Byrd Man

Precipice of War - The Big Leagues of NRP (Only generous tippers need apply)

Tokyo

Metropolitan Police HQ
3:21 PM

Detective Inspector Matsumoto shook a cigarette free from his pack of Cornell's and passed it across the table to the man. Shin Nishimura's bald head gleamed in the harsh light of the interrogation room. Matusmoto supplied a match, Nishimura mumbling his thanks as he inhaled his first puff. Matsumoto glanced towards the two-way mirror on the far side of the room. He nodded while Nishmura's eyes kept darting up at the microphone bolted to the ceiling above their heads, and then againd own at the manila folder resting on the table between them. The folder, along with a glass ashtray, were the only items on the table.

"Western brand," Nishimura said, observing the cigarette and making a face.

"I served abroad in the Army," said Matsumoto. "In China, they were all over the place so I developed a taste for them."

Nishimura shook his head. "Give me Red Apples any day. But a man in my position cannot afford to be picky."

"You know why you are here," said Matsomoto. It was not a question.

Nishimura shrugged. "You think I did something."

"We know you have done something, Nishimura-san."

Matsumoto took time to light his own cigarette, ignoring Nishimura's further protests of innocence while he did so. He stayed silent and stared across the table at the man. He wasn't much to look at, Nishimura. Thin with a bald head and a beak like nose, a thick salt and pepper mustache resting underneath the large nose. Late thirties to early forties judging by the graying facial hair.

"Aiko Saito," Matsumoto finally said. "Does this name not sound familiar?"

Nishimura apologized and said, "It does not, Inspector."

"Perhaps you are better with faces than names?"

Matsumoto wedged his cigarette into his mouth and opened the folder. Inside were glossy black and white crime scene photos. A half-nude woman, stripped from the waist down, rested on the ground. Her arms were akimbo in the grass. The last few shots shots were in so tight it was easy to make out the marks encircling her neck.

"Meet Aiko Saito. Her body was found in a park in the Shibuya Ward two days ago. Does her face appear familiar?"

Nishimura shook his head. The fingers holding his cigarette began to tremble. Ashes fell on the table. Matsumoto closed the file and wiped ash from the table.

"The girl's mother reported that you would often call on her. As did her friends. The mother and the friends both say that you were promising the girl a job at the laundry you run. Is this not correct?"

"Yes," said Nishimura. He nodded vigorously. "I remember the girl now. She wanted a job at my laundry, yes. And I was in the process of creating an opening for her. But I have not seen her in several weeks."

"Did you offer her a job if she would have sex with you?"

"What? No. Inspector, I am a married man. I love my wife--"

"You wanted to fuck her," said Matusomoto. "But she was a virgin and she didn't want to. So you took it. You fucked her in her cunt. You fucked her in her ass. Then you killed her. You strangled her with your bare hands."

Nishimura dropped the cigarette on the table. "What? No, I didn't do that!"

Matsumoto stubbed his cigarette out in the ashtray on the table. "Nishimura, you are a rapist and a murderer. You disgrace your race, your country, and your Heavenly Sovereign with your actions. You wanted to fuck her. Only, she didn't want to. So you took it. You fucked her in her cunt. You fucked her in her ass. Then you killed her. You strangled her with your bare hands."

"No! No! No!"

Nishmura began to openly weep and bang his hands on the table. Matsumoto sighed and stood up. He looked towards the mirror and nodded again. The door leading into the room swung open. Matsumoto's junior officers walked into the room. Six young men in cheap suits, the only thing their paltry salaries could provide for them. They each carried a bamboo cane in their hands. Nishimura sobbed at the sight.

Matsuomoto spoke over the man's sobs. "Nishimura-san, these fine young men serve me. We are Room #1 for the Tokyo Metropolitan Police's homicide division. We are the best."

The young men cheered, raising their canes in the air.

"In the year since I took over, we have solved every murder thrown our way."

Another cheer. Matsumoto smiled while Nishimura began to shake his head violently.

"I did not do it! I did not murder or rape anyone! Please believe me!"

Matsumoto nodded at the young men. Two of them moved the table out of their way while the rest walked forward with their canes. Nishimura began to scream as the young detectives lashed out.

---

4 PM

Nishimura smoked a fresh cigarette with bloody, shaking hands. One of the junior detectives had to light it for him and pass it across the table. Matsuomoto looked back over at the two-way mirror and nodded. He heard the buzz of the overhead microphone as it came on and started to record.

"Tell me about the girl."

"I wanted to fuck her," Nishimura said in a neutral voice. His face was a mass of welts and bruises. His shirt covered in blood. "Only she didn't want to."

"So what did you do?"

"So, I took it," he said. "I fucked her in her cunt. I fucked her in her ass. Then I killed her."

"How did you kill her?"

"Strangled her with my bare hands."

"Thank you for your cooperation, Nishimura-san."

Matsumoto stood and walked out of the room. One of the boys would see to it that Nishimura would be escorted to a cell for a hearty dinner and a chance to recover from the interrogation. With the confession, he would be hanged for his crimes in less than a month's times. The Empire had no use for criminals, murderers and rapists especially. The wheels of justice were fast moving. The quicker the criminals were put to death, the easier it was to move on from their crimes.

The incident had not been publicized, and neither would be Nishimura's arrest and execution. His death would be filed as a simple heart attack or cancer or natural causes, the same with the girl's murder. That was if either deaths were recorded at all. Statistically, the Empire had the lowest murder rate in the world, and Tokyo was heralded as the shining example of imperial efficiency. To be a subject of the empire was to be safe from things like hunger and murder. At least officially. The truth was, this case marked the twelfth one for Matsuomoto's room this year. His room was one of four, and the other Inspectors reported similar numbers for their rooms. That meant over fifty murders in Tokyo in seven months. Safest city in the world, indeed, thought Matsumoto.

Room #1 comprised of seven desks. There were three pairs of two desks facing each other. Matsumoto's desk sat in the corner, facing everyone else. Posters and bulletins written in Kanji and Kana were hung on the wall alongside wanted posters. The rest of his squad was busy processing Nishimura, so Matsumoto was surprised to see another man in the office.

"Superintendent Mori," Matsumoto said with a bow.

Mori leaned against Matsumoto's desk while he smoked a cigarette. The superintendent always wore a black suit and tie with a white shirt, something no one ever did unless they were attending a funeral. Everyone called Mori Andāteikā-- The Undertaker -- behind his back. His pale complexion didn't help combat the nickname.

"Congratulations are in order," said Mori. "I caught the end there, but I know what the results were. Another confession from Room #1."

Matsumoto bowed again. "Thank you, sir."

"I know you are still wrapping up one murder, but I need your expertise on something else."

Matsumoto raised an eyebrow. Mori sighed and blew smoke from his mouth and motioned to follow him. They left the office and climbed the stairs up to the eighth floor. Matsumoto had never been on this floor before, but he knew the offices of the Major Case Unit and Organized Crime Bureau were housed here. Mori led him to a room halfway down the corridor. It was almost like Matsumoto's office downstairs only bigger. Thirty-two desks were grouped together in pairs of four, while two supervisor's desk sat off to the side on opposite ends of the room. The only difference was the cork board.

"Take a look," said Mori.

Matsumoto stepped forward. Atop the board were photos of three young men. Under them were written their names, dates of birth, and dates of death. The youngest had been fifteen, the oldest nineteen. More information was pinned further down the board, autopsy reports and ballistic reports and field interrogation summaries.

"Three murders," said Matsumoto.

"Four," said Mori. "Another young man was gunned down last night."

Matsumoto nodded towards the board. "All in the last two months."

Mori grunted. "We are assembling a task force to investigate it. Homicide, Organized Crime, and Major Cases are all contributing men, and I have been chosen to lead. With your record, you are the best candidate to serve as my second in command. As soon as the paperwork on Nishimura is finished, Room #1 will report here until further notice."

Matsumoto bowed again. Inside he felt excitement, but the bow was for modesty sake. It would be unbecoming to laugh or smile or even celebrate in front of a superior.

"When do I start?" Matsumoto asked.

"Now Inspector." said Mori. He pointed to boxes stacked in the room's corner. "Start reading up on the last three murders."

Precipice of War - The Big Leagues of NRP (Only generous tippers need apply)

@Letter Bee

Okinawa

3:30 AM

Fuji Shimabuku sat on the porch of the big house and looked down at the lights of the city. He couldn't sleep. He never could when he was back home. Home not just being Okinawa but here, the big house on the hill. The place was filled with ghosts from the past, ghost and a legacy he had always been trying to outrun. For over four hundred years, Fuji's ancestors had ruled the Ryukyu Islands. That run ended nearly a hundred years ago. The old kings of Ryukyu were now a distant memory to the world. But Fuji's family would never forget that they were once independent of the Heavenly Sovereign and all that he stood for.

He stepped off the porch and took one last look at the house. Fuji wouldn't be back home for months. The old man who served his parents as groundskeeper would make sure nobody broke into the place and ransacked it. Not that he would mind. The relics inside the house mattered very little to him. To his mother, they had been priceless treasures. She had a glass case mounted on the wall. Inside of it was piece of scroll some great-great grandfather or other had written a dispatch on. Swords of the old kings decorated whole walls along with photographs of them. The crown of the kings was on display in the parlor. It was a ridiculous looking thing with colorful beads running up and down it. To Fuji, it was like growing up in a museum. It was why he'd left as soon as he could.

Okinawa was quiet this time of night. At least this part of town. The majority of Fuji's crew were busy spending their money on all the pleasures of the red light district across town. That meant they'd be stumbling back to the boat, hungover and penniless and ready to put in work again. He couldn't expect much more out of them, really. They were a motley crew made up of Japanese, Chinese, Filipino, and a few oddball Asians from other places. He even had one American, an older man who claimed to have served in the US Navy during the Second Civil War.

Fuji passed through the market, now closed for the night. The vendor stalls were shuttered and locked. The markets here in Okinawa, along with all the markets in Taihoku and Manila, were how he made his money. All the vendors were hungry for product and didn't care where it came from. They didn't pay top dollar for it, but it was all profit from where Fuji and his men stood.

It took only a half hour to get to the docks. Like the majority of town, it was quiet. The boats moored to the dock all slowly bobbed with the currents coming in from the ocean. He found her in the slip where they'd docked three days ago. She wasn't much to look at, but the Arō was the closest thing Fuji had to a legacy. A real legacy and not some half-remembered stories and rusty swords. She wasn't much to look at. To the world at large, she appeared to be a rusty commercial shipper designed for roll-on/roll-off cargo. But the truth was her hold was filled with weapons, everything from belt-fed machine guns down to balasong knives. With a smile on his face, Fuji began to climb the netting on the side of the Arō. He was home at last.

Fuji saw no point of romanticizing the crown of the Ryukyu Kingdom. He had never known what it was like to rule Okinawa and he would never know that feeling, so why waste time on it? Besides, he wore another crown. This one was secret and could not be worn. There were no gaudy headdress with beads on it. It was not a crown given, but a crown taken. A crown earned.

Fuji Shimabuku was the pirate king of the South China Sea. He did not recognize no sovereign's authority but his own. He believed in no radical ideologies. His outlook was a simple one: I will take whatever I please until someone stops me.

---

Siberia

Urajiosutoku
10:00 AM

Lieutenant Commander Kishimoto Nagumo pulled back on the yoke of his plane and brought the craft off the ground. The Mitsubishi-R77's single engine roared as Nagumo made it climb higher and higher into the sky. The weather was perfect for flying, clear skies with only a few clouds off in the distance. With his free hand, he strapped on his oxygen mask while he elevated and banked the plane to the right.

The city below him came into view. It wasn't much to look at, none of the buildings were above twelve stories tall, and several were covered by construction crew scaffolding. Further down was the harbor and the waterfront with its boats. Merchant ships were gliding through the Golden Horn Bay towards the docks while an assortment of IJN ships were moored farther out to sea.

It had once been called Vladivostok by the Russians. After the Japanese conquest, it had been renamed Urajiosutoku. The city was still almost all Russian and Eurasian, the few Japanese that resided there were either military or government officials. Nagumo was one of them, calling the city home for the past five years. Everyone else always rotated back home after six months to a year, but Nagumo always stayed. He used what little leverage he had as a member of the Kazoku to block orders to return him. He had no desire to ever return to Japan again. There was nothing there for him except an old man's tired dreams.

Flying over the city, Nagumo pointed his plane towards the border. Most squadron leaders assigned their newest flyers to reconnaissance duty, and Nagumo was no different. But he also took at least one shift a week. It made him look good among the rest of the pilots, but it also gave him a chance to remember why he'd become a pilot in the first place. The sky was the great equalizer. Up here, things like military rank or noble standing didn't matter. It was just a man in a tube of metal, violating the laws of nature. And when it came to combat, nobody would show him deference because he was the son of the great count. And that's just how Nagumo wanted it.

He identified himself on the radio as a friendly as he entered Korean territory. The radio operated confirmed his identity and allowed him clearance in the clipped, bored cadence all air traffic controllers used regardless of their country of origin. Nagumo turned north and aimed his plane towards the Chinese border. Ostensibly, the patrols were to look for any potential attacks from the Cossack Mykhalov and his forces. But the naval high command always commanded the patrols skirt right to the edge of the Chinese border, as close to actually crossing over as the brass would dare. The unspoken message was clear: As vigilant as they had to be against Cossack raids, the Communists threat was never far away.

Nagumo flew through Korea parallel to the Chinese border. He saw the usual encampments both sides had built up near the border. As far as he could tell, the Chinese forces were the same as they always were out here. That seemed to fly in the face of the rumors he'd heard back in Urajiosutoku. According to some loose lipped sailors, the Chinese were massing their forces along the border in preparation of the invasion of Korea. Nagumo laughed to himself as he began to redirect back towards home. It wouldn't be the first time a sailor told tall tales, and there was no way it would be the last.

"Shogun to Tempura Six."

Nagumo raised an eyebrow and keyed the radio mic with his foot. Shogun was the call sign of the Amagi, Vice Admiral Hoga's carrier division flagship.

"Tempura Six," Nagumo replied. "Go ahead, Shogun."

"Air support is needed thirty miles north northeast of Urajiosutoku. Cossacks have a transport convoy pinned down and you're the only plane in the air we can dispatch."

"I'm on the way," said Nagumo. He redirected his course and increased the throttle on his plane. "Tempura Six out."

---

Tokyo

Prime Minister's Office
11:35 AM

"Intelligence sources inside China have confirmed that the Communists are preparing to invade Russia."

Inaba Chiba blinked rapidly in surprise. He sat the head of the big wooden conference table. Minister of War Aoki and the rest of the military clique sat to his left. Director Yamashita and the Kenpeitai delegation sat at his left.

The top secret meeting was supposed to have started right at eleven, but Aoki and the general staff were late. That didn't shock Aoki at all. In his two years as prime minister, every meeting Chiba had with them almost always started a half hour behind schedule. It was only a bit ironic that the men so renowned for their accuracy and precision could never keep an appointment. By contrast, Yamashita and his intelligence officers were always ten minutes early regardless of the circumstances. It was a comparison that seemed to sum up the differences between ruthless, autocratic, and unassuming Yamashita and the ostentatious generals who seemed to be more peacock than man.

"How solid is this?" General Ueda asked. "How much do you trust this information, Yamashita?"

"It's bedrock," Yamashita softly said. "A long time and valuable intelligence asset."

Chiba saw the three military men bristle in excitement. He knew exactly where they was about to head. He started to talk, only for Minister of War Aoki to shoot a bony finger forward.

"Then now is the time to strike south," he hissed. "If China keeps their eyes towards Russia, then no one will be watching the Philippines."

"We can begin to amass troops into Kyushu," said General Kubo. "Give me two months and I will have an expeditionary force ready to invade."

"That's rash," said Chiba. "Very rash, give how little we actually know. I know you all have had your sights set on the Philippines for years now--"

"With the Philippines, the Empire would have a major foothold in the South China Sea and a further inroad into Southeast Asia."

"We retracted from Russia because of over extension," said Chiba. "But now we're strong enough to take all the Philippine islands?"

"Russia is a quagmire," said Yamashita. "It's a vast land of quicksand. Watch as China gets sucked in. I am no expert on military affairs, but I will say that the Filipinos are much more open to submission than the Russians. They are a weak, confused people who took advantage of the United State's weakness and now think they are a major nation. Delusions of grandeur. I blame the Spanish influence."

"I do not disagree that the Filipinos can be easily bested," said Chiba. "I only worry about war with China."

General Kubo pushed out his chest in defiance.

"The Three Humiliations were a generation ago. All three of us know their stings well, we were junior officers at the time who have learned from our mistakes. The Communists do not stand a chance."

Chiba sighed and rubbed his temples. He knew it was fruitless to argue with the military clique about this. It was only though the Emperor's intervention five years ago that they did not continue deeper into Russia. There was a clear divide between the civilian and military sides of the cabinet, and Chiba did not have the authority to reign them in as prime minister. They all reported directly to the Heavenly Sovereign, and they all served at his the pleasure. Or, in reality, he served at the pleasure of the Genrō.

"Do you have any thoughts you'd like to add, Count Togai?"

All eyes fell on the far corner of the room. He'd been silent all through the meeting, but Count Ōkubo Togai had been intently observing. Befitting his status as the deity, the Emperor did not attend meetings. In his stead he sent the Count. As the Genrō, Togai was the power behind the throne. He was the closest advisor the Emperor had, and he was a fan of the military. There was speculation that Togai was the de facto ruler of the empire, making decisions in the Emperor's name. From what Chiba had witnessed of the Emperor, it would be a fair assessment to say that his imperial duties were not a top priority with the man.

"We must have a strong Japan," Togai croaked out. "The Heavenly Sovereign's ancestors have dictated that so goes Japan, so goes the rest of Asia and the world. The Communists have rose only because we have allowed them to. Either Asia will come under our control, or China's. A clash is inevitable, Prime Minister."

Chiba ground his teeth. He once learned a French word that summed up the meeting perfectly. Fait accompli. That was all this meeting was and Chiba was powerless to stop it.

"Very well," said Chiba. "Very well. Then it is decided. Just do not blame me when the Fourth Humiliation comes."

Precipice of War - The Big Leagues of NRP (Only generous tippers need apply)

Nation
The Empire of Japan

Location



Credit goes to KGP for the history. It's concise and very well thought out, so I won't be changing it.

History

The Empire of Japan came out of the Great War considering it a great victory. Unaffected by the apocalyptic battles of Europe, the Empire had made nothing but gains. Multiple island chains came under its control, doing for its prestige the same thing the Russo-Japanese war had done but multiplied tenfold. It was no longer just some Asian island nation, it was a true empire. Japan's dreams of replacing China seemed to be coming true.

In the late 1920's, Japan seized the opportunity presented by China's political strife and internal weakness and took its place in the sun with a great series of conquests across the mainland. Beijing itself fell to the Empire, and was absorbed into the puppet state of Manchukoku. The final European holdings in China were "liberated" by advancing armies, and Japan could finally say without a doubt that it was equal to the great empires of Europe and solidly China's better.

Their conquests allowed them to weather the depression, but only barely. The military was kept well-funded, but the citizens of the Empire had it far worse. This was the beginning of Japan's decline, and brought about complacency within the government. Fearing a total economic collapse were they to make further pushes into China, the Japanese military became nothing more than a resource sink. During the Chinese unrest in the 1930's the Empire of Japan was paralyzed, and unable to exploit it as they had the past conflict.

This would prove to be their greatest folly, as in 1941 Japanese forces in China were overrun and crushed by communist forces led by Wen Chu Ming. Their attack couldn't have come at a worse time for Japan, with the Second American Civil War having just come to an end Japan was still reeling from the loss of American trade. Under-supplied and ill-trained soldiers were but butter against the communist knife, and so the Empire fell to the First Humiliation with the loss of its Northern Chinese territories.

The Second Humiliation came in 1942, with the Imperial Japanese Navy stationed at Dailan being defeated by a surprise attack from land. Revolts began throughout the rest of Japan's mainland territories with the news that the IJN, the pride and joy of the Empire, had been defeated by nothing more than a street uprising. The unrest reached as far as Korea, and Imperial armies were diverted to stomp down the uprisings. This left their main line against China undefended, and in 1943 Beijing was retaken by China. Japanese forces retreated to northern Korea and the Empire officially surrendered all but Korea to the new Chinese government, the Third Humiliation.

Following the three humiliations, Japan had fallen from its status of a great power into a pathetic island nation that couldn't match its bark with its bite. For the next decade, the Empire of Japan steadily declined economically and militarily. It was only in 1952, with the assassination of the Russian Czar and subsequent dissolution of the Russian Empire, that Japan finally had a stroke of luck. As Russia broke apart, its eastern lands fell into disarray as independent states gained independence from Moscow to Siberia. Japan took the opportunity.

In 1953, the IJN and IJA launched a three-pronged offensive against the territories in the far east. The Army, stationed in Korea, stormed across the narrow border towards Vladivostick as another Army detachment moved into northern Sakhalin from the South. An IJN force supported marines in taking the rest of the Kurils and eventually moved into Kamchatka. It was Japan's first victory since the initial incursions into China after the Great War, and the government hailed it as a sign of things to come. Further pushes continued into former Russian territories until 1955, after which they were halted for fear of overextending.

A plan was designed to rebuild the Japanese economy by 1960, calling for the government to take control of "any industry deemed integral to the success of the nation". Industries deemed central to the state formerly controlled by capitalists were fully nationalized (such as rail lines, heavy industry, and shipyards), and non-essential industries were reorganized into a corporatist model and received heavy state funding. Large industrial expansions were also commissioned by the state, specifically countless new factories in the home islands and a total renovation of the north Korean defensive line.

This expansion was fueled by the recent conquests, which were bled dry of anything that could possibly be used in the project including people. In a move that expressed well Japan's remaining weakness, thousands of Russians were used behind closed doors as forced laborers to keep the project on schedule. Despite how ambitious the project was and the trauma it inflicted throughout the Empire, the "Five Year Plan" was ultimately completed on time in 1960.

The Empire of Japan now sets its sights on further conquests, and though still wary of challenging China opportunities such as the Philippines present themselves alongside the possibility of further expansion into Siberia or even a large-scale naval operation in Indonesia. However, the Empire must tread carefully, lest they attract the ire of any other power. Even in its current state, Japan is far from a major player. However, it certainly intends to become one.

Key People:

Nobuhito -- 126th Emperor of Japan
Inaba Rai -- Prime Minister
Hakushaku (Count) Togai -- Powerful member of the Kazoku (Japanese Peerage), uncle of the Emperor.
Inspector Shinzo -- Kenpeitai commander in Korea.
Yasutake Miki -- Artist and propaganda film director.
Dokuro Abe -- Yakuza soldier.
Soo Jung Kim -- Korean student and political activist.
Danshaku (Baron) Kishimoto Nagumo -- IJN pilot ace, fighting Russian insurgents in Primosky Krai
Admiral Tanji "Tiger" Tanaka -- Commander-in-Chief, South China Fleet

Post Catalog

United States of America
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9. (A Vilage co-production)
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Interlude #1

The Empire of Japan
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11. (An Aaron co-production)
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The Crew – "Wingless Wonders" (A British Noir RP)

Wembley Stadium
6:30 PM
Seventy Minutes After The Game

Detective Superintendent Thomas Brown didn't say much as he surveyed the stadium counting room. A police chemist snapped photographs while another dusted surfaces for fingerprints. Brown knew it was a fruitless gesture. There was no way they would be dumb enough to leave a fingerprint. He wasn't in charge of the investigation just yet, but he was here to observe. As a Super, he was low man on the totem pole among the Met brass. Commanders and Deputy Commissioners with enough medals and citations to make a Soviet general jealous were coming and going, getting the way more than they helped.

Brown had one of his Flying Squads down in the security section of the stadium, interviewing the staff. He'd make his way down there shortly and contribute. A homicide detective in a rumpled suit smoked a cigarette while sketched out the layout of the counting room. A yellow placard on the floor marked where the body had been. Someone said she was only nineteen. It had to be an accident. Their first mistake, but Jesus Christ was it a big one.

He had been on the way to Soho when he got the call on the radio to come to Wembley right away. Flying Squad 2, the one under McEntyre's command, foiled a big robbery of a bookie shop. Brown's grass said that was going go down and it did, but the grass was completely wrong about the people behind it. His gang of thieves, the ones Brown knew existed despite the doubts and derision of the Met, would be bold enough to pull a big job on the day of the World Cup final. On that much Brown and the grass agreed. What both men had sorely gotten wrong was the ambition of this crew. To rob Wembley Stadium of the World Cup Final gate during the World Cup final was bold on the point of being insane. Crazy like a fox, wasn't that the saying? Well, their craziness had paid off. It'd also gotten a girl killed.

"Superintend Brown."

He looked away at the mention of his name. Deputy Commissioner Robertson stood at the doorway of the counting room. He had been called in from home. The man wore slacks and a blue polo shirt. Brown he saw the Saint George's Cross pin on the lapel of his polo.

"Alright then, Joe?" Brown asked.

Robertson raised his eyebrows. "What are you thinking, Tommy? I know how your brain works. Theories on top of theories. We got reports from downstairs that the one who did it was dressed as us. Old Bill, I mean."

"Cheeky bastards," Brown said softly. "They would do something crazy like that."

"They?" asked Robertson.

"I've got a theory, Joe. Keep in mind, it's just a theory."

Robertson looked around the ransacked counting room and nodded.

"Let's hear it, then."

---

Fulham
6:34 PM
Seventy-Four Minutes After the Game

Coach whistled "God Save The Queen" as he and Charlie counted the take on a wobbly card table. They were the two quickest counters in the Crew. As a cabbie, Coach had to use quick maths to settle fares and give change. Red sat on the hideout's Murphy bed and watched them count while Bobby changed into his regular clothes in the apartment's tiny bathroom. Charlie had a cigarette stuck in his mouth as he counted, the ashes close to falling on the money. Coach would count up to a ten thousand pounds and then set it aside in a bundle on the table. So far, he had ten neat little bundles in front of him to go along with Charlie's eight.

"Done," Charlie announced a few minutes later. He flicked ashes from his cigarette and looked over at Coach. "What you got."

They compared notes and came up with an exact figure. Red rose off the Murphy bed and walked over to the table just as Bobby came out the loo in his street clothes.

Coach announced it. "Lads, we just walked away with two hundred and two thousand, five hundred and seven pounds."

It was so silent, the sound of the toilet running filled the small space. They all looked at each other before Bobby broke the silence with his laughter. Suddenly, they were all laughing and celebrating. Charlie reached out and wrapped Coach in a warm bear hug before pumping Red's hand enthusiastically.

"Fucking brilliant," he said with a laugh. "Absolutely fucking brilliant, mate."

"Shame it's not all ours," Red said with a laugh. "But I'll be happy with, what? Twenty-five grand a piece? Not nothing to turn the old nose up over, eh?"

"I could drive hack for six years and not make this kinda cash," said Coach. "Charlie is right. Fucking brilliant."

"Okay," said Red. "Someone needs to cut out forty percent of the take. The Binney brothers are gonna be expecting us to come calling tonight."

Precipice of War - The Big Leagues of NRP (Only generous tippers need apply)

Tokyo

7:34 PM

Kobayashi always marveled at the coordination of his countrymen when it came to the subway platforms. Like a beautiful ballet, packs of people exited and entered the cars with minimal touching, so minimal it was almost non-existent. Men in uniforms and long sticks walked up and down the platform, guiding commuters with their sticks like conductors. Kobayashi was among the last to squeeze on the car before the doors shut.

Even though work had ended at six, plenty of salarymen were packed in the car as it rocked down the tracks. That didn't surprise Kobayashi and made him smile slightly, recalling the days when he himself had been fresh out of university and worked long hours to try to get ahead. That was before his wife and family drew his attention away from work. The sudden thought of them wiped the smile from his face. He wasn't here to walk down memory lane. Tonight, he was on a mission.

Two stops later, Kobayashi stepped out with two dozen others. Again, in the synchronized display of order, they left the train and dispersed along the platform as a pack of newcomers stepped up. Kobayashi climbed the steps out into the street and turned his collar up. It was chilly for July, a good twenty degrees cooler than usual. He wasn't the only one wearing a jacket tonight, which worked in his favor. Nobody would think twice about the middle aged man in the trenchcoat. Kobayashi reached into his coat pocket and clutched the gun resting there. It wouldn't be long now. Maybe a few more hours.

---

Hiroshima

9:34 PM

Dokuro Abe looked at the lights of Hiroshima with a hint of revulsion. He rode in the backseat of a taxi and smoked a cigarette. The driver knew exactly where to take Abe once he flashed the tattoos on his arm. It'd been six years the last time he set foot in this hell hole. He thought then that he would never have to see the place ever again. Once you got called up to join the Inagawa-kai's Tokyo operations, you went and never looked back.

"You a big Yakuza?" the driver asked from the front seat of the car. "I always drive Yakuza around Hiroshima, but I never seen you before."

Abe was struck by the old man's straightforwardness. Yakuza were treated with a certain amount of deference. They no longer existed, but Abe always assumed the samurai of old were granted the same respect. For this old man to point out that he was a Yakuza, and then to ask how important he was, was something nobody who valued their health would do.

"Where do you--"

"My son," the old man continued. "He big Yakuza in Hiroshima. Goro. You know Goro?"

Abe cursed silently. Of course he knew Goro. Everyone in Hiroshima knew Goro. He'd been a mid-level player when Abe left, but in the six years he'd be gone Goro climbed the ladder and became the city's top Yakuza. If the old man was Goro's father, then of course he could do whatever the hell he wanted.

"We're here," the old man announced. "Pleasure district."

Abe started to hand money over the seat, but the old man held a hand up.

"Yakuza, no charge. Especially out of town Yakuza."

Abe said his thanks and the old man wished him well. He climbed out the taxi and stepped on to the street to look around. Hiroshima's pleasure district still looked the exact same. It was filled with neon lights, Japanese ads for western products. Massage parlors of soaplands stretched down the street as far as the eye could see. Yakuza in flashy suits patrolled the streets with girls in short skirts and bare-midriffs. A police car sat parked off to the side, the cop behind the wheel napping with his cap shielding his eyes.

"Hideki," Abe said with a sigh.

Two days ago, Abe got the news. His brother Hideki was dead, killed by persons unknown, and Abe was needed back home. Both their parents had been dead for years and Hideki's wife was too grief stricken to take care of the arraignments. That meant Abe was the only one who could take care of family business. He planned to do that and then some. Lighting up a cigarette, Abe started down the street he swore he'd never walk down again in search for the nearest cheap motel.

---

Korea

Keijō
3:31 AM

Shinzo looked through his metal-rimmed eyeglasses at the four young men on the floor. They were all Korean, all naked save for their skivvies. All four were on their knees on the dirty concrete floor, looking dirty and bewildered. By contrast, Shinzo looked immaculate in his black three-piece suit and perfectly parted hair even though he hadn't been home in two days. The chrysanthemum button on his lapel let everyone know that he was in service of the emperor. Along with him were six soldiers, four Korean and two Japanese. Shinzo led all six of them in the raid that netted the four men.

"The four of you are accused of treason towards the Emperor," Shinzo said in Japanese.

He laughed when all four did not react. They looked at him curiously and shrugged, saying in Korean that they did not know Japanese.

"Yes, you do," Shinzo said, again in Japanese. "You all speak Japanese as fluently as I can speak Korean. It is not listed anywhere official, but it is known by me. The same way that I know..."

Shinzo stepped forward and pointed a long, bony finger, at the chubby young man to his far right.

"Mr. Cho here has dandruff so bad that he has a prescription shampoo."

He moved down the line, pointing his finger at the other three men.

"Or that Mr. Kim cheats off his classmate in engineering class, or that Mr. Park's bicycle has a rusty chain, or that Mr. Song has a massive crush on the girl in his university study group. Yes, when it comes to your lives there is not much Kenpeitai doesn't know."

He stepped away from them and adjusted his glasses, giving them a warm smile.

"Continual denial of both your language skills and crimes will only incur my wrath. Now, let's start again. You four are accused of treason towards the Emperor."

Shinzo reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a pamphlet, two actually. One was written in Hangul, the other in Kanji. Both pamphlets were written in bold red font. The inspector pretended to flip through both of them casually, the warm smile still on his face.

"'Friends of Korean Sovereignty?'" He raised an eyebrow and looked over at them. "It's a bit too sugary for my liking, but what do I know? You're the experts on treason."

Cho, the fat one, started to wilt under Shinzo's gaze. To their credit, the other three stood strong. Shinzo nodded and three Korean soldiers stepped forward with their rifles. They slammed the stocks of their rifles into the stomach's of the stoic young men. They all gasped and fell backwards, holding their stomachs in pain. Shinzo made eye contact with Cho. Back when he'd been a robbery detective, Shinzo always knew that the quickest way to break up a band of thieves was to find that one weak link and exploit it for all it was worth. Cho, the chubby kid with the bad dander, was his weak link.

"Mr. Cho, we are going to play a game," he said. "Tell me all you know about this little group of yours, and you and your friends get to live. Resist--" Shinzo snapped his fingers all all six soldiers raised their rifles and pointed at Kim. "And we kill one of your friends for every thirty seconds you don't answer. Thirty, twenty-nine...."

"Fuck him," Kim said in Korean. "Don't answer him! Fuck the Emperor, fuck Japan. Freedom for Korea!"

"Twenty-six," Shinzo scowled. "You know what? Fire!"

Gunfire echoed through the room as six bullets tore through Kim's prone body. Cho and his compatriots yelled in shock. The soldiers worked the bolt actions on their rifles and moved their sights towards Song.

"Forgive my impatience," Shinzo said in Korean. "But I wouldn't be doing my duty if I let such an insult pass unpunished. One friend is dead, Mr. Cho. It would be a shame for us to kill Mr. Song before he has a chance to act on that crush of his. Thirty... twenty-nine."

"Wait!" Cho cried in Japanese. "I'll--"

"Shut up," said Song. "Tell this man nothing, Cho. He's still going to kill us."

"He's right," said Shinzo. "Treason is punishable by death. No exceptions. But the choice is yours as to how far that punishment goes. With such extreme crimes as this, it makes us wonder how deep the subversive streak runs in your blood. You all have families -- fathers, mothers, brothers, and sisters -- and we know exactly where it is they live, where they work, and all their little secrets. The same way we know everything about you. The choice is yours, gentlemen: Do we cut out the infection at the bud, or do we go in and chop down the whole tree?"

Shinzo adjusted his glasses and watched the three remaining young men talking rapidly among themselves in Korean. They were a little too fast for Shinzo to make out the entire conversation, but he caught the gist. Cho and Song wanted to cooperate, Park still refused. Growing tired, Shinzo snapped his fingers and all six soldiers went in on Park with their rifle butts. Cho and Song looked away as their friend was brutally beaten by the soldiers. Shinzo called them off when he felt like Park had had enough.

"Do we have a deal?"

Both Song and Cho nodded.

"Excellent. Get Mr. Cho and Mr. Song some clothes," Shinzo said to one of the soldiers. "We have many things to discuss."

Tokyo

4:00 AM

"Give me money, old man!"

Kobayashi backed up against the wall. The boy with the switchblade couldn't be any older than sixteen with his pockmarked face and greasy hair. He was dressed in tight denim jeans and a leather jacket, his hair done up in a poor imitation of a western style pompadour. His eyes were wide and dilated. Kobayashi was sure he was high on something. It had taken him hours to get to this point, walking around in the rough neighborhood and looking confused. Plenty of people stopped to ask if he needed help. He was surprised that it had taken this long for one person to finally take advantage of him.

"Be calm," Kobayashi pleaded. "I have in my pocket, please."

The kid grinned, pressing the blade of his knife against Kobayashi's cheek. The cold metal against his skin caused the hair on the back of his neck to stand up. He could feel the adrenaline start to race through his body as he stepped back. The blade dug into his cheek and cut the skin as he pulled the revolver from his pocket.

"Here!" He said with a growl, and opened fire with the gun.

Four shots found themselves lodged in the boy's chest. His wide eyes went wider with shock as he fell back and crumpled to the ground, the knife clattering to his side. Kobayashi put a hand to the cut on his face and examined it. It wasn't bleeding too bad. The cut was deeper than he'd like, but easily bandaged without the aid of a doctor. He stepped over the boy's body, ignoring the wheezes and last gasps of life coming from his mouth. He'd be dead in just a few minutes. Kobayashi let out a sigh of contentment as he quickly walked away from the dying body.

Somewhere, he heard a police siren. They'd be in the area soon enough, but too late. They were always too late. Kobayashi knew that first hand. But it didn't matter if the police took all night to get here. One more scumbag was off the street, one less person to prey on the good people of Japan. Tonight marked the fourth time Kobayashi had taken a life. All of them had been muggers and thieves like the one tonight. Some would call him a murderer, but Kobayashi thought of himself as an exterminator.

And for the first time in his life, he felt like he was in control. He applied pressure to the cut on his face and whistled a happy little tune as he stepped down the subway stairs to catch a train. A police car, its sirens wailing and lights flashing, raced by on the street as he disappeared into the underground.

The Crew – "Wingless Wonders" (A British Noir RP)

24 Minutes Left in Extra Time

Charlie tossed the last of the bank bags out the window and closed the door. He let out a slight breath and turned around. All five people in the counting room were on their stomachs, staring down at the floor. Their wrists and ankles tied with the phone cord Charlie had yanked from the wall. They all seemed calm. Even the girl he’d caught eyeballing him was staying still. She hadn’t moved a whole lot and still seemed to be out of it. Maybe he’d hit her harder than he thought.

“Someone will come calling eventually,” he said. “I want you all to play nice and keep your mouths shut when the coppers come calling.”

He quickly went through the men’s pockets and the women’s purses. He came up with three driver’s licenses, a wallet with the old lady’s home address in it, and a personal checkbook the young, mustached man had in his jacket pocket that gave his name and home.

“I know where you all live now,” he announced. “So just remember that when Old Bill start asking questions.”

He opened the steel reinforced door and stepped out, shutting it behind him and quickly walking down the corridor. Charlie checked his watch. The game had probably just ended so he could slip into the crowds exiting out Wembley with no problem. Bobby would be waiting near gate G and they would leave together.

Charlie was surprised when he exited out the door Cecil had opened for him and saw no people in the corridors. He could still hear the roar of the crowd from his left. That meant the game was still going on. Extra time.

“Oi!”

A sharp voice made him turn. A security guard bounded towards him, the man’s big gut swinging with every step he took..

“We need you!”

“For what?”

“Incident report. We want to press charges against some cunt who thought it’d be a good idea to pop off crackers in the middle of the game.”

Charlie had to resist the urge to smile.

“Lead the way, guv.”

---

20 Minutes Left in Extra Time

Bobby had to resist the urge to laugh when the security guard led the copper into Wembley’s holding cells. Charlie Enfield looked down his nose at him with a disdain so convincing it had to be at least partially real. Bobby tried to apologize with his eyes. Him getting nicked hadn’t been part of the plan, but whatever the plan was it was now in flux thanks to delays and West Germany’s ability to score at the last minute.

“I’ll take it from here,” Charlie announced to the security staff. “Take him over to the station house for processing.”

“What?” The security guard looked puzzled. “Right now?”

“Yeah,” Charlie shrugged. “Game’s wrapping up. There are plenty of other Met officers around in case something happens.”

The guard was about to say something, but the rest of the men in the cells began to cheer wildly along with the other security guard on duty.

“England scores!” the radio announcer screamed. “Hurst to the bar… West Germany is now saying that it wasn’t a goal. And now the officials are trying to figure this one out.”

“One less rowdy to deal with,” Charlie said to the guard.

“Huh? Oh, yeah.” The guard nodded before turning his attention back to the radio. He kept his head cocked towards the radio as he opened the cell door.

“He’s all yours, mate.”

“And… he’s given it! He’s given it! The goal stands and England is now up 3-2!”

Everyone in the cells cheered, save for two people. While celebration continued all around them, Charlie pretended to restrain Bobby’s wrist and push him forward out of the cells and up the stairs.

“3-2,” said Charlie. “Shit. I bet the score wouldn't get over four.”

“So you lost?” Bobby asked.

“Yeah,” Charlie said with a laugh. “Looks like I’m out twenty quid…”

Precipice of War - The Big Leagues of NRP (Only generous tippers need apply)

So, it is with a heavy heart that I relinquish the USA. I've been RPing as them for four years now, more like three if you count the time between PoWs, and I enjoyed every minute of it. I'm proud of the writing I did in the last game, and especially the writing in this game. I'm just ready for a change of pace, a change of culture, and a change of country. Having said that, here is my application for the next nation:

Nation
The Empire of Japan

Location



Credit goes to KGP for the history. It's concise and very well thought out, so I won't be changing it.

History

The Empire of Japan came out of the Great War considering it a great victory. Unaffected by the apocalyptic battles of Europe, the Empire had made nothing but gains. Multiple island chains came under its control, doing for its prestige the same thing the Russo-Japanese war had done but multiplied tenfold. It was no longer just some Asian island nation, it was a true empire. Japan's dreams of replacing China seemed to be coming true.

In the late 1920's, Japan seized the opportunity presented by China's political strife and internal weakness and took its place in the sun with a great series of conquests across the mainland. Beijing itself fell to the Empire, and was absorbed into the puppet state of Manchukoku. The final European holdings in China were "liberated" by advancing armies, and Japan could finally say without a doubt that it was equal to the great empires of Europe and solidly China's better.

Their conquests allowed them to weather the depression, but only barely. The military was kept well-funded, but the citizens of the Empire had it far worse. This was the beginning of Japan's decline, and brought about complacency within the government. Fearing a total economic collapse were they to make further pushes into China, the Japanese military became nothing more than a resource sink. During the Chinese unrest in the 1930's the Empire of Japan was paralyzed, and unable to exploit it as they had the past conflict.

This would prove to be their greatest folly, as in 1941 Japanese forces in China were overrun and crushed by communist forces led by Wen Chu Ming. Their attack couldn't have come at a worse time for Japan, with the Second American Civil War having just come to an end Japan was still reeling from the loss of American trade. Under-supplied and ill-trained soldiers were but butter against the communist knife, and so the Empire fell to the First Humiliation with the loss of its Northern Chinese territories.

The Second Humiliation came in 1942, with the Imperial Japanese Navy stationed at Dailan being defeated by a surprise attack from land. Revolts began throughout the rest of Japan's mainland territories with the news that the IJN, the pride and joy of the Empire, had been defeated by nothing more than a street uprising. The unrest reached as far as Korea, and Imperial armies were diverted to stomp down the uprisings. This left their main line against China undefended, and in 1943 Beijing was retaken by China. Japanese forces retreated to northern Korea and the Empire officially surrendered all but Korea to the new Chinese government, the Third Humiliation.

Following the three humiliations, Japan had fallen from its status of a great power into a pathetic island nation that couldn't match its bark with its bite. For the next decade, the Empire of Japan steadily declined economically and militarily. It was only in 1952, with the assassination of the Russian Czar and subsequent dissolution of the Russian Empire, that Japan finally had a stroke of luck. As Russia broke apart, its eastern lands fell into disarray as independent states gained independence from Moscow to Siberia. Japan took the opportunity.

In 1953, the IJN and IJA launched a three-pronged offensive against the territories in the far east. The Army, stationed in Korea, stormed across the narrow border towards Vladivostick as another Army detachment moved into northern Sakhalin from the South. An IJN force supported marines in taking the rest of the Kurils and eventually moved into Kamchatka. It was Japan's first victory since the initial incursions into China after the Great War, and the government hailed it as a sign of things to come. Further pushes continued into former Russian territories until 1955, after which they were halted for fear of overextending.

A plan was designed to rebuild the Japanese economy by 1960, calling for the government to take control of "any industry deemed integral to the success of the nation". Industries deemed central to the state formerly controlled by capitalists were fully nationalized (such as rail lines, heavy industry, and shipyards), and non-essential industries were reorganized into a corporatist model and received heavy state funding. Large industrial expansions were also commissioned by the state, specifically countless new factories in the home islands and a total renovation of the north Korean defensive line.

This expansion was fueled by the recent conquests, which were bled dry of anything that could possibly be used in the project including people. In a move that expressed well Japan's remaining weakness, thousands of Russians were used behind closed doors as forced laborers to keep the project on schedule. Despite how ambitious the project was and the trauma it inflicted throughout the Empire, the "Five Year Plan" was ultimately completed on time in 1960.

The Empire of Japan now sets its sights on further conquests, and though still wary of challenging China opportunities such as the Philippines present themselves alongside the possibility of further expansion into Siberia or even a large-scale naval operation in Indonesia. However, the Empire must tread carefully, lest they attract the ire of any other power. Even in its current state, Japan is far from a major player. However, it certainly intends to become one.

Key People:

Nobuhito -- 126th Emperor of Japan
Inaba Rai -- Prime Minister
Hakushaku (Count) Togai -- Powerful member of the Kazoku (Japanese Peerage), uncle of the Emperor.
Inspector Shinzo -- Kenpeitai commander in Korea.
Yasutake Miki -- Artist and propaganda film director.
Dokuro Abe -- Yakuza soldier.
Soo Jung Kim -- Korean student and political activist.
Danshaku (Baron) Kishimoto Nagumo -- IJN pilot ace, fighting Russian insurgents in Primosky Krai
Admiral Tanji "Tiger" Tanaka -- Commander-in-Chief, South China Fleet

The Crew – "Wingless Wonders" (A British Noir RP)

Soho
4:34 PM
12 Minutes Left in Regulation

“It’s kicked up in the air and… it’s in! Peters scores! England now up over West Germany, 2-1 with a brilliant goal in the seventy-eighth minute!”

Chapman and Morgan pumped their fists in celebration. Even McEntyre let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. The three men sat in an unmarked police car, listening to the game on the radio. Chapman sat in the driver’s seat, McEntyre to his left, and Morgan in the back. Across the street from them was Carlisle's Cooperage, a front for a known betting parlor. The place had been a hive of activity in the run up to the game. Now it was quiet, but McEntyre knew enough about the betting world to know it would be busy again as soon as the game ended.

“You think the old man’s grass is right?” Morgan asked in his sing-song Welsh accent.

McEntyre shrugged and took a drag from his cigarette. “Who the hell knows? A bookie shop on the day of the game is a spot ripe for the pickin’. Just don’t know if I’d hit this one in particular.”

“I wouldn't want to nick so much as a pound from Carlisle,” Chapman said with a grunt.

“Why is that Mikey?” Morgan asked.

Chapman looked over his shoulder and gave Morgan a patient smile.

“You’re having a laugh, right? I know you’re new and all, Terry, but I thought every copper heard this story already.”

“They call him the Cooper for a reason,” answered McEntyre. “Not just because of the front. Last bloke who owed him money and wouldn’t pay, Carlisle tossed him into a cask filled with cow piss. Sealed him shut and tossed him into the Thames.”

Silence fell on the car. On the radio, the announcer described how England kept the West Germans as far away from the goal as possible.

“That don’t make for good business,” Morgan finally said. “Killing a man who owes you money.”

“Carlisle could ride it off,” said Chapman. “Because after that, everybody paid their debts.”

“And on time,” said McEntyre. “The man in the cask was the first and the last man to piss the Cooper off. Everyone learned real quickly that Welshers, sorry Terry, ended up in the barrel.”

Chapman sat forward, his big forehead knotting together as he scowled. He thrust out a beefy forefinger at something. McEntyre turned to look. Four men dressed in matching black double breasted suits were walking towards the cooperage. One of them carried a shopping bag low around his waist. The dimensions of the bag showed off that he was carrying something long and narrow.

“Looks like a shotgun,” said McEntyre. “Fucking hell. The Super was right, lads.”

He reached down, switching off the football and switching over to a police radio band. While he called in backup, both Chapman and Morgan pulled revolvers from his sports coats and began to get ready.

---

Wembley Stadium
4:28 PM
18 Minutes Left in Regulation

Charlie made himself scarce as the security officers all began to go through the tunnel towards the stands. Whatever the hell Bobby was doing, it was working. The one on the door stepped away with them and Charlie quickly walked towards the door. He pushed it open just as the boy was pulling it.

“Move,” Charlie barked after their initial run in. “Or I swear to God -- I don’t care who the hell your goddamn uncle was -- I’ll do more than pretend to shoot you.”

Now the fear was in Cecil’s eyes. Good. That would help him sell his part better if he looked actually afraid during the take. None of his co-workers would question things afterwards.

“You’re twenty fucking minutes late,” said Charlie. “We might not have enough time to pull the job now, you dumb sod.”

“I-- I--”

“Save it. We got no time for excuses.”

Charlie gave the boy a prodding and they started down the hall. He kept close to Cecil as they descended a flight of stairs. A small window down one corridor gave them a side glance at Wembley. The crowd below rocked in unison and chanted. Curiously enough, they waved Union Jacks instead of St. George's Cross. There were no sightings of any other security or stadium staff on the journey. This late in the game, most of them had pissed off to watch the finale. Charlie took stock of where they were and how to get out again after the cash was gone. He took out his pistol and held it stomach high as they approached a heavy plated door.

“Open it up,” he whispered to Cecil.

“I don’t have a key,” the boy whispered back.

“I didn’t ask if you had a key,” said Charlie. “I asked you to open it up.”

Cecil gulped and knocked on the door.

“It’s me.”

“What do you want?” an old woman’s voice asked from the other side. “You know you’re supposed to be doing final audits of the gates, Cecil.”

“There’s been an emergency,” said Cecil. “Umm… there’s a copper outside.”

“What?”

A few seconds later, the door latch mechanisms began to turn. After a slight groan, the heavy door began to be pulled back. Charlie shoved Cecil forward and rushed the door, using the smaller man’s body to swing it wide open. He heard the surprised yell of someone, followed by a thump. Cecil fell to the ground and Charlie kicked him hard in the stomach. Mostly for show, but also to vent for his tardiness.

Four faces stared at him, frozen and unsure. An old man sat on her arse on the floor. A young girl with her hands full of cash looked to be in shock. On the table in front of her were columns and columns of bills, neatly stacked by denomination. Two men -- one skinny and young and the other old and fat -- both with mustaches looked on. The young one was about to speak before Charlie leveled the gun at him.

“This is a robbery. Everyone acts calm, and nobody gets hurt. Understand?”

---

4:34 PM
12 Minutes Left in Regulation

“It’s kicked up in the air and… it’s in! Peters scores! England now up over West Germany, 2-1 with a brilliant goal in the seventy-eighth minute!”

“Yes!”

Coach would have clapped his hands and celebrated more, but at present both hands were on the wheel. He was running a little behind, but they were still well within the time frame for him to get the loot and get as far away as possible before time ended. Towards the end there he had ran the siren to get some room. It was still slow going, plenty of cars only grudgingly gave up space to the emergency vehicle, but he made good time through the streets and arrived just in time to see Officer Red, looking around too nervously for Coach’s liking.

“Sorry I’m late,” Coach said as he rolled down the window. “Even with an ambo, nobody wanted to give me space.”

“Back it up,” said Red. He pointed where he wanted the ambulance. “And you’re not late. Charlie’s the late one.”

“Fucking hell,” said Coach. He touched his cap and sighed. “I have do something I thought I’d never do.”

“What’s that?”

“Pray that West Germany scores and England doesn't win in regulation.”

---

4:36 PM
10 Minutes Left In Regulation

Charlie watched the two men loading cash into canvas bank bags. Cecil was on the ground, curled up and nursing his injury. The two women were also on the ground, sitting with their hands on their laps. The old woman stared straight ahead like she had been told, but younger of the two kept looking up at him. She would stare for long periods at a time before looking away. Charlie looked at her just as she turned to stare. Immediately, she looked away. He swore under his breath. The little bitch was trying to memorize his face.

“Oi,” he shouted. “I know what you’re trying to pull.”

He quickly crossed the room, flipping the pistol so that he held the barrel and the butt was out. With a quick, savage movement, he struck the girl across the temple with the pistol butt. She flipped to her side and the old woman gasped. Cecil let out a groan from his spot on the ground. He looked from the prone girl up at Charlie.

“Nobody fucking look at me,” said Charlie. “Just load up the bags and don’t make trouble. Next one of you I catch looking, you’ll catch a bullet.”

Charlie checked his watch. Eight minutes until regulation ended. He had no idea of the score, but it was still 1-1 then extra time might be a possibility. If not, he’d only have fifteen twenty minutes at most to get the cash out of the counting room and to get out of the stadium with Bobby in tow. He resisted the urge to walk over and brain Cecil with the gun like he had the girl. It was all his fucking fault.

The Crew – "Wingless Wonders" (A British Noir RP)

3:55 PM
Half-Time

Charlie walked through the crowds as everyone started back to their seat. There was a nervous energy among the people, many of them chattering and excited for the game to resume. With a score of 1-1 it looked like England had a damn good chance of winning this thing. Charlie didn't care right now. Like a lot of things, football was in the back of his mind at the moment. When he was on the job, it was the job he thought about and nothing else. You ran a risk when your mind started to drift.

Plus, he already wasn't the biggest fan of the sport. Lot of people chalked it up to his time in America, but he didn't care for the strange sport they called football, but he at least understood the appeal. Charlie was much more of a rugby man. It was a game that required toughness, a game in which you couldn't flop and get a bloody free kick. A game for men.

Most of the people gave him ample room to pass as he walked against the flow of movement. The uniform did all the heavy lifting for him. When most people saw a copper, their instinct was to create distance. It wasn't so much that they were guilty of anything, it was more that they just they associated a bobby with bad things. Nobody ever saw a cop when the going was good, so even at an event like the world cup they stayed clear. It was a subconscious thing none of them were aware that they were doing.

A whistle blew in the stadium and a roar went up as the second half of the game started. Charlie calmly walked towards the nondescript door situated near the snack bars and merchandise stands. A security guard stood by the door and kept stealing glances towards the field. Most people wouldn't notice it, but Charlie saw a member of the stadium security team go in and out of the door several times during the first half. The entrances had always been at the tail end of a run through all the vendors. Most big events like this had a policy that snack bars and other sales shops couldn't carry too much cash in their registers in the event of a robbery. That was fine with The Crew. It just meant more of a score when they took away the haul.

He gave the security man a slight nod of respect as he walked by him. He returned the gesture with a bit of a smile. Charlie noticed a lot of the guards seemed to stand taller and suck in their guts when he passed by. Several of them probably either wanted to be cops, were former Met officers working to supplement their pensions, or couldn't be cops so they settled for this. Either way, the guards granted Charlie more reverence than the spectators.

Charlie stopped fifty feet away from the door and leaned against the wall to check his wristwatch. Coming up on ten minutes into the second half. Time for Bobby to do his part. The idea had been Red's and he was the one most comfortable with it. Bobby was skittish because Bobby was always skittish. Coach was worried because Coach always worried about this or that or the other. Charlie was skeptical because Bobby had never done anything like this before. And, he could admit that simple prejudice was part of it. Their entire bloody plan hinged on a polack getting the job done.

---

4:12 PM
33 Minutes Left in Regulation

Bobby took a deep breath and threw the first banger. He saw it sail over the heads of people below before it landed in a mass somewhere, creating a pop loud enough for him to hear over the chants of the crowd. They weren't powerful enough to harm anyone, but they were loud enough to scare the hell out of someone. Like the old bang snaps but with some muscle behind it.

The group below parted suddenly at the noise. Bobby pulled off his ridiculous hat and let another banger fly across the crowd. This one landed to his right, exploding and sending everyone scattering. He was preparing for the third banger when he felt a rough hand grab his wrist.

"Oi!"

Another spectator scowled at him, his thick eyebrows knotted together to form a uni-brow. He had at least four inches and forty pounds of muscle on Bobby.

"What you think you're doing there?"

Bobby shook off the hold on his wrist and turned without speaking, rushing through the crowd towards the field. He tossed another banger somewhere over his shoulder and did not bother to look back as it popped. The bangers wouldn't be enough to stop the game, but they would be enough to call security away from their posts. That's what Red and Charlie was betting on. Bobby just hoped he could avoid both security and the crowd long enough for them to do the job.

Precipice of War - The Big Leagues of NRP (Only generous tippers need apply)

September, 1937

Sacramento

Vic watched Sam Dorn storm out of the meeting chamber with two other committee members following behind him. There was no commentary from Vic, and none of the three men would look his way as they passed where he stood. Nobody in the capitol would meet his eye when he came through alone. When he escorted Comrade Bromowitz it was different, but not much. They would look at him only fleetingly as they exchanged pleasantries with the chairman, looking away as quickly as they could.

"Come back here!" Bromowitz roared, standing at the door Dorn had flung open. "You cowards! You capitalist sympathizers."
Bromowitz's chubby face was a purplish red, and his fist were clenched together so tight they were turning white. He took a deep breath and slowly exhaled, massaging his chest with his hands. Through all of this, Vic remained silent. He knew what was going to come next.

"Victor," Bromowitz said softly. "Dorn and the other two members of his rogue little faction are not acting in the best interest of the people and the CPR. I declare them enemies of the state."

Vic nodded and stepped away from the wall without another word. He knew what those words meant and what he had to do. This would not be his first time. He started through the capitol building in the same direction Dorn and the other two had gone. He came out into the parking lot. Dorn and the two other committee members stood around Dorn's car, smoking cigarettes and talking. Vic crouched and crept through the shadows towards them.

"Bromowitz is going crazy," said Dorn. "There is no way in hell I will consent to abolishing the executive committee and granting him sole executive power."

"Then we have another dictator," said one of the other members, Taylor. "Then what separates us from the people we're fighting? MacArthur, Long, and Bromowitz. Three peas in a fucking pod."

"Might want to keep your voice down," said Dorn. "Spooky Vic may be listening."

"It's all talk," said Taylor, expelling smoke as he spoke. "He looks scary, but it's just rumors. Rumors Bromowitz started to keep everyone afraid. Sam Chase wasn't killed by Vic. He just ran away to Canada."

"What about Governor Donaldson?" asked Dorn. "Someone blew his head off with a sniper rifle."

"The old guy is crazy," said Carter, the third committee member of the group. "But he's not murderous crazy. He's more collecting lint from your belly button crazy."

The three men all laughed. Vic laughed to himself just a bit. Calmly, he removed a loaded .45 from his shoulder holster and stood. Taylor saw him out the corner of his eye and gasped just as Vic opened fire on the three men.

---

Los Angeles
1960

Downtown
4:25 PM

"You've got blood on you."

Elliot Shaw looked down at his shirt as he slid into the booth. There was indeed a spot of died blood on his navy tie. He looked down at it, rubbing it with his thumb, before looking back up at Detective Thomas.

"Not mine."

"Then whose?"

Elliot looked around the coffee shop. The only other patron was an auburn haired woman who sat at a table two spaces down, a newspaper in front of her face.

"Raymond Hollister's."

"The actor?" Thomas narrowed his eyes and pulled out his copy of the contact sheet. "He was on the list. What did you do, Shaw?"

"Nothing." Elliot looked away from Thomas as he spoke. "I went to the set where he is -- or was -- shooting his latest picture. We started talking, but he had to go back to filming. There was an accident, real bullets got loaded into the prop gun that fired at him. He's dead."

"Jesus Christ." Thomas shook his head. "What did he say about the list?"

Elliot pulled a cigarette out of his case and lit one up. He offered one to Thomas, who politely declined. The detective allowed him to at least finish his first drag before speaking.

"Not much, but he sure as hell lost his cool at the mere sight of it. I brought up how it was associated with two -- now three -- dead people, and he started to bring up how it all got of control. And then we got cut short Abercrombie and Ray had to go back to filming."

"The same Abercrombie," Thomas said, his finger tapping on the name on the list in front of him.

"I thought the same thing," said Elliot. "I tried to find Roy after Hollister's body was taken off, but he'd already skipped out. Cruised by his house, but he wasn't there. I was gonna break in, but that'll have to wait until night time."

"That's fine," Thomas said calmly. "I think I know where he might be heading."

Thomas nodded to someone over Elliot's shoulder. He turned in time to see the auburn haired woman slid into the booth beside the detective. She wore big sunglasses to hide her eyes. and a kerchief wrapped around her head to keep her long hair up.

"Shaw, this is Jessica Hyatt."

She removed her glasses, showing a pair of sparkling green eyes that made Elliot pause. She looked like Claire Beauchamp, it was almost uncanny. Not twins, not that close for sure, but sisters without a doubt.

"Hi," Elliot said before looking at Thomas. "And who is Jessica Hyatt?"

She offered Elliot a sad smile. "I'm a member of the group you and Detective Thomas are so intent on investigating. At least, unofficially."

"And she's a Pinkerton," said Thomas.

"Again, unofficially," Hyatt said in a bored manner. "Coerced informant is more like it."

"Please," Elliot said, leaning forward. "Tell me more."

---

77th Street Station
4:40 PM

Hoyt was starting to get pissed. That motherfucker Thomas had blown off his shift at work. He understood covering for your partner on occasion, especially if your partner was hungover or found some new pussy he was deep into. But this? This was different. He just hadn't shown up this afternoon. That was unlike that little son of a bitch to even be a minute tardy for work.

It would be different if it were business as usual here. Hoyt could take care of the colored shylocks, bootleggers, and pimps of South Central by himself with no problems. But the shit stacked on their plate was far from the run of the mill South Central darkie drama. Downtown was breathing down the captain's neck, which meant he was breathing down theirs. Central Homicide was threatening to take the case from them and run with it. Hoyt's response to the threat was to keep running in sex offenders and beating them until he got a believable confession.

"Detective Hoyt?"

Hoyt turned at the sound of his own name being called. In the middle of the bullpen was a short, heavyset man with gray hair. His LAPD uniform marked him as a police captain.

"Captain Arnold Prescott," he said with a snaggled tooth smile. "Intelligence Division."

He proffered a chubby hand that Hoyt quickly shoot.

"Yes, sir," Hoyt beamed. "I know you, all about you and your boys."

"Mind if I sit?"

Prescott plopped into the chair facing Hoyt's desk without waiting to get permission.

"You know, Hoyt. You are a perfect fit for my squad."

Hoyt brightened. "Really, sir?"

Prescott nodded. "Smart, intimidating, and mean as hell. I can think of quite a few commies I'd love to sic you on."

Hoyt smiled and sat upright in his chair. As much as he loved to run the streets of Darktown, running with the Red Squad would be a dream come true. Like being a Pinkerton, but only on a local level.

"But," Prescott said sadly. "Before we can discuss that, there is something else we need to discuss. Namely, your partner."

"My partner?"

"Detective Jefferson Thomas." Prescott said the words slowly, like he was savoring the way they tasted. "He is a man of conflicted ideas and ideologies. And he needs to see the light."

---

Downtown
5:15 PM

"A movie?" Shaw asked.

Jessica nodded. "A movie. Claire Beauchamp was going to star before she was killed. I'm the new leading lady."

"Comrades in Arms," said Thomas. "Whatever the ridiculous subtitle of it is."

"Why you?" Shaw asked. "You're not an actress, right?"

"I look like Claire," said Jessica. "That's the only reason I can think of."

Claire also knew it was her pedigree. The daughter of Victor Hecht, playing the leading lady in the drama. Penelope was a lot of things, maybe even a murderer, and a romantic soul was one of them.

"Look at this," Shaw said, pulling a list of names from his pocket. "I was wrong about this list, Thomas. Look at the way it's ordered. Weiss as the top, Abercrombie at the top, Claire near the top but above Hollister. It's a call sheet. That's a list films use during production to make sure they can contact everyone they're filming, The higher on the call sheet, the more important you are. I can't believe I missed it."

"Two -- now three -- dead bodies to just make a movie?"

"Penny said no studio was brave enough to make it," said Jessica. "It's a leftist magnum opus and the studios know it. They all kowtowed to political pressure from Washington."

Shaw said, "Take out the subversive stuff and it's still an unfilmable mess. Four hours long, half the dialogue is shit nobody would say in real life. They turned Victor Hecht into a folk hero instead of the cold-blooded killer he really was."

Jessica bristled at the mention. Thomas looked at her curiously while Shaw remained oblivious. Instead the studio man sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. Thomas looked away from Jessica and leaned forward to look at Shaw as he spoke.

"We need a plan. If Abercrombie tampered with the blanks at the film studio, then him killing Brock and Beauchamp is well within the realm of possibility."

"I can find Roy," said Shaw. "He's a lot of gruff and bravado, but if you start talking about three counts of murder he'll sing like a choirboy."

"I'm supposed to meet Penny tonight for drinks," said Jessica. "A last little get together before we start shooting."

"Go see her," said Thomas. "See what you can get from her about Claire."

"What are you going to do?" asked Jessica.

Thomas looked between the two of them and said, "Commit burglary."

"Join the club," replied Shaw.