The Hunt for Junt

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(OOC: The story of Feladine Junt started here: http://forum.theeastpacific.com/single/?p=10024738&t=7009373)

7 June 2017
Sani Bursil
9:55AM

<We just did it.

After Lambertus went down, the world as we knew it had ended. The once heart beat of the world came to a stop. He was finally dead. The incumbent of the Morstaybishlian Throne no more. Amalda described him many times as “The demon who sat on his gold tower”, and how right she was.

“…a terrorist attack has targeted the… …family just minutes… It is believed that the… was killed. More information… be announced shortly.”
After finishing my Hobsti, I thanked the bar lady and strode outside. The city was eerily calm, at least from where I was. Nobody was outside, the clouds were too still, and the birds had stopped chirping. Something was wrong; and it was disturbing. A flurry of misunderstanding hit me. My comrades had not retained conversation and they were still not at the checkpoint. In the distance, the helicopters reporting for the propaganda machine were still there. Their presence frustrated me. They don’t bat an eye for the poor and the weak, but as soon as the King dies, all hell breaks loose and they come begging to fill their stories.
Of course that made sense.
I tidied my hair and straightened my jacket. It was light brown leather, which seems to be highly fashionable at the moment. I walked back down the street to the original checkpoint.
There was still nobody.
As infuriating as it was, I needed to remain calm and hidden. Blurting my anger will only make it worse. I put my hand in my pockets for comfort as I laid in wait. My fingers brushed past a few items, my eyes twitching as I felt the tiny white capsule. I took my hand out, instead producing my phone.
>Where are you?
That was perhaps the biggest mistake of my life.

[hr]7 June 2017
Sani Bursil
10:01AM

Ivanka, Gas and Les were held tight in the clutches of Armed Police. It was impossible to writhe out of the men’s firm grasp. The journey was silent. Not a single noise besides the sound of the engine could be heard. After Gas and Ivanka were detained and stripped of their ability to resist, they did not look at each other. They knew their lives were over. In Ethalria, failure was frowned upon, and to this degree, punishable. The very fact that they failed Ethalria made it even worse.
They didn’t resist because they knew they’d get hurt. Les already tried it, her handcuffs were tightened and her wrists bled.
The three women had all of their possessions robbed, and sat with the officers. All of a sudden, her phone buzzed. Curious, an officer undid her bag and pulled it out. The phone was still turned on.
“Ivanka! You didn’t turn your phone off?!” Gas shouted. The officer immediately made the correlation that there was more than the three women here.
“Shit!” Ivanka cried.
“You tell me who this is! Right now!”
“No!” Ivanka, unable to move, spat at the officer. He snarled and opened up text location. It revealed everything. He turned on his communicator to his commanding officer in the car behind.
“Our assailant is in Frae Street.”

[hr]7 June 2017
Frae Street, Sani Bursil
10:06AM

I was sitting on a bench. The sound of rotor blades from a helicopter pass by. After a while, the sound of sirens were apparent, and the helicopter, that I couldn’t see, was still making an obnoxious noise. It was too foggy to see, but the helicopter was stalking me, I just knew it, and the sirens were getting closer. I knew that something had gone wrong. Luckily, my car was parked a street away, and they didn’t know what I looked like. Unluckily, I was the only person in the street.
I know what I needed to do.
I sprinted fast. Faster than I ever have before, and for good reason. When I launched myself into the car and started the engine, I looked over to where I was sitting. It was a long distance away, but the police were already there. They were driving in my direction, but not for me. They didn’t yet know I was there.
The bar lady from earlier walked outside and lit up a cigarette. She thought nothing of it. But the police did. Being the only woman in the street that vaguely resembled my description, they detained her. I had no pity. Her husband was a bastard.

They thought they had me.

They did not.[edit_reason]Adding reference to the Aurora Theatre of War: Ethalria[/edit_reason]

2

7 June 2017
10:10AM

Ivanka was dead then. Gas and Les too. At least, they’d better be dead. Either way, I had to resume the plan, crusing down broader and broader down-town streets toward the main highway. As I drove I couldn’t help the ecstatic grin from spreading across my face as I revelled in the knowledge that the demon-king Lambertus was dead, after so many years of planning and tension. Soon though, as I joined a main road, more serious thoughts intruded my mind and washed the ecstasy away. The assassination plan was simple; get into positions, kill the king, reach one of the designated checkpoints for pickup and then return to a safehouse for further instructions. Lucky for me, we had a contingency plan for such an event, and each one of us had memorised a safehouse, meaning the safehouse south-east of the city was secure, for now.

Now on the Highway and finally leaving the chaos behind, I turned on the radio and tuned it to MBC One. As I had anticipated, there was no pop music or celebrity gossip today, and in its place was a news crew relaying live coverage from the city center, panicked voices still filling the background noise over an hour after the glorious assassination.

“-ow believe there is a fourth Ethalrian assassin still at large. Her identity is still unknown, but witnesses describe her as ‘olive skinned with an unusually large nose, a curved scar across her right cheek, almost black hair and wearing a brown leather jacket’. Police advi-”

Shit, must’ve been that fucking bar lady. I glanced at some grey-stained high-rise apartment complexes as they passed by and at the city center in my mirror that was barely visible behind me. Too late now though. As a precaution, I pulled into a layby and removed my jacket, stuffing it under the passenger seat. Unfortunately as well as my jacket, the police knew what I looked like, at least vaguely. Whilst still in the layby I checked the glove box, and to my immeasurable relief, Gas had left her woollen hat, gloves, and scarf; the most important. I placed the hat on my head immediately to slightly mask my hair, and deposited the other items on the passenger seat before setting off again. It was all going well so far, the death of my comrades aside…

Half an hour passed, the radio blaring out petty messages from the puppet Walter Johannes declaring war on Ethalria. Good, they would certainly fail against Amalda’s strategic cunning. I had just begun calming down, when his voice came through on the radio, tearing my elated soul asunder; his pathetic sobbing voice.

“My son was killed today,” Lambertus begun, but I had started screaming.

3

Not far outside the city limits, the safe house was a semi-detached dwelling in a small village that was bought cheaply due to the falling demand of jobs nearby. It contained several years of food, a generator, and a disguised satellite dish that would allow me to directly contact ‘Janet’, the mastermind behind the assassination plot. However, it was still a dozen miles away, and outbound traffic had ground to a halt. It was already a suspicious coincidence, but the blaring sirens and imposing black shape of a swat van charging right past my car on the hard shoulder confirmed my fears. There was a roadblock ahead.

I had only just regained some focus after the devil-king came on the now smashed radio, but I needed my full mental faculty to avoid the inevitable failure ahead. Luckily, the traffic was slow, so I had some time to prepare my plan. Inching around the next bend of the motorway, the flashing lights and puffy armoured guards of a roadblock were still not In sight, but it mustn’t have been much further ahead. I sighed with relief when I spotted another layby ahead, occupied only by an articulated lorry, the driver not in sight.

The traffic continued to edge forward, and as the exit came I slipped into the layby. Pulling the thick scarf over my neck, I exited the car and swaggered with annoyance to the bonnet. I casually inspected the engine, pretending I had some kind of issue, before taking out my inactive phone and mock calling someone. To someone passing by, It shouldn’t have looked too suspicious. As I continued with my mock phone call, I slowly edged further and further from the road, and as soon as I was out of sight, I plunged through the hedge and into the field beyond.

With a long hike ahead of me if I wanted to sleep on a bed tonight, I trudged onward through the field, wet, dark mud coating my trousers. Clouds hastily rolled overhead, spilling a drizzling rain that strengthened slowly over time, causing large puddles to form in my way. They weren’t an issue though, I kept powering on. If anything it was symbolic, pathetic fallacy symbolising the loss of my friends and the failure of the mission. “At least his bastard son is dead,” I thought.

When I finally arrived at the safe house, sopping wet and desperately needing a wash, the winter sun was setting and the temperature rapidly falling. Unlocking the door, I immediately dashed into the shower for a long warm rinse, and sighed with exertion. My legs burned and my stomach roared, so I treated myself to a can of ravioli drizzled with pesto and relaxed with a cool Ethal beer. I didn’t realise I’d fallen asleep until I woke at dawn the next day, a half-empty bottle still on the coffee table. The neighbors were pensioners, and would likely still be in bed for hours, so, feeling refreshed, I continued with the contingency protocol, and set up the satellite dish in the shed. Linking it with a hardy portable terminal, I punched in a short message for ‘Janet’ and waited, hoping for the best.

— Begin quote from ____

Janet, I’m sure Mandy has told you already, but 3/4 of the crop haven’t survived the winter. The rest, though, has been harvested and is now in its barn. What should I do with it?

— End quote

4

The atmosphere within the state building of the Grand Matriarch was heating up. Various war councils ran double shifts organising and argueing over the preliminary advances into Staynish territory, as well as coordinating with their Xagrurgian Empire equivalents on the southern and naval fronts. Walking briskly and purposefully through the bustle of military activity, Jane Augusta approached Amalda’s door, her nerves rattling. The matriarch had been absolutely livid that the king had survived his assassination, despite the death of his son, and Jane could not predict how she would react to this new revelation. She knocked twice on the ornate style wooden door, hearing the matriarchs distinctive “Enter” in reply. Amalda was sat at her desk, skimming over several documents that related to the long term plans of the war, as well as a copy of a classified military strategy book to the side.

Amalda glanced up, setting the documents down when the saw it was Jane. “Yes Augusta,” She smiled tensely. “Do you have the positions of Morst bunkers yet?”

“Nearly, intelligence is compiling a document as we speak, though I have other news to report on Feladine Junt.”

“Really?” She lost her smile and her brow creased. “What has become of her?”

Jane suppressed a gulp. “We’ve received a secure message from her, she has escaped and is in her safe house awaiting further orders.”

“Do you really think I have ‘further orders’ for that bitch who trained and commanded the most useless assassins in world history?” She snapped angrily. “She is of no use to us after that failure, make sure she is imprisoned and executed when we recapture her.”

“For once I must disagree my matriarch,” said Jane courageously. “She is still near Sani Bursil and may be useful in eliminating other targets or performing reconnaissance; She’s still a well trained spy after all.”

“No, my decision is final, don’t question it.” Amalda left it with that. “Inform her to return to Ethalria at once, do not inform her of our intentions, then get back to your department and back to work, Dismissed.”

“Yes my matriarch,” Jane saluted. “The bunker intel should be with you shortly.”

Jane left the office and returned to her own several floors below. She took the hardy tablet that was her only link to Junt, and began writing telling her to return as Amalda had ordered her to, but promptly deleted it. I would be tried for treason if this is found, She thought as she typed a new message. I cannot say the grand matriarch has ever given a wrong order except this one instance. it would be a waste to have Feladine killed for the failures of her squad, I’m sure she’s as angry as Amalda herself about the king’s survival. As she finished the message, she paused for a moment as her treasonous fingers hovered over the send button. It only took a moment for her to shove those thoughts aside and do what was right.

— Begin quote from ____

That’s a shame Julie, I cant really help because the old woman has her own problems to deal with. keep the rest of the crop safe and we might be able to help you later. from janet

— End quote

5

Friendsdale cleaning HQ, Lokania

A new job sat in Greg’s inbox from an anonymous buyer, as always. They were offering a fat sum of Bytecoin for sterilising an uninhabited house in semi-rural Staynes, no questions asked. Greg pondered whether it would be a mob storehouse or a node of some kind of smuggling ring, perhaps just a local creep, but let those thoughts to rest as he called Romero. The buyer had specified that any evidence of occupation past or future should be removed, as well as the repossession of any belongings found to be sent to an address in Kostromastan. Specific details like this were to be expected, and not to be questioned.

“Hello?” Romero answered.

“Hey its me,” Said Greg. “You got a moment?”

“Oh, hi mate,” He replied, “Yeah sure, I’m out with the lads at the moment.”

“You still in Sani-Bursil?”

“You bet, that last job with the flat was piss-easy,”

“Well I have another one for you, not far out of the city and probably just as easy. I’ll forward the details to you but its basically another sterilisation op. Do it ASAP and you’ll have an extra few grand filling your pockets before the end of the month.”

“Sick man, we can head out tomorrow and sort it out. Gimme the details and we can get back to you when we’re done.”

“Great, I’ll talk to you in a few days then.”

“Alright, seeya then”

[hr]
It had been just over a week since the order to hold position had come through, and whilst I didn’t risk visiting the village shops, I’d decided to recon the local area in case of the worst. Thanks to worsening winter weather, I could continue taking the roads whilst wearing the hat and scarf to disguise my face. Like the ones I’d trudged through in my escape from the roadblock, most of the fields in the surrounding farmland were barren and sodden, waiting for spring to be ploughed once again. Another escape through the mud would be slow, horrible, and would make me stick out like a sore thumb to any infra-red police cameras. The best option still looks like hotwiring a car and legging it so far, I thought, passing yet another farmhouse before retracing my steps back toward the village.

With plenty of time left in the day and the pensioner neighbours apparently absent, I decided to set up several wireless cameras and motion sensors that I’d dug up in what appeared to be an electronics cupboard. I tried to place the cameras as discretely as possible, setting on having only one aimed toward the front gate giving a view of the adjacent road. It wasn’t optimal but without sufficient cover for them, more than that would be suspicious. As night fell I added the motion sensor within the house aimed at the front door, and organised the program on my terminal so that it would alert me to any activity. I would have to carry it at all times now, but it was a small price to pay for safety. Tucking in early, I went to bed right afterwards, falling into a dreamless sleep.

Dawn broke on another uneventful morning as I chowed down on some MRE cereal, keeping my stamina up with a morning jog past the fewest inhabited houses possible. No new messages from command on the terminal, and the war was heating up. It would be glorious to hear the booming of Ethalrian bombs and artillery pummelling Sani-Bursil from here, though for now the battle lines held. Luckily, news from the war also seemed to crowd out any police statements on my escape, though it was almost certain they were trying to track me. Either way, I continued my scouting of the area around the village, hoping to check out the next one along, which although being slightly larger and thus increasing my odds of being spotted, still held opportunity.

Whilst I prepared myself upstairs, my terminal began to beep furiously. I froze, my blood running cold. Quickly, I snatched the terminal from my bed and opened the feed from the external security camera. Parked on the road outside was a nondescript white van emblazoned with a minimalistic logo and company name. Two men stood on the path up to the house, with a third by the rear of the van. They appeared to be talking to each other, whilst the two on the drive peered through the front door.

“Who are these people, robbers?” I thought, scanning the room for a weapon with little success. I glanced back at the feed which now showed the two men on the path before walking up to the house holding some kind of equipment. I frantically searched my mind for reasons as to why they were here, but the worst seemed seemed obvious now. It had to be Morst special forces, sent to capture me and bring me before the ignoramus-king himself.

“Fuck fuck fuck!” panic and rage bubbling from within my chest. "Well you aren’t taking me without a god-damn fight Morst pricks!

6

“Another perk of working for a company like this; you can always afford the newest, lightest equipment,” Romero thought, as he lugged the thin vacuum cleaner and a roll of bin bags from the van to the front door. Francis and Larry had already busted the weak lock by then, and entered to begin their cursory inspection.

“Romero! pass me a bag, I’ll check upstairs,” said Francis, leaning on the banister. Romero ripped one off and handed it to him. “Thanks, I’ll pick up all the loose shit as I go, save time yeah.”

“I hear you,” he replied.

“Your turn on kitchen duty mate,” said Larry. “I ain’t scooping up no rotten meat and severed limbs after last time.”

“fair fair,” said Romero. “Speaking of last time, go make sure Francis isn’t snorting any vaguely white powder he sees lying around, cant have him high on the job for our sakes.”

“aye boss, be one minute.” Francies said, before turning and climbing the stairs himself.

Entering the kitchen, Romero was surprised to only find empty cans and a sink inhabited only with a dirty plate and a mug. Elsewhere, however, was fairly clean, no, very clean. Trying not to question it, he checked the cupboards, finding one stacked full of hoppy beer, and another stuffed with various canned foods which had been hardly touched by the looks of things.

“Odd, but it makes the job easier,” he thought. “could even donate it to some charity or whatever, and as for the beer…”

He took one down from the shelf to inspect it, but as he did he heard a muffled scream and a shout from upstairs, the floor above slamming with the force of someone being violently taken down. Wasting no time, Romero dropped the bottle and dashed for the stairs, hearing it smash behind him. As he ran up, he heard another louder scream and a harsh crack of a head colliding with a corner. Petrified, he took his small revolver out from within his overalls, pointing it around wildly as he came to the landing. Down the corridor, he could see Francis’ on the floor, his head sticking out of one of the doorways, blood seeping out of his nose into an ever expanding pool. Tentatively, he took a few steps forward, gun raised, shaking at the sight of his (hopefully) knocked out friend. Not a moment later, a figure emerged from the doorway. It wasn’t Larry, in fact it was a female, and as soon as she laid eyes on Romero she charged towards him. He shouted, letting off several shots in the vague direction of the woman, before a well controlled swipe knocked his revolver out of his hand, and a second landed on his solar plexus. Ears ringing and in severe pain, he collapsed to the floor, but not before a knee found its way under his ribs with a dull snap. Before he fell unconscious, he was vaguely aware of someone rummaging through his clothes, and the faint loss of the sensation of the van keys within his pocket.

7

1 Bursil Street, Sani Bursil

Closing his news tab that read “Junt Strikes Again, Hunt Is On”, Walter sat back in disbelief.
“She’s been hiding on the outskirts of Sani Bursil this entire time? And we were so ignorant that we simply ‘missed’ her? How in the blazes is that even possible!” he shouted to Brom.
“Intelligence suggests she’s began moving westwards. Her movement is very unpredictable and extremely erratic. Are we continuing chase until she’s captured?”
“Yes Brom. I want her alive.”
[hr]
Friendsdale cleaning HQ, Lokania

The owner was furious. There was a lot of explaining to do.
“WHY WAS THIS ALLOWED TO HAPPEN?!”
“Sir, the Bursil Post says it was that assassin.” Greg pointed out.
“What are the odds,” he sloughed and rested on a table. “It’s always gotta happen to the best of us. First Nick in Fort Staynes and now, Francis, Larry and Romero near Burisaye? We haven’t got that many people left and now everyone associates our employees with dying. The stats are all over the Lokanian News! Bollocks.”
“I haven’t seen. Can I see?”
The boss turned the screen around. “See. ‘Three employees from the Friendsdale cleaning Group were ruthlessly killed at a home on the outskirts of Sani Bursil last night, reports…’, ah, you get the gist.”
They both slouched back in shock.
“It’s not going to drag the business down too badly, but just tell everyone to avoid Staynes altogether. It’s a bad omen.”