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X-treme Wrestling Federation » Warfare Boards » Warfare RP Board
The Interrogation: RP 7
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Sebastian Duke Offline
Registered but either hasn't added self to a roster yet or doesn't RP


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(heel alignment but liked by many; has earned respect despite breaking the rules often)
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#1
04-03-2015, 07:59 PM

Tuesday, March 31, 2015 | 8:41 PM Local Time | The Chancellery | Berlin, Germany


Emotion is certainly high. Perhaps even an all time high within the hierarchy of the Illuminatus. Jacob Anderson, better known as the Messenger and the right hand of the King of the Illuminatus was gunned down by a pair of would be assassins. One assassin is dead, and the other is in custody. The Illuminatus was riding high, having just accepted the surrender of Poland in front of the entire world. The powers that be decided a wonderful dinner out and about among the good citizens of Berlin would be a nice change of pace from the grind of war that have consumed much of their lives the past few months.

On their way out the door, the shots rang out. From separate positions, on top of two different buildings overlooking the Chancellery, a pair of men opened fire upon the Regime. The target? Undoubtedly the three headed snake that comes in the form of the Duke Family. Fortunately, none of the big three were hit. Unfortunately, Jacob was hit. Twice. Once in the neck, once in the chest.

A result of the shooting saw the formation of the Sanguis Consulere, or 'Blood Guard.' An elite force of personal security that is to be hand selected by the King himself. Two of those, are already in place. The Praesul, or head of security, is a man named Gabriel. Born within the Illuminatus just twenty-four years ago. The other? Prince Thaddeus' private guard, charged with protecting the boys life, even if it means sacrificing his own. A Briton by the name of James. Unlike the rest of the security force to be, James has not taken his blood oath to become one with the Illuminatus.

With one assassin dead, the surviving member of the team is left to take the brunt of the King's anger. In the bowels of the Chancellery, sits the man in a steel folding chair. His arms cuffed in front of him. Two guards flank him on either side. A lone wooden table rests in front of him. A row of more comfortable chairs are lined against the wall facing the prisoner. The only door in or out of the room opens and the King, the Prince, carrying a duffel bag, along with Gabriel and James enter the room. James closes the door behind him. Gabriel, James and Prince Thaddeus take a seat in the chairs leaving only the King and the prisoners two guards left standing.

”Remove the cuffs,” demands the King. One of the guards steps forward doing exactly as he's instructed. ”You two are relieved of your duties for the remainder of the night,” says the King. The two guards look at one another, then quickly and quietly exit the room.

”Thank you for that, sir,” says the prisoner through a swollen mouth.

”It looks like you've taken a bit of a beating,” the King says as he paces the room, separated from the prisoner by the wooden table.

”Superficial wounds only,” says the prisoner as he places his hands upon the table. ”I'll live.”

”Is that a fact?” asks the King, stopping his pacing and facing the prisoner.

”I'd imagine if I lived this long, then yes, I suppose I shall live,” explains the prisoner.

The King turns back toward his entourage seated near the wall. ”Thaddeus, show him what's in the duffel bag.”

Thaddeus stands up, the duffel bag clasped in his right hand. He unzips it with his left then reaches into the bag. He raises his hand out of the bag and slams the other assassins severed head on the table. It's lifeless eyes staring at the prisoner. The prisoner jumps back and hyperventilates before turning his head to the right and vomiting on the floor. The Prince then smiles before returning to his seat.

”He refused to answer my questions,” the King says, returning his attention toward the prisoner. ”If you'd like to spare yourself the same fate, I'd suggest you start talking.” he concludes.

”What is it you want to know?” asks the man, refusing to look at the King for fear of catching another glimpse of the severed head.

”What is your name?” asks the King.

”Does it matter what my name is?” asks the prisoner in response.

Sebastian Duke grabs the severed head by its hair and quickly walks around the table. He grabs the prisoner by his throat and forces him backward, dumping the chair over. He then grabs the man by his face and forces him to look at the severed head, to which the prisoner squeezes his eyes shut. ”LOOK AT IT!” shouts the King. ”OPEN YOUR FUCKING EYES BEFORE I REMOVE YOUR GOD DAMNED EYE LIDS!” he shouts to the prisoner. The prisoner opens his eyes and through tears, looks back into the lifeless eyes of his friend. ”Answer my question. What is your name?” repeats the King in a much calmer tone of voice.

”Carlos!” yells the prisoner. ”Please! Get it out of my face!” he yells.

The King tosses the head aside and gently lifts Carlos and his seat back to its normal position. ”Carlos, just think of how much easier this can all be if you just cooperate,” the King states as he resumes his pacing on the other side of the table.

”Italian, I presume?” asks the King, noticing Carlos and his accent.

”Yes, sir,” Carlos replies, shaking almost uncontrollably.

”Rome?” he asks, continuing to pace. Carlos doesn't answer. ”Rome, Carlos! Answer me!” demands the King as Carlos remains defiant. The Illuminatus leader then reaches into his sleeve and releases the heavy duty spring loaded dagger. ”James,” he says, turning to his sons private guard.

”Yes your Highness?” James replies as he comes to his feet.

”Hold out your arm,” demands the King.

James holds out his arm, albeit with the slightest hesitation. Sebastian Duke slides the dagger over his hand and secures it to the young mans forearm. ”You wanted to prove your worth, right?” the King asks, remembering their conversation in the Chancellor's office earlier in the night.

”Absolutely sir,” James says, allowing a slight smile to escape from him.

”Avoid vital areas. We need him to live,” he commands.

”My pleasure sir,” James replies as he walks around the room, his combat boots thudding on the concrete floor.

”Yes! Rome!” yells Carlos as James nears him with the blade.

”Who sent you, Carlos?” the King asks.

Carlos doesn't respond right away. To which, the King nods at James and the young man squeezes his fist, exposing the long steel dagger. He grabs the mans shirt with one hand and slices it open with ease. ”You know who sent me!” shouts Carlos.

”That's not good enough!” the King shouts back. James then takes one big swing and slices Carlos across his chest. Blood trickles from the gash and Carlos can only look down at it in horror and fear.

”The Vatican! The Vatican sent me!” Carlos cries out, trying to hold back his tears of fear, but failing to do so.

”Was this ordered by Pope Francis? Pope Benedict? Or someone else?” asks the King.

”I don't really know,” says Carlos through quivering lips.

Sebastian nods to James and the young man plunges the dagger into the mans exposed arm before slowly pulling the blade out. ”That's not good enough, Carlos!” shouts the King, getting increasingly angry. ”You know things that you're holding back!” he continues as he slams his fists down on the table. ”I can have James stop anytime, Carlos. All you need to do is start telling me what you know. And you can start by telling me who the hell sent you!”

Carlos moans in agony before saying ”It... was... Ratzenberger...” replies Carlos.

”You mean Pope Benedict?” asks the King.

Carlos nods his confirmation.

”Tell me the plan,” says the King as he pulls a chair up and sits at the other side of the table. ”Tell me how many were sent. Tell me who the targets were. And most importantly, Carlos, I need to know of my Illuminatus is in danger of further attacks.”

”Please, I can not answer questions that I don't know the answer to,” says the defeated Italian prisoner.

The King nods at James and with lightning fast quickness, James steps on the table and leaps into the air, bringing his boot down across the unsuspecting prone arm of Carlos, snapping it in two, with a sickening sound, in the process. Carlos falls to the floor, holding his broken arm and screaming out in shear agony.

”Get him back in the chair,” orders the Illuminatus leader. James grabs the man by his hair and pulls him back up and sits him down in the chair. ”Now tell me, Carlos, are there more of you? Is there a bigger plot here that we don't yet know?”

Carlos lays his head on the table, crying in pain, ”Yes,” he replies simply.

”How many more?” he asks the prisoner.

”I don't know for sure,” Carlos says quietly. ”At least two more teams of two. There are four plans that I know about,” Carlos concludes.

”What are these plans?” he asks.

”I don't know what plans they've chosen for certain,” Carlos begins in response. ”I know of two other planned sniper shootings and two bombings. One of which is a suicide bombing.”

”These other shootings, when and where are they to take place?” the King asks.

”Both in Berlin.”

”And the bombings?”

”I don't know the particulars, other than one is a suicide bombing. The other is a car bomb or even a bus bomb. Both were discussed. But I have no idea what was decided. I was not part of that meeting,” Carlos concludes.

”When are these cowardly attacks supposed to take place?” he asks.

”I'm not aware of any particular date. Teams were only to be dispatched if one plan failed. Our plan failed and I'm sure that they'll be sending the next team in very soon,” concludes Carlos.

Sebastian gets to his feet and starts for the door, ”I think I've got all I can out of him,” he states as he opens the door.

”What of the prisoner your Highness?” asks Gabriel as he stands up from his chair against the wall.

”I'm done with him, Praesul,” starts the King. ”Kill him. Put him out of his misery.”

The King of the Illuminatus exits the room. Behind him, a loud scream followed by a slosh sound. Then silence.


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