Point Of No Return - Printable Version +- X-treme Wrestling Federation (https://xwf99.com) +-- Forum: XWF Live! (https://xwf99.com/forumdisplay.php?fid=14) +--- Forum: Character Development RPs (https://xwf99.com/forumdisplay.php?fid=134) +--- Thread: Point Of No Return (/showthread.php?tid=43148)

Point Of No Return - Centurion - 03-12-2022 // So I have no idea what happened to the original post. This was supposed to be my RP for Savage, which I thought I posted, but it got corrupted or some shit. Anyway, here it is. (This RP is the second part of a series. Read the first part here: https://giwtwisted.proboards.com/thread/11342/distracted) ------Tuesday, March 7, 2022------ It was another trip to Corfu, but this time, it wasn’t for a vacation. Instead of the sight of Centurion lying by the pool with a cocktail in hand, or a high-priced poker game in the foyer, or an elegant dinner at the long, fancy table, it’s a sight of Centurion sitting behind a desk in his study, his fingers tapping against the desk, nervously. On the other side is a man in a suit. This man is Dimitrios Mougios, a member of the National Intelligence Service of Greece, and a long-time friend of Centurion’s. He has a file folder in his hands, and has it raised to chest high, but he has a very sad, sympathetic look on his face. “Understand something, my friend.” Dimitrios says in a worried tone. “Once you read this, you’ll never be able to go back in time. Right now, as you’re sitting there, you have the benefit of ignorance. That all changes the moment you open this file. Are you sure you want to do this?” “Yes.” Centurion says quickly and definitively. “I have to know. Every time I turn on the TV, or I check my phone, or I hear anything about the war, I’m going to think about her. And when I think about her, I’m going to think about how she died. If this was some kind of political hit, which I believe it is, I need to know.” Dimitrios sighs as he sets the folder down on the desk. He opens the folder up, and the very first thing seen are autopsy and crime scene photos featuring Centurion’s ex-wife. “Nikita Petrenko was leaving a house party in Lutsk at 11:00 PM on November 14th, 2017. She was followed for two blocks before being dragged into an alley. She was assaulted and stabbed in the throat. Medical examiner believes she was killed almost instantly. We are highly confident that the man who did it…” Dimitrios turns to the next set of pages, where there are several pictures of the same man, clad in a tracksuit with a shaved head. “…is 23-year-old Belarusian national Ivan Traulko.” “Belarus?” Centurion inquires as he looks up from the papers to Dimitrios. “You can see why the Ukrainians weren’t in a hurry to publish this information.” Dimitrios says in a plain manner. “By the time local police was able to even narrow down the suspects, Traulko was already back across the border. He was a university dropout. Local students claimed he hadn’t had a job in months, and was likely on his last dollar the night of the murder.” Centurion arches his eyebrows as he looks over the information on the killer. “So, what? This was a crime of passion? A random murder done by a drunk looking for one last night on the town?” “Not exactly.” Dimitrios says as he turns the page to several screen shots of social media posts, all of which are in Russian. “Traulko posted several pro-Putin and pro-Lukashenko posts on various platforms, including sharing some articles written by and about Nikita. He knew her, and he didn’t like her, but this wasn’t some hit job orchestrated by high levels of the Russian government. This was a partisan who was down on his luck and wanted to make one last statement before going home.” Centurion curls his lip. He’s not sure if that makes it better or worse for him. He could properly take his rage out on a movement if it was orchestrated by fascists looking to silence dissent, and he could have moved on if it was some random drunk who barely knew what he was doing. But this was somewhere in between – a complete fuck up, motivated by the voices of fascists. This was not the closure he was seeking. “So…he’s just vanishes into the ether?” Centurion says, frustrated. “Poised to live his anonymous life without any repercussions for his actions?” Dimitrios does a sharp inhale, as he knows exactly where this next conversation is going to lead. “We know exactly where he is.” Dimitrios flips to the next page, showing an updated picture of Traulko, as well as some outside images of a village, and an official headshot of him in a uniform sitting in front of a Belarus flag. “Dimitrios moved to the village of Bepac after he returned to the country and became a police officer. Rural council, upon a request from the State Security Committee, put him in charge of investigating “anti-patriotic activity”. KGB found out about what he did in Ukraine, and neither wanted to punish him, nor give him the opportunity to screw up anything big, so they gave him a cushy job in a small town.” “Anti-patriotic activity?” Centurion says, worryingly. “That’s some serious Nazi shit there.” “It truly is.” Dimitrios responds. “It’s a job they normally give retired KGB agents in the big cities, since protests are more common there. In a village like Bepac, where there’s about 300 people and most of them are babushkas, all it really amounts to a desk job where he gets to ride around in a car once and a while and gets invited to local parties so everyone is chummy with him.” “So a total piece of shit, with nothing to offer the world, gets set for life because he happened to murder the right journalist.” Centurion says with bitterness in his voice. “The world rewards the worst people in life, and lets some of the best rot.” “There is a way to get back at him.” Dimitrios says, hoping to convince Centurion of his plan. “You have friends in all different sectors of life. You could get someone to hack his social media accounts, and post stuff critical of Lukashenko. It’s a long shot, but if you can make it convincing and it gets back to the KGB, the things they’ll do to him are far worse than anything we could ever do.” Centurion sits back in his chair and puts his hands on his chin. The idea isn’t completely irrational, and it’s certainly a way intelligence agencies would operate around the world, if political pressure was too high to confront an issue directly. But there is also a high risk of the plan failing, especially considering many sites within Belarus are currently shut down anyway. No, Centurion knows there’s only one way to ensure the job is done correctly, and that is by doing it himself. “Can you get me into Belarus?” “Andy…” “Dimitrios!” Centurion snaps back as quickly as Dimitrios responds. Dimitrios knows what Centurion’s plan is, and Centurion knows he’s going to try to talk him out of it. “I don’t have time for this back and forth. If you can’t do it, I’ll find another way.” Dimitrios sighs. This is exactly what he feared, but he also knew, deep down, that it would come to this anyway. “It’s not getting you in that’s the problem. It’s getting you out. Anyone with a non-American and non-EU passport can fly into Minsk, but they’re not letting anyone leave. You’re going to have to sneak across a border, which is going to be damn near impossible. Ukraine is to the south, and the border there is a staging location for Russian forces. You’ll be gunned down before you even get out of the car. Poland is to the west, and they’re not letting non-refugees cross. And you ‘ve got Russia to the east. You’re only option is to try and go north either into Latvia or Lithuania…all the way on the other side of the country.” “I’ll figure that out on my own.” Centurion says as he rolls his hand around in the air. “Ok, fine.” Dimitrios says, defiantly. “Say I get you into the country. Now what? You’re just going to walk up to him and break his neck? Poison his drink? He isn’t going to allow you to just walk up to him, and considering the fact that your Russian sucks, I doubt you’ll get more than 80 yards from the gate before someone sniffs you out. You’re going to need an insider to help you. Someone who knows the area, who can communicate for you, and who can direct you where to go.” Centurion thinks for a moment, as he goes through a list of friends in his head. He has made connections with a lot of people over the years, but he knows very few folks who live in that part of the region who would be willing to risk their lives for some personal revenge mission, especially when tensions in the area are so high. He can only think of one person who would do it with no questions asked, and it likely isn’t the smartest decision in the world to even ask them. Still, he doesn’t have a lot of options, and given his previous interactions with this person, he knows they have been to Belarus in the past, and knows the terrain quite well. “I think I have someone.” Centurion says in a quiet tone. “I’ll reach out to them today through the proper channels. I will say, though – I’m more worried about him killing me than any law enforcement offer I might come across over there.” “Well that sure is reassuring.” Dimitrios says, sarcastically. “And it also doesn’t really answer my question. How do you plan on killing the bastard? You’ll have to take your own gun. If you use a weapon traced back to any of the NATO countries in any way, Putin will see it as a state sanctioned assassination and use it as an excuse to launch an offensive into Latvia or Maldova.” “Really?” Centurion says, questioning the validity of the statement. “You’re telling me the Kremlin will go into all out World War 3 if they catch wind that a police officer in a rural village in Belarus was shot with a previously US owned handgun?” “I’m saying anything that has a trace of being seen as provocation by the West into Belarus soil will be used as an excuse to expand the war effort. I don’t think you understand the needle point we’re on right now. Putin’s looking for an excuse. If an old lady in St. Petersburg chokes on an American made candy bar and dies, he’ll use it as an excuse. So you’re going to have to use an unregistered weapon, or you’ll have to get one when you’re in country. Either way, what you’ll need to do is highly dangerous.” As Dimitrios is talking, Centurion is searching through the drawers of his desk. As he opens one drawer, he pulls out a wooden box thar he gently places on top of the desk. Dimitrios spots the box, and stops speaking. “What’s that?” Dimitrios asks, pointing to the box. Centurion opens the front latch of the box and lifts the lid. He stares at what is inside for a few seconds before spinning it around to show Dimitrios. Dimitrios looks at the contents for a few seconds, then immediately begins to laugh. Centurion gets an angry look as he arches his eyebrows in and stares at Dimitrios. “What?!” “You’re going to go into a hostile country…” Dimitrios says between laughs “…to attempt to assassinate an agent of the authoritarian regime…and you’re going to do it with a fucking black powder revolver? Are you insane?” “As far as anyone is aware, this gun was lost almost 200 years ago.” Centurion says, as he taps the side of the box and explains its contents. “The gun and the powder holder was made in London in 1851. It was sold to and used by an Ottoman officer during the first Crimean War. It was taken off his body by a Greek farmer during the Epirus Revolt. This gun has been used to shoot Ottomans, Italian Black shirts, Nazis, Soviets, and Greek fascists. It was willed to me several years ago by a former business partner of mine. I was going to use it to kill my father, but seeing as someone else got to him first, I guess I’ll have to settle for killing the person who murdered my ex-wife.” Dimitrios looks at Centurion, knowing full well that there’s nothing he’s doing to do to stop him at this point. “Ok. You’re going to invade a country with a 170 year old weapon, and a man who may be either unreliable or stupid. I hope you have your affairs in order, because there is a decent chance you’re not making it out of there alive.” “No, I have to get out alive.” Centurion says with a determined voice. “Nellie and Ruby don’t know I’m doing this. They assume I’m over here speaking to a therapist and getting my mind cleared. Plus, I have a match on Saturday that I can’t skip.” Dimitrios blinks, in utter shock at the audacity of Centurion, who not only seems to confident in what he is about to so, but is way too casual for someone about to do something that could lead to his death. Dimitrios picks up the revolver and looks at it without saying anything to Centurion. He cocks the hammer back to a half-cock and spins the barrel, checking to see if there is any damage on the weapon. Finally, he places the gun directly on the desk, and looks up at Centurion. “Well, if that’s the time frame you’re giving me, then get you shit together. I can get you on a plane in three hours. I hope you understand, though, that killing this man won’t bring back Nikita, nor will it cleanse your soul of whatever demons you may have running around in there. All this does is eliminate one person off the face of the earth.” “I know.” Centurion says, respectfully. “But thanks. And thank you for all of this. You risked your ass getting me this information.” Centurion reaches down towards his left side and opens up the bottom drawer of the desk. He pulls out a bottle of Ouzo and two highball glasses, which allows Dimitrios to smile for the first time. Centurion takes the cap off and pours a shot of alcohol into each glass, before handing one over to Dimitrios and lifting the other for a toast. “Για τον Νικήτα.”