front of the podium, overlooking the podium. He rocked from front to back, as he stood on his tip-toes, before going back, leaning on his heels, before returning to his tip-toes. He stood at-ease. He looked down on his soldiers, dressed in their camouflage uniforms, with belts and combat vests, with the best plate carriers they could get. They wore helmets, with identical camouflage to their uniform. Their camouflage was a mix of dark greens. They also wore a black mask, which covered everything from the neck, up to the upper nose.

Once everyone, more or less, were in position and Volkan's officers joined him, Volkan's arms zipped to his side, as Volkan raised his left leg, stamping it on the wood below. When he did this, he felt a sharp pain rush up his left side. He flinched slightly, before bellowing; "ATTEN-'SHUN!" The arms of the soldiers zipped to their sides, as they stamped their left leg, raising their knee to waist-height. Volkan saluted and they returned the salute. "Good, at-ease." The soldiers complied. "Today, we do this. As you know, I'm not one to make speeches. Lets get on with this. Get the trucks ready." He turned to his left to one of his officers and stamped his right foot, opposite to the way he turned. The officer did the same, using the opposite leg for the way he turned.

"Yes, sir, of course, sir." The officer turned, and once again, stamped the foot opposite to the direction he turned. He marched off of the podium and fifteen soldiers tailed on behind him, marching in unison off around the main barracks to the vehicle lot behind. The remainder waited for the vehicles to come. Soon, armoured troop transport vehicles arrived and every soldier got into one, with an equal one in each number. Once they were all in, the remaining officers got in an armoured SUV, where the convoy drove off, one after the other. However, a whole military convoy attracted some attention.

The police were called by people who saw the stream of vehicles flow past their street. The police thus contacted CTSFO (Counter Terror Special Firearm Officers), the Army, Air Force and local police in the area. The Army confirmed that no convoys were scheduled to have been transporting anything through that area at that time. So, it was regarded as an illegal action and six police cars were deployed to intercept the convoy.

Once they did, the police flashed their sirens and blared their lights. However, the convoy did not stop. Even when the police drove directly next to them, they did not stop - until the hatch in the top of the vehicle opened. Simultaneously, assault rifles turned on the police and the drivers of each car were shot at and killed or wounded. A helicopter overhead witnessed this and immediately, CTSFO and the Army were contacted. Within minutes CTSFO swarmed the streets of Wellington, where the convoy was headed, taking the back streets.

There was a dead, awkward silence in the convoys. No radio chatter, it had been reduced to a minimum after the incident back along the road. The Government by now had likely been evacuated, but they didn't care - if they took Wellington they could do a lot and that was their goal. However, it would be difficult. Attack helicopters from the nearby air force base swooped over, firing a .50 calibre minigun fitted on the side of the helicopter, taking out several vehicles. The convoy attempted to return fire and ended up having to stop, get out and move to defensive positions, still several miles from the city itself.

As the city's lights glimmered in the distance and the night sky twinkling, soldiers of Volkan moved all across the place, spacing themselves out and all lying prone, waiting patiently for anything, or anyone, to arrive. And they did, in the form of another attack helicopter, with thermal cameras fitted. This was now a battle. Helicopters turned their miniguns on the targets on the ground, spraying right across the dots which could be seen scattered across the ground below.

Bodies were decimated, blood, mixed with flesh and organs were splattered everywhere, as some began to run away. CTSFO now arrived. Armoured police vehicles with flashing lights came in from all sides, skidding to a stop and the back doors opening, allowing eight operatives per vehicle to emerge, guns already raised. They used their thermal vision on their NVGs to be able to see their targets. Once they could, they opened fire. Volkan was behind a rock, shouting, attempting to rally his men,

"COME ON! GET UP! WE DON'T STAND AROUND, WE AREN'T BOSSED AROUND - WE FIGHT NOW, IT IS NOW OR NEVER!" No. He was too late. It was already - nearly over. As attack helicopters suppressed soldiers who followed his cry and as CTSFO moved in, with the Army already on the way, it seemed hopeless. Volkan drew his pistol and clambered on-top of the rock. He fired twice into the air. "ONWAR-" He was cut off, as a zip could be heard. Volkan seemed to keel over, falling onto the rock, then rolling off of it and behind, back where he started off. He was crying out in pain. He had been shot in the ribcage. He screamed, looking down at his hands. He couldn't see well, but he saw a dark liquid on his hands, only visible thanks to the dim moonlight from the sky. He had also broken a few bones upon his fall. The scene was a massacre. It wasn't even complicated, they had all just been shot down.

Eventually, the perpetrators were overrun. CTSFO came and stumbled across the wounded Volkan, who was having a convulsion and bleeding profusely. The operative/officer recognised the man from a document he had read about security companies; Volkan was the head of one. The man looked down at Volkan, who was yelping out. The officer crouched down, applying pressure to his wound. As he did, Volkan tried to contain his convulsion, as he drew a knife from a small holster in his belt and went to stab the officer. The officer dived backwards and drew his pistol, stepping back. The officer aimed at Volkan, as the sun began to rise behind the officer. "Drop it or I paint that stone with your brains." The officer barked. Volkan attempted to toss the knife, however was shot in the head twice as he let go of the blade. The blade didn't go far. Volkan was dead and so was his coup attempt.

News reports swarmed the country of an attempted coup by a "Max Arthur, otherwise known as Arthur Volkan". The Government, nor the President, weren't in the city at the time, ironically. Yet President Hughes later resigned, leading to his Vice President, a conservative named James S, A. Valerian, a popular yet somewhat controversial political figure.

Lanorth has had three different Presidents within the last two weeks. James Valerian wanted to make sure he would be the last President for several years, until the next election. Lanorth was still undergoing small power struggles, so Valerian clamped down on them. He viewed each candidate for the position they were fighting for and reviewed how good they would be for the job. The candidate he chose was better he picked for the job and ended the power struggle then and there. An inexperienced, yet corrupt politician, named Edward Douglas Kennedy, who had only stayed in power thanks to his wealth and paying his superiors to keep him there. When James was offered a large sum of cash to keep him Edward where he was, James instantly fired him and and ordered his temporary apprehension, where he was taken to court, with charges of corruption.

He was tried by The State Court of Lanorth, the highest judicial body and was found guilty of corruption and was sentenced to four years in prison with a chance of parole. James Valerian did not want to risk his Presidency, so he would do anything to keep Lanorth stable, keep his position until the end of the term and hopefully become re-elected. James wasn't necessarily paranoid, he just wanted to take the correct precautions. He did not care if he was unpopular, he didn't care what others thought of him. All he cared about was himself and his people. He wanted to enforce a unitary, secular state with a Government who was not involved in religion. But for now, he had to focus on his first address to the nation.

James sat at his desk, dressed in a formal, navy blue suit. The desk was identical to how President Reid had it. His desk was clear, with all the paper and folders having been removed prior. James looked up at the team in-front of him, with several large cameras pointed right at him, wires stretching right across the floor and lots of different appliances which James had no knowledge of, just scattered around. James looked down at his desk, which had a screen inside, which he could see and only he. It had a miniature wall around it, only stopping at the end of each side, preventing people beside and in-front of ever seeing what he was. It was also touchscreen, so he could swipe away at the screen and read whatever.

On this screen he opened up a document, which had a pre-prepared speech for him. He swiped a few times, before turning off the device. He would speak what he wanted to and what he felt he should. As he thought this, a voiced dashed across the room to him; it was one of the people operating the cameras. "Are you about ready, Mr President?" She asked. The President straightened his tie and cleared his throat.

"Yes, I think so." He replied.

"Okay, we will start in sixty seconds." She replied. The President nodded gently in response.

The sixty seconds felt longer than they actually were. When a countdown began, from five, the President straightened up and looked directly into the camera. He knew millions would be watching. He cleared his throat, as the countdown struck zero and the cameras turned on. The President opened his mouth to speak and the words he wanted to say came out. "Good evening, people of Lanorth and others who may have joined us. I am your new President, James Valerian. I am happy to be able to sit here and make my address to you all, as your President, or the President, depending on where you may be watching this now. First of all, I would like to address the state of the country. As you likely know, there was a failed coup the other day, against myself. The unfortunate assassination of President Thomas Hughes was not in vain. The perpetrators have been arrested or killed in the recent coup. I send my utmost regards to Hughes' family. However, from this moment forward, with your new President, I will answer to the calls of the people and will address whatever issues are present in the country. I promise to defend Lanorth, its laws, its sovereignty and of course, its people. Speaking of that topic, if you are unaware, The Imperium and Yamantau have recently entered a state of war with each-other. Lanorth shall remain strictly neutral in this conflict and shall offer humanitarian support if necessary. Now. From now on, I say this to the Lanorthan person; the power lays in your hands. Now, your voice shall be heard. We will listen to you to the best of our ability and equally shall act on your wishes." He continued on, making promises and addressing more issues in the country, explaining them in great detail and how he plans to fix them or make them right.

Once it finished, he ended it with a "Thank you for watching and may God bless you." He sighed, standing up. Once it was over he let the camera crew pack up as left altogether, to carry out the rest of his duties.

It was the tenth of September. President Valerian was walking in a park outside Wellington, in Lanorth. Next to him was his security detail and driving along the road beside them was his presidential vehicle, nicknamed "The Trophy". He was quite active, often going on walks mostly during the night, however today was the exception, as there was meant to be an air force flypast over the city which he wanted to watch. He chatted with his security detail, chuckling at a few comments. Along the street, people walked about their day and didn't take much notice of James; they didn't care too much. However, some heads turned to glance at the James.

As a woman holding a cardboard coffee cup from a local coffee shop walked along the pavement behind the James some distance away slowly picked up her pace, James was unaware of the woman approaching behind. James laughed at a comment from a member of his security detail, who made a joke about the hassles of politics. The woman, as she heard the voice of James, immediately recognised him. She immediately picked up her pace, with every step, closing the gap between them. As she got within a close enough distance, she took the lid off of her coffee cup. She was now within a metre of James, as the security detail turned around and noticed her. James turned too. "Hello-" he said, however was cut off. She turned her head to James and chucked her piping hot coffee all over him, aiming at his face. James was immediately soaked, all over his suit jacket and face.

One member of the security detail immediately charged forward, tackling her by the waist and bringing her to the ground, forcefully turning her onto her stomach, where he apprehended her. James was rushed into the vehicle, as he gasped for air, taken by surprise with the piping hot coffee. He let out a shout, likely in pain, as the coffee burned against his face, almost pulsating. "What the fuck did she throw over me?" He yelled out demandingly. "I swear to God, if that's acid or something..." He yelled, obviously furious with his security detail.

"It's not acid!" Blurted out one of the people who thrown him into the car. "It's," he sniffed a few times. "It's coffee."

"If its not acid its definitely burning hot coffee!" James retaliated, his voice becoming increasingly louder. "That could have been fucking acid, y'know! You lot are useless, I tell you, useless! I want that woman arrested, immediately." As he said this, he heard the sirens of police cars race up to the scene, where their cars skidded to a halt. Police officers rushed out to the woman and slapped a pair of handcuffs around her wrists.

"What's your name, miss?" Said the officer, as he cuffed her.

"Jennifer Mule." She responded frantically, wriggling about on the concrete.

"Jennifer Mule, you are under arrest for assault upon the President of Lanorth. Anything you say or do may be used against in you in court and therefore you have the right to remain silent." Upon hearing this, James thumped his fist into the seat in-front of him.

"Don't give her a fucking court trial, there's enough evidence here! I'm sitting here, covered in some shit coffee! Take her straight to some jail, I'll decide her Goddamn sentence." James roared. An ambulance turned up soon enough. The paramedics rushed out from their ambulance and rushed to the presidential car, as the police began blocking off the street entirely from any pedestrians, cars or normal people walking about.

"Mr President, may I take a look at you for any possible burns?" A paramedic asked.

"Yeah, hurry up though." James said, exhaling rapidly, as the adrenaline began to ware off.

After a few seconds of examination, the paramedic opened their mouth once again to speak. "Mr President, luckily, the burns aren't as bad as you think. You have first degree burns, sir, with a patch of second degree burns on your hand. The coffee had cooled down enough that it was not able to cause third degree burns on your skin. Due to this we need to rush you into hospital, as your second degree burn on your hand is considered an emergency, so if we could go to hospital, it would help us a lot."

"Can't we just do it here?" James asked, exhaling sharply. "I don't like hospitals." He added on.

"It'll be harder for us." The reply came.

"Then we stay here." James blurted out. Another paramedic sighed, coming other with a cool basin of water. He placed it on the President's lap and placed his burned hand gently in it. Each paramedic took antibacterial hand wipes and cleaned their hands as the President rested his hand in the basin. A paramedic brought over some clean water and gently raised his hand from the water, as they cleaned it. Some burned skin came off. Once done, they patted the burnt area with a gauze.

"Now, your blisters, of which there are few, haven't broken, so a bandage isn't needed, James. We will need to take you to the presidential palace, as it has a private mini-hospital ward for you, right?" A paramedic asked.

"Yes, it does." James replied.

"Is it okay if we take you there?"

"Sure, whatever." James said. "Oh, and about that prick who threw coffee on me," said James, forcing his way out of the car and to the police car, where she was sat. "I consider this an assassination attempt, as that could have been acid thrown over me. Therefore, I want her executed. As soon as she gets to prison, have her shot."

"Will do, Mr President." The officer said. Jennifer began to scream.

"No, please! Please don't-" she was forced into the back seat of the police car and the door was slammed. She placed her face up against the window, staring at the President. "Please don't do this!" She screamed. "Don't fucking do this!" Her screams were, however, muffled. The President stared at her, his eyebrows forming a frown on his face. The President shook his head slightly, before turning around and getting into the back seat of his car. He had the door closed behind him.

"That security detail, that bloody coffee, and these... these irritating burns." He murmured. The driver got into the vehicle and a police convoy arrived to escort the vehicle away. As the police car transporting Jennifer drove away, so did the convoy with the President. James was more concerned about his second degree burns on his hands than a woman he had just personally sentenced to death.

An hour later, the President was receiving further treatment in his private hospital ward near his palace. Jennifer, however, was being dragged out of a police car by the entrance to a facility, which was specifically designed for executions. As she was dragged out, she was screaming out, kicking away, trying to kick away the two prison guards dragging her across the prison grounds. "Please don't, I didn't mean it, I swear!"

"Shut up." Came the stern reply of one of the guards. She was dragged through a keycard-activated doorway and dragged down a flight of stairs, before being thrown into a soundproof room. The door was slammed shut when a guard entered. The guard drew his pistol and tossed her against the far wall, where he aimed his pistol at her head.

"No, I'm begging you, don't! I'll do anything!" The guard stared at her. He didn't say a word. He applied pressure to the trigger and shot her in the head. He holstered his gun and had the corpse dragged away by cleaners to the on-site morgue, as other cleaners moved in to clean up any mess. By September nineteenth, Valerian had recovered from his burns and was back in shape. But now, he finally understood the powers he had. And didn't want to give them up anymore, nor did he feel unready or unprepared for the job.

Wellington, Lanorth
5th of November, 2020
13:41

Lanorth was a Democratic Country from 1793, until 1947 - when technocracy was introduced. Since then, it has been a semi-democratic country, with three councils to heavy influence the country. The Electoral Council, by far, were the most important. The Council, whom are appointed by members of their fields of expertise as the lead person in that field, are also responsible for deciding for electing and sometimes, impeaching the President - as well as voting and passing bills or laws. They were often responsible for ensuring the President abides by Lanorth's laws and the such. James Valerian, however, had not given Jennifer Mule, a citizen of Lanorth, a fair trial nor the right to defend herself, or have a lawyer. And he would be punished for it. However, the Electoral Council would have to decide how.

The Council were all sat in comfortable, leather chairs. They were in groups of four, and in-front of them, were desks, each had its own laptop. They also had a coaster with a glass of water, as the members of the Council, who were all over 36, as its a requirement for them to be, were trusted not to spill it. They were all deep in conversation, as they awaited the arrival of the Speaker of The Council, observers, and the President himself. The Speaker presides over the Council's debates, determining which members may speak and which amendments are selected for consideration. The Speaker is also responsible for maintaining order during debate, and may punish members who break the rules of the council. Observers were just spectators, essentially, and the President is the President.

The guards who stood at the double-doors leading into the Council turned, marched inwards towards the door and opened it. The talking in the room died down. the door opened. The Speaker walked in, followed by the observers. Finally, the President walked in, his head bowed slightly. The President was sweating. His hair looked like it had been rushed, with loose strands of hair hanging over his face. The Speaker sat down in his chair, as the observers split off, walking off through separate double doors, before taking a seat in booths upstairs, overlooking the Council.

The President sat down in his seat. The Council all stood up, as the National Anthem played. When it finished, they all sat down. The Speaker stood up.

"Good afternoon, ladies and gentlemen. Today, we are going to discuss the recent actions by President Valerian, concerning Jennifer Mule, 31. Some claim Mule was wrongfully put to death, without a fair trial, access to a lawyer, nor a defence, by President Valerian directly." He sighed. "Any questions?" No hands raised. "Very well. This session is officially underway. Who would like to speak first?" Numerous hands raised. The Speaker pointed his hand towards one of the people with his hand up. "The Honourable Gentleman may speak." The hands in the room fell down, as the President leaned back in his seat, his head bowed.

The man chosen stood up. "In all of my years in the Electoral Council, I have never had to deal with such an event as this. Normally, the President is - and quite frankly should be responsible with his powers. James Valerian is not. He denied Mrs Mule access to a lawyer, a defence, a trial, or anything else along these lines."

The President glanced up, an expression of hatred smeared on his face.

"I wish Lanorth had a figurehead as a head of state, so it would limit the powers of such power-hungry Presidents that we have now. But that is for another time. I support the impeachment of James Valerian and believe the Council of Electors should lead the country as one, until we can properly decide on a suitable President - as well as a possible figurehead. But in the mean time, impeach him." He sat back down and nodded his head at the Speaker in thanks. The Speaker stood up.

As the Speaker let more and more people speak, fierce debates broke out over impeaching James Valerian, as well as a debate over a figurehead. After numerous other people stood up and debated, the Speaker called a vote.

"Okay. Thank you, to the honourable ladies and gentlemen here for their contributions to today's session. The first vote will be concerning James Valerian. Shall we impeach him? Vote via your computers if you are in favour of this." All but 40 votes for the vote were received - the majority. Once all the votes were counted, the motion was carried and the process of impeaching Mr Valerian was underway. James raised his fist and hit it off of the desk in-front of him. He hadn't said a word throughout the whole session. He knew he would receive a trial for his "crimes".

"Now, we move onto the next proposal. The Council of Electors lead the country as one until a suitable President is elected." The vast majority of voted in favour, almost all. "Okay. The second last proposal - the Council should elect a figurehead to lead the country, which is separate from the President and acts as a head of state." It was close - however the majority voted in favour. "Next proposal - a fair trial, the likes of which Jennifer Mule did not receive, shall be provided to James Valerian for his actions." Every vote was for it, but four. "Not all of these proposals will be introduced immediately, however shall be worked on in the near future. However, now, James Valerian, will be impeached in the coming days, maybe weeks. You are free to make more proposals. If anyone else does not wish to, you are all dismissed."

After an hour or so of proposals and voting, the session ended. James Valerian was soon to be impeached. He would likely be sent home until his trial. But now, the Interim Government - the Council - was in power.