Post #2684610 in The Supreme, a roleplay on RPG

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Each mission they carried out always carried the possibility of them never making it back out alive again. All of them in the resistance—all—were briefed, rigorously trained, and sent out onto missions with zero margin for error and the knowledge that every single commoner life in the United Province, richer or poorer, rested on them.
Diego had made damn sure that they were every bit as aware of realities like these as he was when he was first ushered into a world that he had allowed himself to feel complacent about for years he would never get back—years he turning a blind eye to the wrongs that were committed every single day, and to every single one of their brothers and sisters. The treatment the commoners had to endure, especially under their sadistic 'king''s rule, didn't just extend to those who populated the shanties. It stretched as far as the wealthier parts of town. All socioeconomic nuances growing outside of the palace boundaries were readily scrapped by the Supremes. All of them were denigrated, regarded as scum. All of them were doomed to bear the mark of 'commoner' like the triangular badges he had heard of floating around the older folk of the Jewish circles, most of them only passing on the stories of horror their forefathers withstood in the former ruins of the European Province.
All this, and for what?, in trying times he would often ask himself.

Valarie had been one of his best. She had understood their cause, took it up with such zest. She had been ambitious. So much so even that she had volunteered to fill in his shoes—at least, in image. She had a mix of such joie de vivre that infected the camps and boosted morale. She had a mature understanding of her role and all it entailed of her. He had seen himself in her.
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"Another 'state visit', I see," Diego had joked with her as she prepared to leave to oversee an operation of theirs. She looked every bit the part of the idea of a 'rebel leader'—fierce, ruggedly dressed, stance firm and sure. They would be fooled. She had smiled at him.
"Of course. I have to see that my people are getting things done the way I want them to." Valarie straightened up, although what had meant to be a deimatic display looked, to them who knew better, like someone tired and forcing a lie. He could see it. The important thing, though, was that no one else knew the better of it. He offered for her to relax, to calm down until the storm in her mind passed, but she said no. She had insisted it would keep her focussed on the field.
"We all need this, sir. It's far too late for me to turn back now. Those Supremes are positive I'm just that. A leader. Our leader. They need a face to the name. They want a semblance of control over the Rebellion, but they won't have it. I won't let them.
"If I'm out there, there's a chance we might lull them into a false sense of security. They're good at pacifying themselves." She secured her utility belt and tied her dark hair back.
"I never doubted you understood what this meant for everybody." He stepped forward and placed both hands on her shoulders. "But how do you feel?"
He wasn't sure if he was compromising himself by asking these sorts of questions, but they were both behind closed doors. Troops were being trained. They wouldn't come back into the barracks for a while.
"What I feel doesn't matter, sir."
"Diego."
"Diego." She smiled sadly at him. "It needs to be done."

It was a comfort, then, that she had known what she was getting into and wilfully gave herself up to the cause anyway. Such was the mark of a true hero. Even he had yet to live up to that.
Her name, chanted like a prayer, like a protest, in the massive throng of commoners during her execution was not simply of mourning. It was a reminder to every single gold-wrapped, hoity-toity aristocrat present that she was a person. It was a reminder that they had become self-important monsters that hunted them for sport.

He excused himself from work in time to watch her struggle as the water rose dangerously high. Though it was a remote hope, he wished she could see him from the throng. He clutched his cap close to his chest, an antiquated sign of respect for the woman in the chamber, and fought tears. He returned to his duties, fighting his way through the crowds, before the police could disperse them.
Valarie Townsend's death could not have come at a better time. With the Supremes left complacent, pacifying themselves with their self-congratulating parties, they were open. They hid under the cover of banditry, minor attacks, petty crime for years, but brewing under the surface they had amassed manpower, resources, hidden strongholds. Her death would ignite the anger in every commoner throughout the United Province, and stoke the fires of the revolution he had been planning for so long.
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He took Amelia aside the day after it was confirmed that Valarie had been captured, among others. There had been six in the team headed out to evaluate troops in Baltimore, including her. Three had been killed fighting to protect her. One died in interrogation. One offed himself before they could extract anything out of him. There was little hope of a successful rescue—he couldn't come out yet, Amelia was simply not capable of defending herself, and any others as keen or capable as Valarie had been were not yet fully trained. It would have exposed them all before it was their time.
He had fought to keep his composure, but he had ended up upturning his desk and throwing things around in a fit of pent-up frustration.
"Sorry." It took him a few moments to gather himself before he began. "There's not much we can do about her now. We can't afford to expend resources with the search party. Not now. Right now, I need you to do this for me."

He had been tasked to guard the doors to the royal celebration. He guarded them well, monitoring all activity that could be deemed suspicious, Some of the Supremes would pass by and make comments at him and a fellow guard at their posts. People like him could never afford the luxuries they had, pity, they laughed quietly to themselves as they passed. Oh, they loved to talk.
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"Charges. They're having restorations done. It'll give one of ours a chance to plant them while he's working on the finishing touches. They'll be properly concealed behind the falling water."

He glanced down at the fishes below, watching them swim, oblivious to the fuss above in their aquatic world. He wished he had their ignorance.
"Really? Slacking off? How unprofessional," one of the painted ladies whispered to her friend within his earshot. His jaw set, his gaze turned back to the partygoers. "There you are. Give them a little push and they get right back to work."
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"Aesthetics have and always will be the first thing on their mind. They have a fish tank directly below them. I'll need to blow strategic parts of the ceiling to undermine its integrity."

He flexed his shoes on the steady bit of ground he stood stationed.
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"I need you to scope out the king and make sure he's engaged. Draw no attention. Stay in the crowd, but stay on steady ground. This will be your detonator." He gave her a fine bracelet to wear with a small button hidden on the wrist area.

There was no bracing himself for the impact of the blast. He heard multiple blasts from the ceiling, saw bits of it crumbling before a large chunk of it fell to the glass floor, shattering it and dragging several important ministers with it into the water. Another fell near one exit, shattering glass in the immediate area and injuring several. He and his fellow security guard raced to try and calm the people down enough to evacuate some, although he purposely took the injured and less important ones to safety. He had hoped that, with several other chunks of ceiling threatening to collapse, that it would do the High King and Queen in, taking them to the same watery grave they had put Valarie in.
"Remain calm!" He called out almost in unison with his fellow guard.

Snippet #2684610

located in Modern Washington D.C, a part of The Supreme, one of the many universes on RPG.

Setting

Characters Present

Footnotes