I am wholly against activation of Operation Ratsweeper. Every day, we find another set of Anarchia’s followers that have been blessed. It is impossible to identify which Divine precisely they possess strength from, but already we have located more than twenty wholly drained inventions in Rancais. Additionally, there are cases of n who have grown weak but are resistant to healing. There is no cure to their malady. When healing was attempted by Kavaa, she said “that there is nothing to be done and that they are not ill in the first place.” Kavaa’s full report has been attached to this sheet.
One thing I am certain of. Initial estimates have proven to be far too low. The amount of Anarchian’s in Rancais ranges most likely anyway from twenty to fifty thousand. The worst case scenario has figures numbering even seventy thousand. The vast majority are not with life-changing abilities but rather simple things such as enhanced strength or speed. Reaction tis have been greatly improved too, to wholly unnatural levels. Whereas tests may demonstrate them, we have found that they are liable to self-report through displaying their abilities in the open, or even uploading them in videos online.
Of the souls blessed by Anarchia, they can be divided into four groups. The first is our biggest problem, these are the sleepers who have gone to ground and openly reject Anarchia. The only way to find these n is through paper trails or interrogation of their own, of this, the forr is exceedingly rare. This is the group I am worried and it is why I am the initiation of Operation Ratsweeper. Once Ratsweeper is initiated, finding these n will be borderline impossible.
Categories two, three and four vary. Category two are the integrated Anarchians who are not careful enough to hide their stolen strength, yet generally are not nuisances. In regards to this situation, a policy of ignorance is suggested. Simply said, these people are optically good for Anarchia’s cause. Thus, they should not be in the spotlight. The general strategy should be to deny that these types even exist, yet not do it so openly that one simply showing themself will prove us wrong. I suggest “Moderated Ignoring.”
Category three are the self-reporters who are general nuisances. These are the types I have already ntioned, they are prone to causing minor disturbances. Frequently they are not found through interrogation but through the fact that so obviously inhuman “stunt” is perford. Many videos are of them causing small legal infractions and then evading the local police force. Under alias, I have agents in contact with these individuals and will be able to push them to be more morally appalling. This group should be constantly publicized.
Category four are the criminal class of Anarchians. In so fashion, they are the most faithful to their own system of beliefs. There is little to say, they use their superhuman abilities to break the law and suffer little consequences as police are unable to apprehend them. I suggest a lax policy to category four, at least for now. They’re reckless sprees of cri give us the casus belli to initiate Operation Ratsweeper in the first place.
To conclude this report, the general strategies are: Ignorance yet surveillance of Category One. Deliberate & Moderated Ignoring of Category Two. Mass publicization of Category Three and Four. No assistance by military forces is to be provided. Eventually, the people themselves will cheer for the extermination campaign.
- Operation Ratsweeper: Preliminary Strategy Guidance Report written by Goddess Malam, of Hatred.
Malam raised her head and rubbed her tired eyes. She had slept so three hours, that was the usual length of ti for when the drink finally sent her sleeping. And then she woke up, slightly groggy but she knew her own body right now. It was cursed enough that within a matter of minutes, Malam would be feeling like a bunny rabbit in the middle of a springti adow. But for now, Malam sat up and grabbed the shirt that was at the base of the bed. She threw it on. She stood up.
The Goddess of Hatred groaned as she transplanted herself from rotting on her bed to rotting behind her desk. At least here she could pretend to be useful and functioning. Staying in bed all day was an addiction even she did not want to develop. So Malam sat and stared into the wood. n were training outside, she could hear them through the window: gunshots and wind and organised shouts. Much too organised, with the shouting being far too commanding for it to be anything but training. In real battles, soldiers simply fell into line out of instinct.
Malam supposed she should get dressed. Malam supposed she did not care. Malam supposed she should make her bed. Malam supposed she did not care. Malam supposed she should do sothing productive today. But then no supposing was needed, all the work was done. Malam sat and sighed. Her mind went to the bottle. She put it off. Rejection wasn’t particularly difficult, after all drink could not suddenly grow legs and walk into her bloodstream if she didn’t put it inside her, herself. Rather it was the fact that now that Malam had the conscious thought, that conscious thought would remain.
Malam tried to think of work. There was nothing to think of though. The system she had set up was turning of its own volition at this point. There was no reason to try and intervene. Malam was not Kassandora, she could not just create more work for herself by putting a general on leave. Malam could not the job of her spies, she could direct them. She could form plans, but once they were set off, there was nothing to do but wait and write reports. Malam thought of the bottle and picked up her. She would write sothing else then. Take her mind off things.
A minute later, she found herself staring at an empty page. A drink would jog the mind. And that was the second stage. She had accepted at this point that she would drink, now was the process of negotiating with herself. A drink would do her good, it would grease the gears and dull the thoughts. These reports were simply not challenging enough to require being done sober. Malam shook her head, leaned back and sighed. She pulled up her shirt and scratched her belly button, then pulled a handful of her pure-white hair to sniff it.
The Goddess of Hatred rolled her eyes. She should wash it and then she should brush it. It was frayed, it was greasy, it was… Well, was there a point? Malam wasn’t going anywhere right now. Kavaa had been sent off to start training her own capabilities in overcharging n with mortality. Malam rarely trained her own n, she just used military sergeants. She sighed and thought of what to do with Anarchia’s blessed n. They would be killed but… Malam’s thoughts trailed off. Not important, she would find the addresses, she would make basic assassination plans, and then they would be sent to Kassandora to review.
So the Goddess of Hatred sat there. She should eat sothing. Divines did not get hungry but she should eat sothing before drinking. Malam chuckled to herself and shook her head again. Now she was striking deals with herself. She was bribing her own reason to make it acceptable. Malam took a deep, thought of getting up, and then the door opened. No knock. Nothing.
Kassandora stepped into the room and closed the door behind her. She stood there, in her black coat. Her crimson hair was perfect, brushed to perfection and straight. Malam let her arms fall lose to her sides as she sat behind her desk. As long as her sister didn’t co around, she wouldn’t have to get dressed. And even then, did she actually care? Kassandora had seen her naked before, it didn’t really matter. “I see you’re busy.” Kassandora said and then made a show of sniffing the air. Those red eyes were obviously not impressed with the sight they saw.
“I’m so fucking busy right now you could stick a set of wings on and call a busy bee.” Kassandora smiled at the joke and looked around. “What are you doing here?”
“I heard you needed help.” Kassandora replied, still looking around. Her tone was far too innocent and coy to be truthful. Malam knew he her sister too well to be played like this.
“I don’t.” Malam replied with plenty of satisfaction. She loved her sister, there was no other like quite like Kassandora.
“You do.” Kassandora declared without a hint of reservation. Anyone else would try to be diplomatic about it.
“You need help.” Malam threw the statent back simply to see what reaction it would provoke. It had no effect.
“What are you doing now?” Kassandora asked.
“Do you not have anything else to annoy?” Malam asked. She wanted a drink and she wasn’t in the mood to share.
“Is there anyone who works like I do?” What a stupid, self-congratulatory question. Malam responded with her own, on the sa level of stupidity.
“Is there anyone who drinks like I do?”
“I could outdrink you.” Kassandora declared.
“I could outwork you.” Malam replied. The Goddess of War and the Goddess of Hatred stared at each other. Malam wasn’t particularly offended by Kassandora’s statent and she knew her sister well enough to know that the feeling was mutual. They had both just made proclamations that were so blatant in their wrong that there was not even any reason to argue.
“So do you have a job or not?” Kassandora said in an exhausted, high-pitched tone not particularly fitting for her.
“Are you bored?” Malam asked.
“Would I be asking this if I wasn’t?”
“Olephia is holding an art show, go to her.” Malam said. “She’ll have sothing for you to do.” Kassandora replied with a flat glare. Those red eyes were in utter disbelief at what Malam had just said.
“Are you serious?”
“I’m giving you sothing to do.”
“I’m not going to organise an art show.”
“Treat it as logistics practice.” That was the bait.
“Do I seem like the sort that needs logistic practice?” Kassandora asked quickly. Malam knew she had won this exchange.
“Are you perfect?” Malam asked, Kassandora made a sardonic laugh and shook her head as she realised the trap that had been set. No one was perfect and yet practice made perfect. There was no way out of this one.
“You don’t practice baking a cake by learning how to boil water.” Oh. Malam leaned back and pointed to the cupboard. Kassandora did not get the bottle of whiskey. She simply crossed her arms instead. “Get it yourself.”
“Can’t.”
“Do your legs not work or what?”
“I’m shy.” Malam said as she spun on her chair and lifted a leg above the desk. She wiggled her toes in front of Kassandora, her sister was not impressed whatsoever. Nor did she seem to find the joke too funny. Oh well, Malam herself did.
“One, you’re not particularly shy and two, I’ve seen you naked already.” Kassandora said and Malam smiled. Was this really the line of assault Kassandora was taking? Against Malam? This was not War’s desne.
“I try hard to be a good inspiration.” Malam said smugly. Kassandora’s lack of reaction said the comnt didn’t sting enough yet. “What, are you jealous?” Kassandora rolled her eyes. There we go.
“Get your own drink.” Malam sighed but simply could not be bothered to stand up. Kassandora changed the topic. “It stinks in here, you know?”
“I don’t sll it.” Malam said and Kassandora sighed, she started to pace about the room.
“Pigs don’t sll the pig-shit either.”
“Oink-Oink.” Malam replied flatly. “What does it sll of?” Malam herself honestly had no clue. Kassandora sighed and moved away from the cupboard to the other side of the room. She opened the window. The cool wind ca in. Malam smiled at the sensation. Downright wonderful.
“You.” Kassandora said dryly.
“Well then it must be a pretty sll.” Malam cooed as she leaned back and tasted the fresh air. She should have opened the window sooner.
“Downright beautiful.” Kassandora replied. “So you have nothing for to do?”
“You’re just suffering aren’t you?” Malam said in a low tone. “Nothing to do and plenty of ti to fill with thoughts. It must be terrifying.” She finally struck too close to ho, her sister did not say anything. Kassandora’s crimson eyes simply went dull as they stared at Malam. “Ask dad.” And just like that, Kassandora awoke.
“I’ve asked him already, he said there’s nothing for .” Kassandora replied with a tone that signified an utter lack of emotion.
“Well then ask him again.” Malam said.
“It’s one thing to be useful and another to be andering.” Kassandora bit back. “So that’s why I’m here. I know the report. You need soone to manage Ratsweeper.” Malam leaned back and put her feet on the desk. From her expression, Kassandora obviously did not appreciate it, she said nothing though.
“If you were needed, we both know I would have asked you already.” Malam replied. “You will be needed, but not now.” Kassandora sighed heavily again. Finally, the Goddess of War sighed. That red hair, grood to perfection, fell onto the black uniform as Kassandora took a deep breath.
“Whatever.” She said. “Have you been fine? Take your feet off the table.” The Goddess of Hatred wiggled her toes.
“It’s my table.”
Kassandora made a disgusted expression. “It’s my nose.”
“It’s my room.” Malam upped the ante again, she raised an eyebrow. And Kassandora only shrugged in response.
“I’m not going argue with you Malam.” In that, Malam was honestly disappointed. She liked arguing, especially with people easy to annoy like Kassandora. She was about to speak when her sister cut her off. “What about Kavaa then? Can I help her.”
Malam’s knowing grin grew large, she made her tone low and sultry and full of implications. “Oh of course you would like helping Kavaa.”
“Of course I would.” Kassandora said flatly, completely ignoring the implication. The stiff posture said she obviously caught it though, and it had obviously thrown her off. “Kavaa is a friend.”
“Mmh.” Malam said. “How many benefits does she co with?”
“It’s not like that!” Kassandora shouted back almost instantly. Malam raised a victorious eyebrow at that reaction.
“Looks like I struck a nerve.”
“Go fuck yourself.” Kassandora replied and Malam burst out in laughter.
“Looks like I really struck a nerve!” Malam replied, downright ecstatic. The fact Kassandora replied with that sulking look was more than enough confirmation that she had indeed manage to find gold. “So? How is the good doctor?”
“I’m not going to discuss Kavaa with you Malam.”
“Scared of judgent?”
“Your opinion is irrelevant.”
“Even when I’m a dear sister?”
“Not for this topic.” Kassandora said coldly and Malam cooed.
“I bet you haven’t even kissed yet!”
“SHUT UP!” Kassandora scread. She flung her fists down and stamped her foot onto the wooden panels of the room floor. “SHUT UP! I DON’T WANT TO HEAR IT!”
“You haven’t, have you?” Kassandora’s cheeks went as crimson as her hair and eyes. “What a cutie patootie you are.”
“I hate you.” Kassandora said dryly but Malam knew her sister did not an the cruel words. She was simply annoyed, that was that.
“But I do actually have sothing for you to do.”
“What?”
“Olephia is holding an art show.” Malam said.
“You said already. I’m not going to organize it.” Kassandora quickly said in that arguntative tone of hers and Malam rolled her eyes.
“It’s all almost done anyway, I knew you would reject it when I said you could help.”
“Why even give the offer then?” Kassandora asked and Malam, for once, was honest in her reply.
“Because it’s annoying.” The Goddess of Hatred said.
And Kassandora scowled. “The fact you’re so eager to admit it is annoying in itself.”
“I am to please.” Malam leaned forwards in her chair to imitate a bow.
“Well then I hope you disappoint.” Kassandora quickly answered.
“But there is sothing to do with Olephia’s art show though.”
“What?” Kassandora asked.
“Let’s attend.”
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