[A-RP] Independance day

[Nuevalta]

(OOC. My First RP post, seems like Nuevalta and the USA will have something to share.)

Part 1/3

## Message 013844-N on 03/07/2024
Classification: Urgent-A, Confidential
Recipient: Ministry of Overseas Territories, Lyrie
Sender: Prefecture of Nuevalta

Minister,

I believe this will be my last message to you as the prefect and administrator of Nuevalta, not knowing if it will reach you. The unthinkable, sir, has occurred this morning around 9 AM. Usually, we only receive technicians from the mainland, the families of our administrators, a few idle tourists, and about as many outlaws of all kinds, whom our small militia of natives and private employees easily repel. This morning, about a thousand men emerged from the woods, where we rarely venture, took the railway line and cut communications with the periphery, before heading towards the town and the port.

I don't know how they got there, nor why I didn't know about it earlier; I suspect many locals of being complicit or favorable to these rebels, but also some employees and even a few within my administration. From what I have heard, they are a heterogeneous mix of artists, scientists, philosophers, and marginalized individuals of the worst kind. Rumors speak of secret laboratories in the mountains and secret societies advocating a new golden age, but I see these as drunk men and agitators' delusions, cleverly exploiting local myths to their advantage : that last point explains the frequent “accidents” on the tracks lately.

However, these troublemakers could not have arrived here by chance or without outside help; whoever they are, they have weapons, albeit in small numbers, which are not from here. Furthermore, even if I will be blamed for my lack of vigilance and blindness towards a group of terrorists hidden in the bush, my blindness was sought by some high support that must be in Lyrie itself, and I do not say this to absolve myself of all responsibility.

At the time of sending this message, I hear gunfire from the guard post and rumors approaching the city center. Soon they will be here, I know it, and my only hope is that they may be fewer than the rumors say. Whatever the outcome of tonight and tomorrow, do not rely on me, sir, to defend the island. Consider this letter as my resignation for failing to see the danger coming. Time is pressing; I must confess that like many here, I have a family there for whom I want to live, even if it means abandoning this lost corner, which is just a hostile morass under our flag and serves only the grandiloquence of great speeches: if you do not grant me my resignation, treat me as a deserter, for I refuse to continue.

Yours,

Léon-Guy Lissol, ex-prefect and administrator of Nuevalta.

* * *

Having pressed the send button on his modest tele-communicator, the former official, now either in early retirement or a deserter, sighed with relief. Finally, he could leave, far from this narrow and monotonous town, like a relic from another age pasted in a place where it was so out of place, far from the humid and salty heat of summer, from the creatures that sought only to bite, pinch, or suck your blood, far from the monotonous rains of the “thirstless season,” as those who had never lived it called it, and which others named the “hungerless season,” as it sapped the will to live. Yes, soon he would be free of all that, back home by Lake Venège where he had spent his childhood, surrounded by his loved ones.

Thinking of this, he went to pour himself a drink at the bar set up by his predecessors. The cheap alcohol stung his stomach a bit, but he felt good, almost seated at his desk, looking out the window. From here, the sea under the setting sun and the bells of the fishing boats looked like a movie set; he had never been able to see his town this way before thinking of leaving. “Let's hope Robert doesn't take too long with the luggage,” he thought, tapping his wrist nervously, suddenly pulled from his reverie by the indistinct sounds drawing closer.

Suddenly, the door swung open, and the driver entered, slightly sweaty, eyes fixed on the desk items. Despite his usual calm and professional demeanor, Léon-Guy sensed something uneasy in him, a new emotion; it surprised him coming from this big man who, to his knowledge, was the only mainlander to tolerate the island, even to enjoy it.

“Come on, Robert, don't worry so much; the wurld won't crumble with our old flag falling from this rusty mast. Leave that to the generals in the capital and the protesters who won't fail to cause trouble there,” he said, strangely cheerful in this grave moment, as if liberated from a heavy burden and smiling at the thought of all those mainlanders who had never suffered mosquitoes more than two months a year and who would soon crowd in front of the presidential palace demanding an expedition or something else, and return to this cursed rock. No, he was indeed done with all that.

“For you, sir, I don't know, but for me…” began Robert, clearly worried about losing his job and comfortable salary, which allowed him to live in a small sailboat his boss could see behind the window. “Don't worry, I haven't planned to fire you, old man; on the contrary, I think we will have a long time together, you and I,” he interrupted. The other did not flinch, did not seek to respond.

Together, they pushed the bookcase full of useless books that hid the predictable escape route, serving no other function than to lead away from the main avenues to a small garden. Lissol felt a bit emotional at the thought of the charming creatures who had so often made the reverse journey, away from prying eyes. They descended, crossed the street, and reached the dock with their two pieces of luggage. None of the guards were there, but as they passed, they saw rifles leaning against the wall of the small tavern, a sign they were drinking rather than fighting. Robert placed the suitcases on the wooden dock, untied the chain of his boat, where they could live quite comfortably for two, long enough to reach somewhere.

“Where are we going, sir?” The question was so natural, yet he did not know how to answer; it had been so long since he had resigned himself to always staying in the same place. “Wherever you want, it doesn't matter,” he admitted, realizing that finding his daughter and wife might be a bit more complicated than expected after his hasty resignation. As he stepped onto the deck, snatches of songs, shouts, and gunfire against walls reached him, and for the first time in a long time, Léon-Guy Lissol felt young and alive : He didn't give a damn about anything that might fall on this island after he'd left, about anything that might be sent there, it wasn't his problem at all.

* * *

Some art:

[Nuevalta]

Part 2/3: Coming downtown

04/07/2024, 19:50, main square of Auroranova, Nuevalta.

Corporal Baldoni mounted his bicycle as he left the small tavern: nobody there either. For the four hours they had been on the square, they had encountered no tangible resistance. The miners, private company guards, and even the old station master had been more dangerous than the municipal guard. In fact, he and his three subordinates had found the guards' weapons before finding the men themselves, who had promptly vanished.

All this seemed really strange, and even though it was not his role as a soldier to think, he couldn't help but worry about the ease with which the entire operation had unfolded. From their departure from Lysie to their arrival on the island a month and a half ago, fortune had favored them. The hardest part had been convincing supporters (who, he had no idea) to finance the entire operation, find the weapons and boats, and not get lost. As a non-commissioned officer, his main task had been to turn this bunch of merry fellows, idle students, and inactive individuals into something efficient, which he had mostly achieved with his comrades. He himself was only a cadet at the military academy, recruited during an evening; he was immediately promoted but only to this rank due to the lack of troops and formal organization; he had not asked to advance either.

The long crossing had been difficult for some of the more delicate ones, as well as the first days on the coast, but the linguists, anthropologists, and other anarchists had done surprising preparatory work. From their landing, after a few heroic photographs taken by the artistic team, the usually inactive local insurrection cells welcomed them. During the few weeks of acclimatization, many had learned to handle a rifle or at least hold it convincingly, make their bed and clean, and also conduct insurrectionary and subversive actions. Many had confined themselves to simple “intellectual agitation,” while the more qualified had blown up tracks and recovered equipment from outposts. Strangely, the reactions had been weak; official soldiers had not ventured into the jungle, and mercenaries were easily corrupted.

The ensuing somewhat chaotic assault saw the insurgents quickly advance through the open countryside and forests, with bicycles as their main means of transport, equipped with various weapons, ridden through trails to the streets. Fortunately for them, the regular army was even less prepared than they were; many soldiers seemed to lack ammunition. At first, the gates offered some resistance, with guards taking refuge in bunkers equipped with machine guns, forcing their adversaries to retreat into the surrounding groves. After completely encircling the city and manifesting their presence, scaring off the less determined, a small commando was sent south. Baldoni was part of it, knife in teeth, grenade in hand, he threw his weapon into the building. After jumping off the roof, feeling a bullet tear his shoulder skin, and hearing the terrible sound fortunately on the side of his already deaf ear, he waited. The old ammunition, bought on the black market and surely defective, did not explode. His adversaries, however, could not predict this and had already retreated inside; he recovered the old grenade and reinserted the pin, then slipped the object into his pocket. After this sort of victory, the matter was quickly settled; the main difficulty had been navigating correctly through the amalgam of illegal constructions to the east, the old colonial town to the north, and the city center, occasionally encountering some frightened officials or hostile soldiers: the order had been to let those who wished to flee on their boats and confront the others, but they had not mourned more than fifty deaths in total, with fifteen wounded on their side, mostly dislocated shoulders from gun recoil or hands blown off by a late throw; he should think of visiting his friend Liev (all had pseudonyms and came from various places), who had been seriously hit in the leg and evacuated to the old infirmary of the barracks.
Now that he was there, he hesitated a bit to proceed, to force the entrance of the prefectural “palace,” if he were a defender, he would have hidden here waiting for the new master of the place and after his notable action in the morning, he was tasked with securing the city. Fritz, one of his two second-class soldiers, then emerged to his right, six months ago, he was a pale chemistry student from the capital, too shy to go dancing in the evening, then Baldoni had found him and his comrade had quickly discovered an unsuspected talent for making all sorts of explosive traps, which was a change from quantum equations. He was naturally detached to ensure the safety of the premises.

“I think I found a passage,” he shouted, dragging his bicycle beside him, a flat tire, pedalling to recharge the radio on the luggage rack, “I'll notify the others.” As he approached the device, Baldoni saw a nail sticking out of the tire, the cause of the puncture rather than a bullet, he gave a mocking smile. “I didn't see anything at the windows either,” he concluded, almost disappointed, “I think they've all cleared out, but the main door is securely locked, I don't see another way in.” Fritz then pulled out a crumpled little plan from his pocket, practically sticking it to his forehead, “Look, this old plan a guy got from the archives of his construction company, it shows a sort of corridor and a window, but I didn't see a window, there must be a hidden entrance or something.” Amused by his second and friend's enthusiasm, the 22-year-old corporal agreed to go see, they went around and emerged into a small garden. If the lanky bespectacled guy hadn't seen anything while passing by, his military eyes quickly noticed the absence of ivy on one wall and the presence of moss, indicating different humidity, thus air communication with a cooler and more humid place, like a cellar or underground passage.

The wall panel slid in when he pressed the two eyes of a marble satyr's head on the nearby small fountain, revealing a staircase. They climbed slowly, expecting an ambush, soon joined by a few who had finished their exploration and came to report. Soon they were upstairs and had to wave frantically not to be shot by their comrades below, who yelled, seeing silhouettes pass behind the windows. Finally, Baldoni arrived in the office, where a dirty glass tinted with the remains of a drink still stood, most of which had evaporated. Reflexively, he kept hidden while turning on the light and then the ceiling light, fearing a trap, inspected the chair, tested the railing. No, they had simply left, the place was left as it was, like an empty shell. Returning to the balcony, he turned around and climbed the facade using his most functional arm to the mast (he felt nothing at that moment due to all the pills he has been given). With both feet dangling, he advanced and cut the old rotten piece of fabric, watching it fall to the square and cover a poor palm tree; under a new banner, the place would be perfect for proclaiming independence.

[Nuevalta]

Part 3/3: Breaking news!

July 5, 2024, 10:50 AM, Headquarters of the Intelligence Services of Lysia

General “Merlin” sat somewhat nervously at the large meeting room table: he was bearing bad news. Around him were politicians, intelligence officers, and various high-ranking officials, with the president and the council president seated across from him.

“So, General, what do we have here?” inquired the representative of the nation, as the stenographer behind him began typing. Merlin glanced at his deputy, “Viviane”: she would soon likely become the first woman to head domestic intelligence, given the overseas fiasco. This reassured him, knowing his service would be in such capable hands. He then spoke with a bit more confidence, fully assuming his role as the informant.

“Ladies and gentlemen, As you are likely already aware, the island of Nuevalta has been seized by rebels supported by local resistance movements against what they call our occupation. The situation remains unclear, especially since our legal representative, Prefect Lissol, has disappeared. I am authorized to tell you that he has likely fled, although we would like to maintain, at least to the media, the narrative of his capture, death, or disappearance for as long as possible. We suspect the agitators also have numerous talents, support, and funding from the capital; a large operation is already underway to try to trace their network, with some success.”

As he said this, the attendees straightened in their seats, each casting furtive glances at their neighbors, suspecting an adversary. He waited a bit to build suspense, knowing he had so far only stated information they must already know from their sources. What he read on their faces was simple curiosity.

“I won't remind you further of what you already know. We have new information: they have declared their independence, and this video is already circulating on various more or less legal networks. It's only a matter of time before it's picked up by our media and other troublemakers… I don't know how they managed to film and disseminate it so quickly, but they must have some very skilled people and likely foreign assistance.”

Since no one seemed to react, Agent Merlin took out the disk he had viewed two hours earlier in his office, then inserted it into the projector slot and pressed the play button. After a few seconds of music that some recognized without being able to name, and the image of a purple flag waving on the central mast of Nuevalta, a man appeared on the dilapidated balcony, smiling and dressed in dark attire, his face ageless, while the crowd below shouted:

**Speech presented by Agent Merlin to the members of the emergency meeting, broadcast by Vril-media.**

My dear fellow citizens,

Today marks a historic turning point for all of us. We stand here not as mere men and women, but as builders of a dream, bearers of a vision for a new wurld. Under this purple banner, a symbol of our determination and aspiration for greatness, we proclaim our independence, the creation of a futuristico-poetic nation!

Look at our flag waving proudly, adorned with the radiant armillary sphere. This symbol is not just an emblem but a promise, a commitment to a future where science, art, and poetry converge to forge a society where every individual can fully flourish. But we also make this promise to the wurld. Whatever name the old and decrepit dinosaurs may give us, Nuevalta is not merely a nation; it is a collective dream made reality. We are not rebels without a cause but builders of a new wurld. And since our relentless quest for ideals and action has brought us to this moment, where we break free from the chains of the past to embrace an infinite horizon of possibilities, we have the duty to carry this flame high. Do not be mistaken, their criticisms and gloomy forecasts are just a facade they show their people to stifle the cries that rise up.

Here ends the old wurld, on these shores once conquered and ravaged. Here begins a new era of promise and progress. We have nothing, it is true; we lack everything. Our infrastructure is non-existent, and famine threatens us. But it is in these challenges that our true strength lies. Every difficulty we encounter will be an opportunity to reaffirm our determination and strengthen our unity.

Economic development will be a hard-fought battle. We will have to build our prosperity from nothing, or worse, from the remnants of an extraction industry where everything was imported, even food. We will have to invent our own methods and adapt quickly to the changing needs of our diverse people. We will leave no one behind, and we will not cut the thin branch we have climbed by relentlessly consuming the products of a generous yet fragile land. Let us remember that others lived here before us, driven into the forests, and that this place is primarily theirs; our unity will depend on our survival. In this struggle for survival and development, we will not be alone for long, I hope: beyond the seas, other nations thrive with whom we will need to communicate, who could be allies and partners or against whom we must protect ourselves. We will not renounce this independence nor the dream we have just seized; our blood will not be sold.

Faced with these challenges, faced with these perils, the greatest danger will not come from the outside but from within. Whatever difficulties we face, let us remain true to this ideal, to our Visions, without which our audacious endeavor loses all meaning, without which we are merely bandits. Our adversaries will be quite content with another country like theirs; they will push us with all their might in that direction, for a few starving utopists are far more dangerous than many well-fed slaves under a tyrant. Let us beware of devouring too quickly the fruits they will offer us. But if we remain steadfast, we will have the opportunity to forge a strong identity, develop a unique culture, and solidify our values. Every poet, every artist, every thinker will help create a society rich in ideas and innovations, a true futuristico-poetic utopia that will shine across the wurld.

This speech I deliver here will cross the seas, the oceans, and the skies, I know it: I send a vibrant call to all visionaries, dreamers, and innovators of this wurld! Join us in this great human adventure! We need your talents, your creativity, your courage. Artists, scientists, philosophers, inventors, you who aspire to a better wurld, Nuevalta is your land, not promised but to be shaped. Our nation will be a laboratory for the future, a crucible of creativity and innovation, but without metal to melt, the fire is useless.

To those who wish for our downfall, who speculate on our ruin, I have but one word to say: tremble. Tremble, for the oppressed you martyr will become a citizen and free his brothers. Tremble, for the light you smother with your fists will burst here until it consumes your old scarecrows. Tremble, for what you declare impossible, justifying the inadmissible, will soon be as real as your old regimes. Then you will have to fear, dictators and demagogues, not our weapons, for we will not strike first, but your own, aimed at you by those you despised.

And you, Visionary, arm yourself with patience, courage, and resolve, for this balcony is but the promontory that will lead us to the stars. So raise your gaze and remember to always dare!

**End of the tape**

The spectators looked at each other as the light returned to the room; they would not soon forget…