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Post by Mihai Chimet on Feb 3, 2013 23:56:33 GMT -8
Let's get some RoEng frienshipping here uvu Wrecking Ball - Interpol Can it be true? Nobody warned you, Nobody told you, to make up your mind. Nobody told you, that I could just waltz through and shake up your style. I'm inside, like a wrecking ball through your eyes, And I change it all from inside. Them vs. You vs. Me - Finger Eleven We left and as soon as we did I knew There was a bad taste in our mouths Awareness didn't come too soon But you finally tasted it too It's just another case of fucking up A perfectly good afternoon Every manner that I forgot Could have helped me out of acting cruel If There's a Rocket Tie Me to it - Snow Patrol A fire, a fire You can only take what you can carry A pulse, your pulse It's the only thing I can remember I break, you don't I was always set to self-destruct though The fire, the fire It cracks and barks like primal music |
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Post by Mihai Chimet on Feb 2, 2013 0:46:31 GMT -8
Mihai raised an eyebrow in slight amusement as the journalist carried on. Here was someone who seemed to take his job a little less seriously than the others; at least enough to toss in a few casual 'blah blah blahs' as part of his monologue. Mihai didn't bother pointing out that he and his department had very little to do with the economic aspect of the government (and thus, he had really no desire to discuss the topic) aside from siphoning off a good deal of its funds. But he suspected that even if he had tried, he would be able to get very few words in edgewise, what with the rapid-fire speed at which the journalist shot out his questions.
The questions themselves were nothing Mihai had never heard before--they were typical of gossip columnists (though Mihai could give him props for being a good deal more direct than some others), and he had been interviewed by enough of them in the course of his career. It seemed that anyone involved in domestic security was the prime target for reporters hoping to dig up a dirty scandal or two--not that Mihai quite minded. He couldn't be happier to see some of his colleagues put in their place by public opinion, but unfortunately he himself had many skeletons to bury, and so it had devolved into some half-played game of watching his own back.
But that was just a necessity, and he hadn't had enough trouble to complain.
"The evening's been quite pleasant," he said, answering the journalist's first question. He knew there would be readers sprawled over these papers tomorrow, hoping for someone to make a slip and say something disparaging about Maximantics--and after enough drinks, it was likely that someone would. But as it was for him, the awareness of that possibility drove the lies and empty flattery through his lips all the more easily.
"Everything is very well-organized, as should be expected from Mr. Bondevik. High-quality--excellent food, drinks," a pause, "guests. Though I must admit I've had quite enough of business talk for one night." He flashed his interviewer a smile and a shrug, all at once sheepish and slightly insolent. "I'll confess that economics was never my strong point--perhaps it was the only class I consistently failed."
He'd discovered in his earlier days, that there was a format to these things. A formulae to keep yourself well-liked by the public, and respected but not disdained by your superiors. Talk like you knew the scene, flatter them, throw in a self-deprecating joke so that they don't feel frightened, and makes them think of you as approachable. Make yourself likable, up-to-par, but not threatening.
It was, apparently, a memo that Arthur Kirkland never got.
He'd barely finished his words before he heard a collective gasp ring out around the room, and the woman the next table over uttered a hushed "oh my god." The astonishment of the soiree didn't propel Mihai into action as it (perhaps) should have. Instead, he was concerned but unhurried, even calm, as he followed the eyes of the party-goers to the cause of confusion, even as the more conscientious guests turned their gaze away. Maybe the atmosphere was infectious--the silence that fell across the room, the awkward shuffling, a few coughs and tentative attempts to resume conversation before the try-hards decided it wasn't worth it. Like a ball distanced by a layer of glass.
However, Mihai's half-mesmerized composure was quickly lost when he sighted the source of the disturbance, to be replaced by an emotion more commonly known as "losing one's shit."
In fact, he had to bite back that particular curse when he sighted Arthur standing at the refreshments table, stunned with a red cut blossoming above his eye, and Lukas Bondevik storming indignantly away from the scene.
Mihai's first thought, as he watched the scene, went along the lines of "fuck." His second thought went more along the lines of "fuck--the Home Office is going to have my ass." His third was wondering or not he could save some face and arrest the elder Bondevik son on charges of assault.
But even as he grit his teeth and started in Arthur's direction himself (journalist forgotten, and all the better at that), he could see a rush of Maximantics' own employees heading out the door the perpetrator had gone through. He choked back his own pride with difficulty and veered towards the refreshments table. Alarmed exclamations came through his earpiece as he walked, but a quick order issued into his microphone sent his team back into their positions with a few protests and requests to know what had happened.
Ludwig Beilschmidt had reached Kirkland before he did. He wasn't all that familiar with the man, aside from having seen him around government buildings--after all, they'd never talked, aside from some polite and purely perfunctory greetings. Yet, Mihai considered himself apt enough at gauging characters, and a quick guess based off the slicked hair and stern (if concerned) expression spelt out the portrait of a serious and hardworking member of the beauraucracy. At the least, the Romanian could silently appreciate that Ludwig had brought a towel with him, which Arthur was pressing to his cut. Aside from gossip columnists, he'd also met a fair number of people who spoke a lot but did little to help anyone, be it out of sheer stupidity or selective indifference.
A few paces from the pair, he hesitated. He'd cleared away most of the curious onlookers who pressed to know what they could do to help (as an excuse to approach one of the most well-known men in the UK), but he had little idea what to do himself. He knew all the protocols in the case of, for example, an attempt at a mass-shooting, but he was unsure what specific code of conduct should be implemented in the case of a glass-flinging by a child throwing a temper tantrum. After a brief moment of reflection, he supposed the best course of action would be to get Arthur out of the main room.
Approaching the pair once again, he directed a nod at Ludwig in appreciation before his eyes fixated on Arthur. "Are you all right?" he asked.
He was making out a great deal calmer than he was. His main concern was finding out how Arthur was faring--and hopefully not too badly, 'lest Mihai be swept up in a maelstrom of insinuatingly insulting headlines to be printed at the top of every newspaper available in the UK. At least Arthur wasn't the type to be throwing the blame around, or making theatrics out of the situation. Otherwise, Mihai was rather certain the bolded text would run something like this: "PM HOPEFUL INJURED BY FLYING GLASS - MAXIMANTICS HEIR ARRESTED AND HOME OFFICE THROWN INTO DISARRAY," followed a week later by, "THE DISMANTLING OF ALL WINDOWS IN GOVERNMENT BUILDINGS BEGUN WITH PARLIAMENTARY DECLARATION OF GLASS TO BE UNSAFE."
Though all sarcasm aside, the sudden onset of violence was disconcerting. He'd expected a menace, maybe from an outside force, but not from the heir of Maximantics himself. A part of him questioned whether that had been deliberate, an attempt at a distraction (a distraction that had worked quite well, mind you), but the thought was kept as no more than a niggling possibility. Lukas currently wasn't his responsibility, and Mihai doubted he'd be allowed to maneuver much against Maximantics anyway. At the very least, he could only snidely hope that daddy dearest would reduce Lukas' allowance or whatever rich kids were in want of (which was, quite likely, nothing at all).
He waved one of the remaining Maximantics' guards over. "Could you open up a spare room for us?" he asked. "With a sink, preferably."
He could see the desire to protest rise, but a quick glance at Arthur's bloody towel made the guard reconsider. Moments like these were the ones when Mihai would rather drop the diplomatic façade, and just tell them that the head of the goddamn Labor Party was bleeding from a head wound issued by none other than Lukas Bondevik himself, so open up a spare fucking room or god help you.
Fortunately, such drastic measures were not required. Seeming to think better of denying the head of CI the small request of a spare room, the guard finally swallowed and gestured. "Yeah, of course. Just come with me."
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Post by Mihai Chimet on Jan 31, 2013 21:38:02 GMT -8
Let's go with Mi and Luci. I'll add Soo if you guys have an uneven number, or trade him out if Mi doesn't necessarily work (because of status?)
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Post by Mihai Chimet on Jan 31, 2013 18:39:38 GMT -8
how did this happen
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Post by Mihai Chimet on Jan 21, 2013 2:29:14 GMT -8
What he'd learned so far: her name was Rose Griffith, and she was enrolled in graduate school, interning with Maximantics for a semester. She was interested in being a business attorney, and was very honored that Maximantics had recruited her—with a paid internship, no less. She spoke highly of the company management (though Mihai wondered if that might change if the head managed to get himself assassinated that night). Aside from the praises she sang about the company, however, Mihai could objectively say that she was cute; the type of girl that naturally brimmed with excitement and had trouble composing herself for formal events. If it wouldn't have been considered rude, he would have advised her to try her hand at a more pleasant career.
Rose was a picture of enthusiasm, eyes bright enough to rival the chandeliers, really, in the middle of detailing the contents of a book she'd recently read when an interrupting greeting diverted Mihai's attention.
"Ciao, Mr. Collins!
His gaze slid in the intervening man's direction as his conversational partner fell silent. Mihai allowed himself the luxury narrowing his eyes at the newcomer in mild annoyance before he conjured up the smile necessary to confront the other patrons of the soiree. It wasn't as though Mihai himself was particularly interested in economics, but it was somewhat more intriguing when a pretty girl with passion for the topic was explaining it.
"Vargas, Crown Royale Gazette journalist and reporter, at your service. Scusa, this is spontaneous, but I'd like an interview with you straight away!"
A reporter, of course. They never had any sense of timing. Flirting aside, there couldn't have been a worse time for Mihai to have been asked for an interview. At the very least he could hurry away from a conversation with other guests if things turned sour, but for all he knew, hurrying away from an interview could cause the journalist to spin the story in a bad light. To make matters worse, he'd had more than enough people from media pursue him as he'd tried to take his leave—honestly, they really thought that they were entitled to everyone's time, weren't they?
Briefly, he considered writing this "Vargas" off as having mistaken him for someone else, but it was painfully obvious that a ploy like that wouldn't work in such a setting. 'Grin and bear it' seemed to be the way to go, much to his displeasure. He'd never liked the media much, and being under their scrutiny was something he absolutely loathed—though he imagined that the Prime Minister had it much worse (not to mention the best and brightest of the Labor Party, which begged the question why Vargas wasn't interviewing him instead).
"Sorry, Miss Griffith," he said to the woman, who was looking questioningly between the two men. "Duty calls." If duty could be considered akin to a gossip-starved journalist.
Rose shook her head and muttered a quick, if slightly disappointed, 'it's all right.' In a small gesture of apology and intending to leave her with a favorable impression, Mihai swept a glass of red wine from the tray of a passing caterer and offered it to her.
"It's been a pleasure," he added with a smile. "I'll see you again later if opportunity allows."
A great deal less enthusiastically, he turned his attention to Vargas as the woman wandered off. He took a cursory scan of the other—the auburn hair and brown eyes, decked out in a suit. Vargas didn't seem familiar (and the name didn't quite ring any bells either), so Mihai assumed that the man wasn't a regular in the political scene. Though granted, the soiree was hardly purely political in nature this time around.
Now that he had Mihai's attention, Vargas was looking at him expectantly, camera around his neck and notebook flipped open, pen poised to write. A fitting example of a journalist, if Mihai had ever seen one.
'So, now that you've interrupted one of the more pleasant conversations I've had tonight, is there anything else you want?' he was tempted to ask, but refrained. A sour response would hardly earn him any favors, and if he couldn't escape the game, he might as well play it to the best of his ability.
"Good evening, Mr. Vargas," he greeted the journalist. His tone was that of polite disinterest which he used to deal with individuals he had saw no appeal in talking to, but had no choice in the matter. "It's quite a soiree Mr. Bondevik threw, don't you think? I hope you've enjoyed your evening."
Actually, he couldn't care less, but such trivial wishes were necessary for the scene. Anyway, by the rosy flush of the the other's cheeks, he could safely say that Vargas had very likely enjoyed himself, perhaps to some of the wine and the company of some richly-clothed women. Frivolities taken care of, he didn't afford the other much time to answer before he brought up what was of concern to him.
"I'm sure you also know there's also been an assassination threat on Mr. Bondevik," he said, "and that I'm here to make sure that they can't follow through." He looked at Vargas with a glimmer of a dare in his eyes, wondering if the other would be audacious enough to insist on an interview at the cost of diverting Mihai's attention. It was a perfectly reasonable threat, after all (if it could even be deemed a threat), and if it cowed the eager reporter, then all the better.
"We're operating in spite of certain constraints," he continued, emphasizing the difficulty of his position. He refrained from mentioning Maximantics' board of directors by name out of civility only. "And I'm expecting another quick check-in by my team in roughly twenty minutes." (Though speaking of his team, where had Tachibana gone off to?)
He directed a smile at Vargas, intended to take off whatever edge there might have been to his words. "I'll be happy to answer your questions if you can finish in that amount of time."
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Post by Mihai Chimet on Jan 20, 2013 4:12:57 GMT -8
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Post by Mihai Chimet on Jan 20, 2013 3:47:30 GMT -8
Mihai Chimet reclined easily against the walls of the Maximantics ballroom, a flute of champagne resting between his fingers. His eyes darted around the large area, taking note of guests, exits, the security posted near the edges of the soiree, trying not to allow his lackadaisical mentality to convince him that this had been the exact same scene he'd been observing for at least the past three hours, and therefore he should just stop. He had quickly lost interest in his surroundings after the first hour or so, true, but he tried to be attentive in case anything went wrong, and though he completed this duty of observation as carefully as his bored psyche would allow, he privately thought that it was a right shame indeed that he had to keep himself distanced from the rest of the guests. He was at a soiree, after all, and it was unfortunate that he couldn't enjoy more of the wines or chat up the particularly cute redhead he'd been eying since a few minutes ago.
Swirling the golden liquid gently in his glass, he raised the flute to his lips and took a small sip. He wasn't allowed to drink too much on the job—not that anyone was monitoring him per se, though it usually reflected badly—but he reasoned that as an invitee to the soiree (sort of) he may as well blend in a bit, and a little bit of alcohol never did any harm. Besides, with the small leeway they'd been granted, he was hardly able to scout beyond the floor he currently occupied. In his opinion, rather a senseless restriction for the threat they were supposedly facing.
Roughly a month ago, the Home Office had intercepted a message detailing an assassination attempt on the senior Mr. Bondevik to take place during the soiree. Maximantics had been notified, of course, and advised to cancel the event but in true rich-people style, they had refused to do so. Complicating matters even further, his detail had been obliged to operate separately from Maximantics' personal security after the board of the corporation had refused to allow the agency to take charge of protection, reluctant to leave the outsiders to protect their precious head and heir. Maximantics had even conducted its own security sweep before the soiree rather than allow his team to run a threat check.
Mihai, more commonly known around this scene as Michael Collins, had scoffed at the business' arrogance but had been instructed not to push the matter further. That was how they had been tied down to the first floor, undercover, with nothing more than a handgun at their disposal. Fat lot that would do against a Mafia hit, he had argued, but Maximantics was either competent enough or reassured of their competence enough that they were willing to run that risk. Mihai himself would've just left the issue stand long ago and allowed the head to be shot or stabbed or strangled or whatever, but the Labor Party had insisted on protection for their best bid at party dominance since more than a decade.
As his earpiece sounded with his men's scheduled check-in, his eyes wandered over to the man in question at the far end of the room. Blond hair, green eyes (too far to be able to see, but he knew this from a few previous encounters), dressed in a suit like the rest of them. Currently the ace for the Labor Party, who had hinged their hopes on him to bring their bloc a sweeping victory at the next election. Arbitrarily, his memory jogged as his gaze passed over the other, some other facts came to mind: age 25, height 173 cm, weight 63 kg, first name Arthur, last name Kirkland. Ill health from childhood too, or so he'd heard. If Mihai hadn't been the chief of protecting that man from terrorist threats, he would likely have been arrested at the most or surveilled at the least for knowing that information.
"Visual confirmation of Arthur Kirkland established," he murmured, the microphone pinned to his lapel picking up his words. He tore his gaze from Arthur as the man chatted with the elder Bondevik son and searched out the few other politicians who had decided to attend the event. He rattled off some names, easily locating the others, before he paused and skimmed the room once again.
"Alexandra Ivanovich, absent," he added. "Anyone seen her?"
A chorus of 'no's echoed in his earpiece and he sighed, prepared to have one of his agents leave her post in yet another useless expenditure of time. "Miss Tachibana, if you wouldn't mind checking the restrooms."
He settled back to watch the rest of the guests as her assent came through, not feeling all too concerned. Ivanovich hadn't been the target of the intercepted message anyway, and they'd already run through the same process earlier that evening with another man, only to discover him outside the building while engaged in an exasperated conversation with his wife. Not even professionalism could stifle Sergei Anderson's giggles as he conveyed that the man's son had apparently shaved the pattern of a smiley face onto the family cat and proceeded to dye the animal neon pink.
Feeling slightly more anxious as the soiree went on, he stole a glance at his watch. The event was nearing its end already—he heard that Bondevik senior would be making a speech at that time—and yet there had been no disturbances. Best-case scenario dictated that the occasion would come to a close without any attempt at killing everyone in the building (Mihai had had a fair amount of these scenarios in his experience), but worst-case scenario indicated that everything their intercepted transmission had conveyed would come true (Mihai had had many more of these in his experience).
He shook off the slight unease—tension did no favors in emergencies anyway—and drained his flute of champagne, leaving it on the serving dish of a caterer. Then, he righted himself. Tachibana would be reporting back soon, probably having located Ivanovich reapplying make-up in the restroom or something of the sort, and hopefully then Bondevik would make his speech and Mihai could go home, applauding himself for having spent yet another day guarding the delicate lives of the rich and famous. Just as he'd always dreamed of doing, he thought sarcastically.
But realistically, there was no escape for him at the present time. He figured he might as well enjoy the soiree a little since that was the case, and having a chat with the cute redhead he'd seen earlier seemed like an adequate way to spend the next half-hour.
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Post by Mihai Chimet on Jan 18, 2013 20:39:35 GMT -8
March 4th! /pisces baby
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Post by Mihai Chimet on Jan 15, 2013 1:51:32 GMT -8
@bela: Nope, I haven't. |D Most likely won't happen 'til after tomorrow either.
And yes--I see that you have taken on a mission. Good luck with that, and bring a gas mask, maybe.
IDON'TKNOWWHEREI'MGOINGTOPOSTYET @-@ /conundrum
I guess I shall try the soiree though, if that's what people expect. Because I have no ideas. |D;;
After that though, I'd be more than happy to arrange a point where we can meet up and let these two have a nice chat--maybe see where things go from there. ouo
@nico: Aah--pre-established relationship it shall be then. I like the idea of them being friends, but Nico can definitely be his link to the underground as well. He'll need resources and information after all, like where to get explosives. |D
A deeper relationship between these two would be fun, I think. After all, Mi needs someone who he can be friends with while not lying about his identity. I don't think he'd mind overmuch being seen as a brother figure either, and—to some degree—would probably enjoy the idea of protecting someone even though Nico is a bad-ass chick and doesn't need his protection.
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Post by Mihai Chimet on Jan 14, 2013 17:45:33 GMT -8
@bela: Ahh--Mi will definitely like a woman who isn't afraid of danger. :')
Though if we are to explore this we should have them meet up someplace, yes? |D
@ro's hot female counterpart: Yes they should definitely be friends and take London by storm.
I'm fully open to a pre-established relationship, or if we'd like to have them meet up during the RP, that is fine with me as well.
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Post by Mihai Chimet on Jan 14, 2013 16:43:14 GMT -8
If there's any constructive criticism you'd like to give I would be happy to hear it! Otherwise, if there's any more information I should add, or questions I should answer, I'd be happy to hear those too.
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Post by Mihai Chimet on Jan 14, 2013 16:42:28 GMT -8
[reserved]
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Post by Mihai Chimet on Jan 14, 2013 16:42:09 GMT -8
Document 001-Be2A civilian phone call was received by the London police department at 4h57 on 31/12/20██ regarding a murder in Hyde Park. Authorities arrived on site at 5h07 and managed to secure the area by 5h23, preventing any damage that might have been done to the scene. The body of a young woman was discovered at the centre of the park, positioned against a steel railing, stripped of clothing and bearing extensive signs of injury. A pentagram had been sprayed around her body in red paint, accompanied by other symbols traditionally associated with Satanical worship. The same symbols had been carved into the victim's body with the aid of a scalpel or similar instrument. A piece of paper pinned to the victim's arm read the following: "The revolution is coming. You are all doomed. Death to the bourgeoisie, death to the capitalists. Freedom or law?" An autopsy was conducted on the deceased, revealing evidence of the victim having been captured and tortured for several days. Indications of sexual assault were also discovered. The victim appeared to have struggled against her captor initially, as samples of skin were able to be extracted from under her nails, the DNA not matching that of her own nor of any known relation. Cause of death was strangulation.
-abrasions around the wrist and ankles, assumed to be caused by a rope
-substantial amounts of bruising
-three broken fingers, and two broken ribs
-five fingernails and all toenails removed
-third-degree burns in the inner right thigh, the back, the left foot, and the torso
-frostbite on the right foot and four fingers of the left hand
-several pinpricks all over the body, assumed to be from needles
-various lacerations across the entire body
-a "Glasgow smile," which was then stitched up along with the rest of the mouth
-[DATA EXPUNGED]
The victim was identified as a 24 year-old business student from [REDACTED] school in London, Marianne Lisle. Lisle had been reported missing since 23/12/20██ by family members. There are no current suspects. Due to the FOL-related nature of the case, authority over the investigation was transferred to CI. Investigation is ongoing.
A case like this is guaranteed to draw a lot of attention—attention that neither we nor Lisle's family need. I'd like to refrain from releasing sensitive information in order to avoid public panic and to preserve the integrity of the investigation.
- Document 001-Be3On 23/01/20██, the London police department was informed of a murder in Hyde Park by a civilian phone call at 5h34. By executing an immediate response, the area managed to be secured before extensive damage was done to the scene, or before activity in the park reached its peak. Upon investigation, the body of a middle-aged male was discovered at the centre of the park. The body was laid horizontally on the ground and crucified to an inverted wooden cross. Burns, lacerations, and severe mutilations were immediately visible upon the body, which had been secured onto the cross by the use of nails to the feet, hands, throat, and heart. Above the body was an inscription sprayed in red paint, reading as follows: "Freedom is penance. Our motive is not to kill, but to save. Lisle is avenged, the sinner has repented." It is currently presumed that "Lisle" refers to Marianne Lisle, whose body had also been discovered in Hyde Park on 31/12/20██. Refer to Document 001-Be2 for a full report of the Lisle case. The victim was identified as Jared Amadeus Breckenridge, a 36 year-old employee of [REDACTED]. Autopsy revealed that the victim had been subjected to torture mostly of the same nature as Lisle, including, but not limited to, burns, lacerations, and broken bones in addition to castration. Examination suggested that wounds were inflicted over a period of twenty-four (24) to forty-eight (48) hours, and the victim appeared to have been dehydrated and starved beforehand. Unlike Lisle, there were no signs of struggle. A blood test revealed traces of vecuronium (a paralyzing agent) in the victim's system, and some damage to the tissues of the trachea, suggesting the perpetrator(s) had deliberately induced paralysis but opted to keep the victim both alive and conscious throughout the process. Cause of death was suffocation by removal of the endotracheal tube. Relocation of the body and crucifixion took place post-mortem. Upon investigation of the possible link between the Lisle and Breckenridge cases, it was revealed in a DNA test that Breckenridge's DNA was a perfect match to that of Lisle's killer. A background check revealed no connection between Breckenridge and Lisle. The address [REDACTED] was discovered written in red ink on the back of the cross upon which the body was found. An investigation revealed that the house belonged to Breckenridge, and a search of its premises exposed a cellar area, in which several instruments typically associated with torture were uncovered. Traces of Lisle's DNA were discovered on the instruments, as well as the clothing Lisle had been wearing the day she was supposedly kidnapped. Investigation into the Breckenridge case is ongoing. There are no current suspects.
Due to the expenditure of resources and manpower, and the lack of good leads, I would like to request termination of the Breckenridge investigation. The bastard got what was coming to him.
Director Collins, it is well-understood that the Breckenridge murder was considered an act of justice for his heinous crime, and we do not hold anyone responsible for feeling the same. But no matter how monstrous his crime, it is our duty to ensure that justice be served to all. We appreciate your work and your judgment, but we must deny this request. Please continue to serve our country well.
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Post by Mihai Chimet on Jan 14, 2013 16:41:52 GMT -8
[reserved]
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Post by Mihai Chimet on Jan 14, 2013 16:39:13 GMT -8
Organisation: The Front of Liberation of the People (FOL) Classification: Code Red Procedure: FOL is to be eliminated at all expedience. The Counterterrorism Initiative is to mark FOL as its priority target and allocate necessary funds and personnel towards counteracting FOL operations. Additional funds may be allotted by Parliamentary order if deemed necessary. Cooperation with external agencies nationally and internationally is permitted at all times, though CI remains the national chief authority on any issue pertaining to FOL. Persons suspected of FOL membership may be investigated by any means necessary within parameters permitted by the International Human Rights Treatise of 20██. Methods of investigation may include, but are not limited to, shadowing, interrogation, and searches on private property with a valid warrant. Persons arrested under suspicion of operating within FOL are to be granted their legal rights as according to sections ██-██ of the IHRT. [Addendum: ██/██/20██] Compliance with sections [REDACTED] of the IHRT may be waived with permission of the Home Secretary, the Prime Minister, or Queen Joselle. In the case of a parliamentary-declared national emergency, compliance with sections of the IHRT as numbered above may also be waived by the highest in command of the CI. An authorized raid is to be conducted immediately upon the discovery of any operational base of FOL. The base must be secured, all FOL operatives arrested, and all items discovered within must be seized and catalogued. Items with potential destructive power are to be directed to the appropriate threat-disposal units. Items of interest, designated at the Deputy General's discretion, must be delivered to research facilities for further inspection. In the case that FOL operatives attempt to seize any broadcasting centres, emergency protocol is to be activated and any broadcast from the captured location is to be shut down. Recordings of FOL's broadcast are to be made and stored, reviewable upon request by anyone with clearance level 2, or clearance level 1 with the approval and accompaniment of a level 2 authority. [Addendum: ██/██/20██] The public display of any FOL-related artwork is prohibited. The exhibition should be immediately dismantled by law enforcement and the artwork confiscated. If the exhibition is hosted at a museum or other municipal building, employees may be subject to a brief interrogation. Description: The United Nations has designated FOL as an international terrorist threat, with its main activity concentrated in Europe and minor activity in nations such the United States of America, China, the Republic of Korea, and Saudi Arabia. Even smaller units of FOL are suspected of operating in as many as ██ countries worldwide. FOL is considered highly dangerous, and currently poses the most critical threat to domestic security in European nations since the eradication of Al Qaeda ██ years ago. FOL demonstrates active hostility towards established government. Their most notable operations include the assassinations of political leaders (both attempted and successful), the bombings of government buildings, and the thievery and leakage of sensitive government information. Refer to Document 001-B for a full report of noteworthy incidents involving FOL. On several occasions, art installations attributed to FOL have appeared in public spaces (such as parks and malls) across Europe, usually bearing politically subversive messages. Most pieces appear to be surrealist or satirical in nature, and are clearly designed to provoke a reaction from viewers. Refer to Document 001-C for a full report of art installations attributed to FOL. Most incidents organised by FOL are identifiable by the appearance of the phrase "Freedom or law?" in its vicinity. The structure of authority within FOL is unknown. The current theory of CI is that FOL operates under a decentralised authority, in which there are no named "leaders." Alternative to a rigid power structure, FOL operatives appear to work individually or in small groups of acquaintances or close friends, carrying out minor projects. Larger projects requiring more cohesion seem to be planned and executed by groups of more well-connected individuals, who make up the foundation of FOL. These are most likely the "senior members" of FOL, who generally appear to be obeyed and respected to some degree by newer members. However, due to this system, reports of in-fighting among small groups of FOL members are not uncommon, and those whose actions are radically divergent from the larger group are usually eradicated by other operatives. Though the decentralised power structure amplifies internal conflict, it has proved effective at shielding the most active FOL members from capture. Thus far, many of the arrested FOL members are individual or small-group actors, and are mostly uninformed of large-scale FOL operations. Even those arrested with more background with FOL are generally unaware of the identities of their collaborators, recognizing one another solely by codename. FOL does not appear to have a single, cohesive purpose behind its actions. Due to FOL's decentralisation of authority, several chapters of thought appear to have emerged while operating under the same general principal, and doctrine varies noticeably between chapters operating in different countries. However, FOL ideology is not wholly indiscernible. In spite of some variations in thought, there appears to be a consensus among FOL operatives that the organisation is anarchist, and dedicated to "cleansing the world of the socioeconomic divide and political corruption, and establishing a world where people are truly free to be people." FOL's main method of communicating its ideology with the general public is through delivering manifestos. Such manifestos have been issued on paper, electronically, as well as through hijacked radio and television broadcasts. These manifestos usually vary in details from release to release, though the general idea is that articulated above. Refer to Document 001-A for a list of the known FOL manifestos made to date. Origin: [to be edited]
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