Bureau of Internal Security Central Headquarters, Upper Nanjing, Central Command Complex
The building itself was generously large from the outside, ten stories tall, its exterior covered in balconies and colorful decorations. One might even have considered it to be a five-star hotel from a glance. Trees surrounded the pagoda-like structure, hiding the security buildings that scattered the complex, quartered by limestone roads and decorative gardens watched over by stone lions. Upon the first floor's entry was a great seal, the BIS insignia engraved and colored in full upon the wall, a reception desk before it.
With each floor however, every layer of the SICR was revealed, from Tourism and Foreign Assistance at the tenth floor, and from the second-level basement downwards - Chemical Warfare, Territorial Denial, Censorship, Domestic Special Forces, and the infamous Imperial Sword.
Every level was guarded by soldiers in black uniforms, the obsidian star enblazoned upon the badges pinned to their helmets, gloved hands firmly gripping bullpup rifles as they motionlessly stood sentry at every door.
No corner had less than two cameras, and every ten paces was another blast door. The stark glare of LED bulbs and screened monitors filled each command center, personnel manning the blinking consoles to keep the eyes and ears of the Imperial Republic funtioning.
Within the Action Room of Domestic Special Forces, two men in starkly different uniforms discoursed in low voices, the massive table before them covered in files and tablets.
"But are we sure? Could it have been a Rokkenjiman agent?"
The one dressed in the coal-black military gear shook his head.
"Impossible. Rokkenjimans do not speak ten years worth of traditional dragonaii poetry when we have emerged in hardly one. I would say a cultist or another one of those lunatic reporters who keep trying to 'find out the truth'. In any case, we questioned him a good bit and sent him on his way. By today's news, I take it a note was forwarded to the media?"
His suited counterpart sighed in relief.
"Indeed. So he knows nothing then? You interrogated him thorougly?"
"Nothing. At best, probably just test rockets for the space program."
The suiter's fingers found a thick file in the mountain of papers, carefully annotated by the Examination Center.
"Good, good. Well, how about the individuals who tried to defect to Rokkenjima?"
"Oh, taken care of. We incinerated them and their information the spot. Bloody fools, thinking that they could travel to Rokkenjima by civilian plane. Agents had them directed to the Special Action area of the airport and shot them in the head before they could run."
The agent took the file from his counterpart, flipping hurriedly until suddenly stopping at an attached thumb drive, plugging it into one of the computer tablets.
"They wrote a manifesto that they were going to present to the public. Talks about how the Imperial Throne is oppressive and all other forms of treason. Even called for foreign armed intervention to throw the Emperor-Admiral out. It's a pity, really. Fresh out of university and the first thing they try to do is go stir up trouble. Rokkenjima's not the only country they wanted an audience with. They wanted one with EM, Lodja, SANE, you name it."
The suiter did not look up from examining the manifesto.
"Never mind that. Do they have any other accomplices?"
"Being dealt with now, I believe. We tracked them to an apartment in Blut-Himmel Stadt. An operation is currently underway."
New Sun Residential Apartments, Lower Blut-Himmel Stadt
The agent carefully made his way to the apartment, his baggy clothes covering the tactical vest. He glanced quickly at the mailboxes to ensure he was at the right place, then punched in the code on the keypad, a sharp click echoing through the interior as the door swung inwards. A pair of plainclothes Domestic Special Forces police officers followed closely behind.
Making his way up the stairs, he reached number 674, Huishanlu. He discarded the parka, and pulled the pistol from his vest. The two plainclothes policemen behind him pulled out silenced submachineguns.
The sounds of safeties being switched off resounded through the staircase, but the agent and policemen alike knew the walls and doors were too thick for anyone to hear. A Halligan bar was fixed to the door and within a moment, the door was bashed open.
There was no "Police, open up!" or "Put your hands up!", only the sharp clicks of suppressed guns and the short exhales of the suppressors as the officers shot every person inside dead, regardless of whether or not they put up a fight.
As one of the bedrooms was forced open, a young woman on the other end reached for the nightstand drawer, her hand reaching short by just a few millimeters as the agent shot her legs.
She forced herself to turn over, tears streaming down in pain as she confronted the agent as he searched the drawer, finding an empty gun.
"Why are you shooting us? We only wanted a democracy!"
The officer's blank face turned towards her, dropping the empty gun on the floor.
"I'm sorry ma'am. It's treason."
A brass casing, still smoking, fell to the floor, a body resting beside it.
The motto of the BIS is not "To Serve and Protect". It is "Protect By Any Means".