I do not own any of the internet personalities or memes presented in this story.

The Internet Police: Year in Review

The Ides of March, Part 2

In the Roman calendar, March was the beginning of a new year. The Romans simply classified the months of January and February as a period of harsh winter. Perhaps it was appropriate that the month of March was the start of their new year with the renewal of life in the form of spring. Since time immemorial, farming cultures welcomed the arrival of spring as it meant the end of the bleak and unforgiving winter, with the Romans being only one of many agricultural civilizations heralding spring. After fasting and remaining indoors for the winter, farmers could now grow crops and livestock to hold bountiful banquets and feed a population of non-farmers focused on the endeavors of industry and governing. And those non-farmers included soldiers who required a hearty meal to fight. The Romans placed significant importance on their military as evident by how they honored March as also the month of warfare, with March itself being named for the Roman god of war Mars. With March being both the month of farming and war, it was no wonder that it was the month of March that saw the start of the War of European Succession between the Heartlanders, the self-proclaimed descendants of the Romans, and the Internet Police, whose members were traditionally dressed in a white dress shirt underneath a blue suit jacket, distinctive colors for their neck ties or ribbon ties, and the men and women wore blue pants and blue skirts respectively. The lady at the villa watched as her armies fought in the Old World and the New World for dominance over the course of history.

"How is Operation Italia going?" said the woman casually as she watched on her large screen monitor of the Imperial city of Rome being on fire and the canals of Venice being filled with tourists seeking to escape the wrath of the Heartlanders.

"Splendidly," said the American man who was leading the Italian mafia to victory and who was also her partner during the Great Schism of America.

"Carry on then," said the woman sipping a glass of wine. "Now onto Operation Germania. Speak to me General about the situation in the north."

The woman waited to see how much of Germany was conquered by General Walker. Much to her annoyance, a much younger American general was answering her call.

"So far so good," said the young American general. "Berlin has fallen. The rest of Germany will soon follow. The might of the stolen American military equipment will secure victory for the Heartlanders in Germany."

The young American general then realized his grave mistake: talking to Roxy Harmon while hiding a massive secret from her. Suddenly, he fell to his hands and knees, a stark contrast to the Heartlanders raising their red and yellow flag (with a red horizontal stripe directly over the yellow horizontal stripe) over the Reichstag.

"Don't kill me!" shouted the young American general. "General Walker insisted on leading Operation Americae, and I decided it was best to respect his wishes. Please don't stab me in the head."

The young American general awaited Roxy's response. Much to his surprise, she remained calm.

"I'll deal with him later," said Roxy in a cold and calculating tone. "Proceed with Operation Germania."

Stunned at her reaction to General Walker's insubordination, the young American general got up to give her a salute. The last image Roxy saw of the young American general was bullets zipping past him. The source of these bullets was from the Berlin police firing at the Heartland soldiers as these invaders were trying to tear down the Reichstag's glass dome.

"Carry on with our plans," said the young American general as he led the Heartlanders against the native Berliners.

Using her remote, the woman closed the window broadcasting the Fall of Berlin. She opened the window on her monitor displaying Operation Americae in Chicago. She saw the image of General Walker fighting against what looks to be his son dressed in his signature clothes: glasses, a black cap, a red tie, a white shirt underneath a black jacket, and blue jeans. Ignoring the complaints of the cameraman as he professed that he didn't signed up for this, Roxy decided to voice her misgivings over General Walker's unauthorized trip back to America.

"Looks like you're having a wonderful family reunion back home," said Roxy in a bored tone. "Though to my knowledge, I didn't permit you to be discharged from Operation Germania to play tag with your son."

"I'm doing my part in restoring America back to her greatness. We just have one minor problem."

"And what is that?" asked Roxy.

"The un-American Internet Police traitors have arrived in Chicago but don't worry. Unlike those European pussies, I will obliterate any doubt of success in Operation Americae," said General Walker as he was engaged in a fist fight with the Nostalgia Critic.

"Those pussies of yours already succeeded in taking over most of Germany and Italy. Frank Murdoch got the Italian mafia to help us win control of a large part of Italy. And the Germans seized back their country without your help," stated Roxy with a smug smile.

The American renegade general looked as if he was slapped in the face over the woman's statement about how victory was won by the Europeans. He looked as if he wanted to rant about how it was American military superiority alone that captured the German and Italian cities, but he realized that his son now had a loaded pistol in his hand.

"Okay you're right," said General Walker as he took out his own pistol.

The last thing from Operation Americae Roxy saw was General Walker muttering some insight words regarding her.

"Fucking bitch," said General Walker as he engaged in a pistol duel with his son.

Roxy tightened her fist as she switched off the broadcast from Chicago.

"Must remain calm. Must not get angry," said Roxy as she was also clenching her teeth. "Now let's see if The Leprechaun is having more success in eliminating the Internet Police elites in the Internet Police Asylum."

Sensing that Operation Americae might fail, Roxy began to down an entire bottle of wine, oblivious to an urgent message box that appeared on her screen.

"Bloody junk mail," said Roxy as she threw her bottle off into the distance, producing a shattering noise, not realizing that the message said, "From Siberia, With Love."

Roxy was about to close the message with her remote.

"If you think that you're going to carelessly delete my message, then you can kiss your chances of seizing power goodbye," said the second message.

Roxy gulped as she knew only one person who could have answered her in this manner: General Natalia Petrovskaya. She opened the message with a remote, and at once, a video broadcast was displayed on the screen. The screen showed a young woman with flowing brown hair dressed in an Imperial Russian uniform, complete with a hat pierced with a red star and an emblem of a double-headed eagle positioned over her left chest. The woman appeared to be seated in an ornate office room that was once belonged to the Czars of the Russian Empire.

"I thought we made a pact. I provide you with military advice, while you act as my partner in securing the natural and economic resources of Central Europe," spoke General Petrovskaya in surprisingly good English for a non-native speaker. "But if you want to dispense with our pact, then I wouldn't object. I'm sure that you have everything under control."

General Petrovskaya gave off a smile like a chess player would show if they had their opponent in checkmate, and as luck would have it, the Siberian general had a chessboard on the desk she was sitting at, with the black king being checkmated by the white pieces.

"I have everything under control," said Roxy as she was sweating. "The Heartlanders have captured the northern parts of Germany and Italy, and we are about to kill the Internet Police leadership in the American city of Chicago. Everything is going to plan."

"I see," said General Petrovskaya with both of her hands placed underneath her chin as her piercing blue eyes were looking towards Roxy. "Tell me, why did you throw your wine bottle across the villa and why are you sweating excessively if things are going well?"

"Things are going fucking well!" yelled Roxy as she got up in a vain attempt to intimidate General Petrovskaya.

General Petrovskaya looked as though an insubordinate child was whining for more sweets from her. Giving a countenance of contempt, General Petrovskaya stood up and walked in front of her desk to give a full profile to Roxy. Compared to the diminutive and poorly postured Roxy, General Petrovskaya was towering both in height and other physical attributes such as her tall legs that descended below her flowing short skirt. Trying to ignore how her chest was of a much lower standard compared to that of General Petrovskaya, Roxy tried psychological warfare against the Siberian general.

"I have followed your advice of trying to act all nice and gentle with my soldiers," said Roxy. "But this is a fucking war! I'm about to take over Germany and Italy, and after the destruction of the Internet Police leadership in Chicago, I'm going to invade Austria and the rest of Europe will follow suit. With victory within my grasp, I have every right to unleash my wrath and fury upon everyone. After all, who's going to oppose me with how much power I'm going to have. I can do anything I want. First thing I'm going to do is to institute a mass cleansing of the millions of undesirables."

General Petrovskaya watched as Roxy was mimicking using a dagger to slice the appendages of the undesirables. General Petrovskaya gave out a sign of disappointment.

"You act on animalistic instinct rather than human reason," said General Petrovskaya. "You have no subtlety. You are a blunt instrument capable of only brute force. Be careful, you wouldn't want to make the same mistake in Germany as Hitler did."

"I'm nothing like that loser!" shouted Roxy. "I only kill assholes. And besides, he lost in the end! I'm going to win!"

"Are you planning to do that all alone with Frank and his pathetic allies?" asked General Petrovskaya. "Frank is an old man who would sign a peace treaty at the first sign of defeat. Trust me, I know this to be true of soldiers past their prime. I also tell that he has a growing aversion to violence, which would be problematic in your case."

General Petrovskaya saw Roxy listening intently to what she had to say.

"I can reconsider additional Siberian support for the War of European Succession. However, I must remind you of Siberia's unending supply of soldiers and military equipment, rivaled only by our vast landscape. I sincerely doubt that your Heartlander army, with its meager supplies, alone would be enough to hold the Italian and German cities. You wouldn't want to meet the same fate of those who last strove for absolute power in these two countries. Mussolini. Shot and hung at a gas station. Hitler. Shot himself as Berlin collapsed above him."

And just like that, General Petrovskaya knew that Roxy had no choice but to renew her agreement with the Siberians.

"I need all the help I need from you," said Roxy. "So how much longer must I contain my rage and bloodlust?"

"Like I said before, when the time is right," said General Petrovskaya.

"When? When?!" shouted Roxy.

"When the time is right," insisted General Petrovskaya.

Roxy wanted to retort again, but alas, she nodded in silence. She then decided to give a final statement to General Petrovskaya before signing off.

"I'm willing to kill others for your sake," said Roxy. "Even Frank if it comes to that."

With Roxy signing off, General Petrovskaya marched forward towards a large mirror that showed her entire figure.

"Humans are inherently an ignorant species. They are like lemmings who follow orders based on raw emotion," said General Petrovskaya as she adjusted her long hair in front of the mirror.

Her eyes then shifted to a gargantuan map of the world that was emblazoned with arrows marked "Potential Targets."

"It's almost embarrassing to think how easy it would be to subjugate people in this day in age. Compared to the olden days, there's not much of a challenge anymore," said General Petrovskaya with a mixture of glee and pity.

To differentiate the conflict in Chicago that occurred in both the Great Schism of America and the War of European Succession, the battle that was raging in the middle of March will be called the Second Battle of Chicago. There were three fronts in the Second Battle of Chicago: the street level, the skyscrapers, and the Asylum. The Critic was fighting on the street level with his father. The Nerd and Jennxpenn were battling the Leprechaun and his band of Irish mobsters through the glass elevators that traversed the now deserted Internet Police Complex. And HurricaneAubrey was battling through a gang of Irish mobsters and the released prisoners of the Asylum as she tried to rescue the Internet Police leaders, most notably Chief Horner. As the glass elevators commanded by the Internet Police agents and the Irish mobsters were dodging flying bullets and shattered glass in the Internet Police Complex's Terminal, the Nerd was in a one-on-one duel with the Liam "The Leprechaun" O'Hannan himself, with each man firing machine guns through the glass elevator's pried doors. Accompanying the Nerd in the glass elevator was Jennxpenn, who seemed oblivious to the battle as she was lying down on her stomach and was browsing the internet on her E.D.

"I need a little help here," said the Nerd, who saw that the Leprechaun's personal guards were boasting about what they were going to do after their victory in Chicago.

"Can't. I'm busy," said Jennxpenn as she was giggling to herself in front of her E.D., much to the bewilderment of the Nerd.

"You want to go for a beer at this sweet Louisiana plantation we now own," said the Leprechaun

"Aye, that would be a merry idea. Maybe we'll feed the local alligators nearby some tasty Internet Police meat. I hear that the legs and their eyes are especially delicious," said one of the guards.

"Just add a side order of potatoes, and we'll have a feast for both the Irish and for the gators," guffawed another guard.

Not wanting to be in the belly of Louisiana gators, the Nerd decided to lure the Leprechaun and his elite guards to the Elysian Fields. The hunter has become the hunted as the Irish predators were following the Nerd's glass elevator to the ruins of the Elysian Fields. Gone were the tranquil olive trees and Mediterranean cypress trees that populated the fields. They had decomposed into skeletons of their former selves, their greenery now shriveled into brown mush. The grass of the Elysian Fields was now blackened and covered with electronics that once powered the artificial sky above. The orange and purple sky that once shined upon the fields was no more as broken wiring and cracked screens was the new norm in the heavens. Dragging Jennxpenn, the Nerd ran to take cover at a crumbling stone farmhouse.

"We got you now," said the Leprechaun. "Alright men. Let's fire upon the farmhouse. Death to the Englishman."

"Death to the Englishman," said the guards as they aimed their machine guns at the farmhouse.

"Almost out of bullets," said the Nerd as he inspected his gun. "How about you Jennxpenn?"

Despite being at Death's doorstep, Jennxpenn still was on her E.D. The Nerd sighed with frustration.

"Hope you are writing your eulogy," said the Nerd as he was at a loss of what to say regarding this absurd scenario.

"Any last words Englishman," said the Leprechaun.

Just then, the Nerd realized that he had an ace up his sleeves. For most of his adult life, he had forgotten his Italian heritage. But now, his ancestry could now play a crucial role in saving his life and not be an excuse of demanding free pizzas from Italian kitchens.

"I'm not an Englishman. I'm Italian," said the Nerd.

The Irish mobsters were taken aback.

"But you have an English-sounding last name," said the Leprechaun. "Isn't your last name the same as one of the founders of England's Jamestown colony in Virginia?"

"I'm confused," said one of the guards.

"Maybe my great great great great Italian grandmother hooked up with my great great great great English grandfather and made an Italian-English baby. And then maybe that Italian-English boy married an Italian girl and drove out all the Englishness out of my family," said the Nerd. "Does that make sense?"

"I guess so," said one of the guards.

"But still, you are 1% English," said the Leprechaun. "Can't have you breeding with the Irish and polluting our blood. Guards! March!"

The Irish guards readied their machine guns as they marched towards the farmhouse. With the pounding footsteps coming closer, the Nerd looked around his surroundings. He saw shelves of wine bottles. Knowledgeable of the long shelf life of wine, he decided to pick a random bottle to open and consume, not caring what brand it was.

"At least I'll die drunk and happy," said the Nerd as he removed the cork from the bottle. "Though I prefer Rolling Rock beer as my last drink."

"We're not done yet," said Jennxpenn as she got up and walked towards the farmhouse's door. "Leave everything to me."

The Nerd was about to voice his protests, but Jennxpenn held her hand up to call for silence.

"I am an Irishwoman," said Jennxpenn. "I am your own flesh and blood."

"But you were the Irishwoman who shot our own kind in Milwaukee," said the Leprechaun. "You are a blood traitor. You dare speak to us as our equal."

"May I ask who the real blood traitors among us are?" said Jennxpenn. "Why the hell did you obtain a Louisiana plantation Mr. Leprechaun?"

The Irish mobsters murmured amongst themselves about Jennxpenn's question.

"Let's kill her!" shouted one of the mobsters.

"Am I not allowed a final wish before meeting my end? I believe there is honor in the Irish mob," insisted Jennxpenn.

The Leprechaun thought about Jennxpenn's statement about honor. Wanting no further conflict of interests, the Leprechaun decided to answer Jennxpenn's question.

"To celebrate the Internet Police's downfall and to herald the beginning of the Heartlanders' ascension in Europe," said the Leprechaun.

"You do realize that Louisiana plantations were operated using African slaves to pick cotton, and that the Union army fought to end slavery during the American Civil War," said Jennxpenn.

"Can we kill her now?!" shouted one of the mobsters.

"Go on," said the Leprechaun, eagerly expecting to see Jennxpenn make a fool out of herself.

"Isn't one of the greatest prides of Irish Americans is their service in the Union army during the Civil War. So why would you celebrate your victory in a place that would have been despised by your ancestors who fought against the slave-loving Confederates?" asked Jennxpenn.

"She's right," said one mobster. "Our ancestors didn't die just for us to spit on their sacrifices on the battlefield."

"But didn't some Irish Americans fought for the Confederates," said the Leprechaun in a desperate attempt to outsmart Jennxpenn.

"Those Irish Confederates are blood traitors, and they were vastly outnumbered by the Irish Americans who joined the Union army. I ask you Irish mobsters. Do you want to drink, dance, and be merry on a plantation that most of your ancestors would have torch to the ground as soon as they stepped foot onto it? Well?" asked Jennxpenn.

The Irish mobsters looked at each other as they thought about how their ancestors would view them.

"Enough! Kill her!" shouted the Leprechaun.

"Kill him!" shouted several mobsters as they pointed their machine guns at the Leprechaun. "Death to the blood traitor!"

Without being given the opportunity for a counterargument, the mobsters fired upon the Leprechaun, killing him instantly.

"Let's go after the other blood traitors who would collaborate with slave holders," said the mobsters.

With the mobsters in pursuit of pro-Confederate mobsters, Jennxpenn came back inside the farmhouse. She saw that the Nerd drank a whole bottle of wine dry.

"You heard what I did out there," said Jennxpenn.

"Bits and pieces of it," said the Nerd.

"I happened to read about the role of Irish Americans during the American Civil War on my electronic database while we were traveling in the glass elevator," said Jennxpenn with pride.

Jennxpenn's eyes darted between the empty wine bottle and the Nerd seated underneath a wooden table.

"Needed to calm myself before being greeted with a hail of bullets," said the Nerd looking a tad guilty.

The Nerd got up as Jennxpenn looked on disappointingly.

"Good job by the way," said the Nerd trying to not appear hypocritical. "Very good job indeed."

Jennxpenn smiled with satisfaction as the Nerd beckoned her back to the glass elevator.

"Onwards to the Enrichment Center," said the Nerd.

"What for?" asked Jennxpenn as she entered the glass elevator with the Nerd.

"For gas masks," said the Nerd.

The Asylum in the Internet Police Complex in Chicago had a safety precaution in case of escaping prisoners: sleeping gas. Permeated from a modified flamethrower, the gas would affect any short-ranged targets with a bout of sleepiness. Of course, the effectiveness of the gas would vary with each target, with some falling asleep instantly while others would take much longer to be affected if at all. Usually, only one personnel would be equipped with the sleeping gas gear to subdue one escaped prisoner. But the Asylum now had an infestation of escaped prisoners. It would be up to an army of Internet Police agents to take down this band of prisoners wanting to escape to the surface. These Internet Police defenders included Chief Horner and TamashiiHiroka, and with HurricaneAubrey joining up with them shortly after arriving in Chicago, the three of them would use their sleeping gas gear to calm the manic prisoners, with these Internet Police members wearing gas masks to avoid entering a long slumber themselves.

"Follow me," said HurricaneAubrey to Chief Horner and TamashiiHiroka as the three women were running through a plume of white smoke that was the sleeping gas. Barely seeing anything through the gas masks, the three women fired sleeping gas onto the prisoners trying to attack them. One after another, the gas affected these prisoners instantly as they fell straight to the ground.

"Get off me," said TamashiiHiroka as she threw another prisoner onto the ground, spraying sleeping gas on him for good measure.

Through the labyrinth of prison cells and duels between the agents and the prisoners, the three women were trying to reach the nearest glass elevator back to the surface.

"Everything okay Chief Horner?" asked HurricaneAubrey.

"Fine, except for being in the middle of the War of European Succession," answered Chief Horner.

Moving past the Internet Police agents carrying the sleeping prisoners back to their respective holding chambers, HurricaneAubrey, TamashiiHiroka, and Chief Horner came across two mysterious figures engulfed in a plume of sleeping gas. Trying to make out their appearance through the confines of her gas masks, HurricaneAubrey saw that the two individuals lacked any gas masks. They were breathing just fine. On closer inspection, the two people were a tall, skinny boy and a short, plump girl.

"Hello, HurricaneAubrey. Nice to see you again after so many years. Shame you didn't try to visit us while we were trapped in this Asylum. Afraid of us I supposed," said the short girl.

HurricaneAubrey squinted her eyes and recognized the tall boy and the short girl immediately.

"Disaster Girl. The Modern Herostratus," said HurricaneAubrey with a polite smile to the short girl. She then focused, on the tall boy. "And you must be Fred Figglehorn."

"If you're going to engage in an intellectual debate with Fred to bore him to sleep, don't bother. As you can see, his imprisonment in this hellhole has caused his mental state to deteriorate even further than before," said Disaster Girl. "Aren't you ashamed of yourself, Chief Horner."

"He was responsible for the deaths of our finest Internet Police agents in the First and Second Wars," said Chief Horner. "Besides, we don't have time to chitchat."

"Oh, I'm not interested in having a genteel conversation," insisted Disaster Girl. "I'm here to distract you from Fred making his escape." The girl, who appeared to not have aged at all, turned her attention to Fred. "You know what to do to return to the surface."

Like an obedient dog, Fred grunted at Disaster Girl as he placed his fingers into his ears.

"Ahhhhh! Ehhh! Ehhh!" cried Fred as he ran away. "Can't defeat me now with your big words and your crazy arguments!"

"I'll get him!" yelled TamashiiHiroka as she ran after him.

"Wait!" shouted Chief Horner as she hurried after TamashiiHiroka.

HurricaneAubrey was intent on following both Chief Horner and TamashiiHiroka when Disaster Girl pulled out her signature weapon: a matchstick.

"Stay where you are," said Disaster Girl with a smile. "I'll light up this match. As you already know, we're surrounded by sleeping gas which is most likely flammable. One spark from this match and an inferno will spread throughout the entire Asylum. And you know how well humans react to being set on fire."

"Is it worth it to kill yourself in order to get to me?" asked HurricaneAubrey as she continued to spray sleeping gas everywhere.

"You grown up quite a bit since I last saw you," remarked Disaster Girl.

"Thank you," said HurricaneAubrey with confidence.

"I am of course referring to your gray hair and your saggy eyes," said Disaster Girl in a mocking tone. "Otherwise, you're just the same scared little girl back at the Abraham Lincoln Presidential Library and Museum. Do you remember how you saved Lincoln's personal belongings when I set his presidential library on fire? I remember how you emerged from the museum with a copy of his Emancipation Proclamation, his hat, and his family memorabilia. You were lauded as a hero by the press, and because of your heroics that day, you were immediately inducted into the Internet Police as a top-ranking agent."

HurricaneAubrey looked perplexed at the Modern Herostratus' recounting of that terrible day. Disaster Girl gave a derisive laugh.

"What I meant to say was that you didn't save a single thing from the museum. You passed out from the smoke in the building, and you were immediately fired from your shitty job at the greeting card company during your recovery at the hospital. And out of pity, the former Chief of the Internet Police decided to make you an agent without any effort from you. Surely the other agents must love how you waltz into this agency with no qualifications other than being a Z-list internet celebrity," said Disaster Girl.

With rage boiling within her, HurricaneAubrey pulled out her pistol.

"Ah ah ah," said Disaster Girl waving her index finger with her match-free hand. "If you shoot, I'll light the match, and you already know what the end result will be." Disaster Girl saw a look of righteous anger from HurricaneAubrey. "You know what, I'll give you a free shot because I'm not a complete asshole. Go on then. Shoot me with your best shot."

Being given the green light by Chief Horner and Disaster Girl, HurricaneAubrey fired at Disaster Girl with the intent to subdue rather than kill. Much to her dissatisfaction, Disaster Girl dodged the bullet.

"Shame. Not that I expected much. Especially from the little girl who failed to rescue Todd from the barrage of F-1 and F-2 rockets during the Second War. Though I was ultimately responsible for Todd's death by pushing him into the path of the rockets, you still contributed by deciding to trust me despite my reputation as the Modern Herostratus. All because of you falling for my sweet and innocent girl persona during the Second War, thinking it would be a good idea to take me inside the shelter without restraints," said Disaster Girl.

Disaster Girl then sat down and imitated holding a lollipop.

"Oh, save me, HurricaneAubrey! A mean boy named Fred Figglehorn is going to take my lollipop! Save me from his greasy hands!" cried Disaster Girl as she looked at HurricaneAubrey with puppy-dog eyes.

HurricaneAubrey had a stone-faced expression at the sight of Disaster Girl acting like a damsel in distress. Expecting another bullet to be HurricaneAubrey's response, Disaster Girl got up.

"Looks like my old tricks won't do," said Disaster Girl.

A bullet flew past Disaster Girl without warning. HurricaneAubrey was stunned at how easily Disaster Girl dodged it even with the presence of sleeping gas. Without showing any signs of sleepiness, Disaster Girl resumed taunting HurricaneAubrey.

"You have poor firing skills. I only let that second bullet fly because of how merciful I am. Next time, I'll show you another type of mercy by giving you a quick death. Now that we got that out of the way, are we sure you're a true Internet Police agent? Or are you a faker?" asked Disaster Girl. The girl without the gas mask saw HurricaneAubrey eyes squint. "Too stupid to make a counterargument. I thought you were the master of critical analysis based on interpreting art in museums. Or were you too busy letting the artwork burn."

"Must remain calm," thought HurricaneAubrey as she realized that Disaster Girl was trying a psychological approach to defeat her. "Her desire to live outweighs self-immolation as a form of revenge."

Disaster Girl waited for HurricaneAubrey's emotional breakdown. The girl with the matchstick saw HurricaneAubrey gave a rational and clear counterargument.

"I am a true Internet Police agent, Disaster Girl," answered HurricaneAubrey. "I may have struggled at the beginning, but overtime, I got better thanks to the efforts of the Nostalgia Critic and the Angry Video Game Nerd. I would like to give a special shout-out to the Nostalgia Critic for helping me switch sides in the Great Schism of America and being a shining example of how different generations can unite under common interests. And it was because of the Critic, the Nerd, and I along with several other rebels that we were able to take down George Zazz and bring the Great Schism of America to a successful conclusion."

"Oh really?" said Disaster Girl with a tilt of her head that accompanied her widening eyes. "If you're such a good Internet Police agent, then explain to me that debacle at the Metropolitan Museum of Art in your hometown of New York City. Or have you conveniently forgotten about that fiasco as a way of getting rid of any personal guilt or responsibility in your pathetic life."

And in an instant, HurricaneAubrey's memories of that traumatic incident came flooding back into her consciousness, with this horrific event occurring shortly after the end of the Great Schism of America. With a blink of an eye, HurricaneAubrey found herself flashing back to her and her squadron of Internet Police agents armed with riot shields safeguarding the entrance of the Metropolitan Museum of Art from a crowd of angry New Yorkers. There were flashes of light from the portable devices held by these New Yorkers, perhaps as a means of disorientating the Internet Police agents standing firm against an onslaught of insults. With a barrage of rotten vegetables being thrown at her, HurricaneAubrey tried to protect the artwork of the Met by using her intellect.

"You are not welcome here!" shouted HurricaneAubrey through a megaphone. "If you're going to protest the living conditions brought about by George Zazz's rule here, then go somewhere else."

"Give us some security!" shouted several protestors. "You guys are protecting finger paintings that can't eat or sleep. Don't you care about dealing with the thieves that are robbing our neighborhoods after Georgie died. We're glad that Georgie is dead and all, but once his soldiers moved out, the opportunistic goons ransacked Manhattan. We asked for law and order from you people, but just as we said before, you're too busy guarding pictures of happy trees and butterflies to give a shit about us."

By the power of observation, HurricaneAubrey saw that the protestors were reading from a script as they made their complaints known. This was a tell-tale sign that this protest was not spontaneous and was planned well in advance.

"Another department is dealing with your security problems," said HurricaneAubrey professionally. "I'm leading the Art Defense division of my security organization."

"The division of useless idiots," said one of the female protestors. "Why not protect my family's house?"

"Or my apartment room," said a male protestor.

"What about the park where our children play around in?" said another protestor.

"Why not my bakery business?" said another protestor.

"What about protecting these artworks for the next generation?" suggested HurricaneAubrey.

"For who. Pretentious artists with their heads up their asses trying to find a deeper meaning of grass growing in a painting," said an angry New York man.

"Let me ask you this. If you were inside a burning building and had only time to save one thing, which one would you save? A sweet little girl? Or a painting by some 18th century nobody?" asked a female protestor.

"What sort of question is that?!" yelled HurricaneAubrey.

"Answer the question?!" demanded the crowd.

"Fall back!" shouted HurricaneAubrey to her fellow Internet Police agents.

To provide a greater defense by grouping together, the Internet Police agents obeyed HurricaneAubrey's command and retreated closer towards the Met's entrance. Holding their riot shields up, the Internet Police agents maintained their discipline as both physical and psychological garbage were thrown in their direction by the protestors.

"Who would you save?! A little child?! Or a dusty painting?!" screamed the protestors.

"I'm not going to answer that question?!" shouted HurricaneAubrey. "I'm not going to lose my dignity by giving an insufficient answer!

What happened next was a blur in HurricaneAubrey's mind. All she remembered was a hostile object hurtling towards her, much larger than the decomposing cabbages that flew over her. Dealing with both commanding the Internet Police agents and dealing with the protestors, HurricaneAubrey had only a few seconds before this item would strike her down. Instinctively, she took out her baton and wacked it.

"Take that!" yelled HurricaneAubrey with a smile.

HurricaneAubrey gazed at the protestors and saw looks of horror. HurricaneAubrey heard gasps from her fellow Internet Police agents.

"What?" said HurricaneAubrey blankly. "Why are you staring at me like that?"

The Internet Police guards, some of whom covered their gaping mouths with one of their hands, pointed their fingers at the object HurricaneAubrey had just struck. HurricaneAubrey focused her sight on the fallen object, and she saw that it was a little girl. The unarmed girl was crying as her face had blood spewed across her forehead, with the red liquid progressing past her eyes.

"Why?!" cried the little girl.

The protestors and the Internet Police guards had the same question as well.

"Why?" asked the protestors.

"Why?" questioned the Internet Police guards.

"I just… I didn't mean to…," stammered HurricaneAubrey.

What followed was a mostly dialogue-less confrontation that could summed up as the protestors charging into the Metropolitan Museum of Art, pushing past the demoralized Internet Police guards. Most shockingly, some of the Internet Police agents switched their allegiance to the protestors in response to HurricaneAubrey's poor leadership. HurricaneAubrey remembered how she led what was left of the Internet Police guards through the museum to save its collection from the vandals. She recalled her team carrying away Emanuel Leutze's Washington Crossing the Delaware as the protestors glued pictures of crime-ridden neighborhoods to the painting. She then recounted how the protestors tried to throw acid onto the Impressionist paintings, with the Internet Police agents riot shields being the only defense against the toxic chemicals. Finally, she remembered how she tried to restore order while she led her Internet Police guards into the exhibit where the ancient Temple of Dendur was located.

"Go away! You barbarians!" shouted HurricaneAubrey as she led her soldiers towards the protestors as they tried to carry away the stone blocks.

"You call us barbarians for trying to survive!" shouted one protestor. "These stone blocks are just sitting here. Why not use it for building homes for us to live in since Georgie put them to the torch. Or are you against the homeless."

"Get the fuck out of here!" screamed HurricaneAubrey to the protestors. She held up her baton high in the sky and announced her official command to her guards. "Beat the shit out of them!"

The Internet Police guards rammed their riot shields at the protestors and proceeded to club them, with HurricaneAubrey punching a protestor in the face.

"Are you back from your flashback yet?" asked Disaster Girl.

Returning from the traumatic street that was memory lane, HurricaneAubrey was panting heavily as she was on her knees.

"I regret what I did that day," answered HurricaneAubrey with tears in her eye.

Disaster Girl gave a grin as she shook her head.

"You naughty girl. While I was stuck here, I heard your fellow agents lambasting your handling of the incident, how you failed to maintain order and caused much of the Met's priceless artwork to be ruined," said Disaster Girl. "I also overheard them talking about the dream you had in the last days of the Second War. Do you want me to give you the details of your dream?"

"No. Please don't," sobbed HurricaneAubrey.

"I'll be more than happy to summarize it," said Disaster Girl over HurricaneAubrey's protests. "You were frolicking in the fields of the English countryside when you came across a mansion. HurricaneAubrey smiled as she entered the house and saw the various paintings. This girl was stupid enough to touch the paintings with her bare hands. Apparently, this girl caused the paintings to bleed. I wouldn't want to be that girl who would just allow art to be vandalized. Just imagine what the press would say if that girl oversaw security at a museum."

Disaster Girl saw HurricaneAubrey now reduced to being on her hands and knees, with the Internet Police agent now breathing heavily.

"Looks like my work here is done," said Disaster Girl as she walked away from HurricaneAubrey.

"Stop," whispered HurricaneAubrey.

Disaster Girl stopped. She turned away to see HurricaneAubrey holding a gun in her trembling hands.

"Really?" said Disaster Girl in a bored tone. She held up her unlit match. "Let's keep going shall we. Let's start with h…. OW!"

HurricaneAubrey saw a shadowy figure punch Disaster Girl in the face, knocking the Modern Herostratus unconscious. HurricaneAubrey saw her savior unmasking herself, revealing this individual to be Jennxpenn.

"Ain't got time for boring psychological crap," said Jennxpenn.

Fred Figglehorn was running. He had his fingers jammed into his ears as Chief Horner and TamashiiHiroka were chasing him.

"La la la! I can't hear you! La la la!" shouted Fred.

"Remember what you did to our brave men and women during the First and Second Wars!" shouted Chief Horner.

TamashiiHiroka was trying to think of a good argument to use against Fred as a way of subduing him. But the only topic running through her mind was Pokémon. She thought about how a trainer would face a wild Pokémon in battle, and Fred was certainly wild. When playing a standard Pokémon game, she would capture a wild Pokémon by inflicting it with status conditions, ailments meant to hamper a Pokémon from battling effectively. She thought about such attacks that would burn, freeze, poison, or paralyze the Pokémon, but alas, she lacked the proper equipment required for these conditions.

"I tried putting Fred to sleep, but it appeared to be not effective against the boy," thought TamashiiHiroka as she continually sprayed sleeping gas onto Fred. "If only he could remove the fingers from his ears, then I'll be able to confuse him with logic."

TamashiiHiroka looked at Chief Horner for any suggestions. Chief Horner looked dispirited as she pursued Fred.

"There's no point in negotiating with this terrorist," lamented Chief Horner as she saw Fred closing in on a glass elevator.

"I win!" shouted Fred as he turned around to taunt Chief Horner and TamashiiHiroka.

Out of nowhere, a blonde Internet Police agent tackled Fred to the ground and punched him repeatedly until he was unconscious.

"Jennxpenn," said both Chief Horner and TamashiiHiroka with stunned expressions, especially considering that the victorious Internet Police agent lacked a gas mask.

"How would you evaluate my performance Chief?" asked Jennxpenn with a smile as she sat next to the knocked-out Fred.

"I would say exceptional," said the Nerd as he emerged from the shadows with a bloodied face. "Sorry about my appearance. I just won a duel with Mr. Plinkett and Nadine."

The Second Battle of Chicago had been won by the Internet Police. It was undeniable that the Internet Police had triumphed in America against the Heartlanders and the Irish mob. But now laid the unenviable task of driving the Heartlanders led by Frank Murdoch and Roxy Harmon out of the captured German and Italian cities. Standing next to the Cloud Gate sculpture in Chicago's Millennium Park, the following Internet Police agents were in different states of emotions. Chief Horner and the Angry Video Game Nerd were having a serious discussion on strategies to win the War of European Succession. TamashiiHiroka was playing Pokémon on her Game Boy to distract her from the upcoming war. Jennxpenn was busy trying to think of Vlog ideas addressing her hatred for Heartlanders. And HurricaneAubrey was just standing next to an injured Nostalgia Critic as he laid seemingly unconscious on a stretcher, with HurricaneAubrey staring blankly in the opposite direction at Cloud Gate.

"On a lighter note, the Internet Police suffered no loss of life from our battle with the Irish mob, and we managed to return all of the Asylum subjects back to their cells," spoke Chief Horner.

"On a darker note, we must gather enough supplies and soldiers to take on Frank and Roxy's Heartlanders in Germany and Italy," said the Nerd. "I could go for a drink right now considering what's facing us in Europe. Have all the wounded Internet Police agents been accounted for?"

"Yes. We found them all. From the now inedible Atmospheric Chocolate Room to the beaten down Universe Room," answered Chief Horner.

"Good to hear," said the Nerd with relief. "On an unrelated note, why did your predecessor thought it was a good idea to construct such frivolous rooms like the aforementioned Atmospheric Chocolate Room and the Universe Room. Or how about unnecessarily wasting the Internet Police's limited budget on creating a cafeteria with the proportions of a medieval cathedral or replicating the Tuscany landscape with the Elysian Fields."

"That's a question for the ages," admitted Chief Horner. "As you already know, I used to be a scientist at the Institute of Internet Studies, and you are well aware of the rivalry between the Internet Police and the Institute of Internet Studies. My partner Forest Gibson and I used to joke about how my predecessor built these white elephants to show off against the Institute of Internet Studies, with the Institute only constructing massive buildings for useful purposes only. I mean, an Atmospheric Chocolate Room? Come on!"

"Yeah. Why not spend that money on actually improving the military capabilities of the Internet Police?" suggested the Nerd.

"Another theory I have is that my predecessor needed these rooms to encourage Internet Police agents to remain with the agency instead of quitting for greener pasture. After all, the life of an Internet Police is not for the faint-hearted. As an agent, you will see things that you don't want to see. Am I correct in that assessment, Nerd?" stated Chief Horner.

"I'm afraid so," said the Nerd. "Though is it really necessary to reduce the Internet Police Complex in Boston to a series of ordinary office buildings with only a few lines of omnidirectional glass elevators?"

"I thought you were aghast at the wasteful spending of my predecessor," said Chief Horner.

"I am. It's just that I wonder if you're going a bit too far in downsizing the Internet Police. Can we afford your relentless pursuit of budget cuts? Your predecessor would be quite critical of your decision," commented the Nerd.

"I'm the Chief of the Internet Police now," said Chief Horner in a dismissive tone as her eyes shifted towards the ruined skyscrapers caused by the First Battle of Chicago. "How my predecessor would have run the Internet Police has no bearing on the matter. I believe that these budget cuts are essential considering that funding for the Internet Police is at an all-time low. I am committed to making the Internet Police solely dedicated to fighting the scum of the web, and I'm not going to waste valuable resources on giving our agents massages and manicures. It is my belief that we are servants of the public. We must make sacrifices in ensuring their well-being. Do I make my clear?"

"Yes," said Jennxpenn.

Chief Horner and the Nerd gave their undivided attention to Jennxpenn as HurricaneAubrey's apprentice gave her opinion regarding Chief Horner's decision-making.

"I agree with your governance of the Internet Police. We should get rid of the unneeded fat from the budget. I would like to suggest the idea of maybe eliminating certain Internet Police agents who don't meet the high standards of the agency," said Jennxpenn as she looked over her shoulder at HurricaneAubrey. "We already had several Internet Police agents leave due to cowardice or disagreeing with your leadership Chief Horner. Would I be wrong to say that the mass exodus of agents has reduced the cost of maintaining the Internet Police?"

"No," replied Chief Horner. "And considering the U.S. government is prepping for another round of massive budget cuts, I will consider this surplus of money a positive."

"Glad to hear you agree with me," said Jennxpenn. She turned to face the Nerd. "Do you remember how we fought off Dramatic Chipmunk in the Enrichment Center just before we faced the subjects in the Asylum?"

"How could I forget?!" said the Nerd excitedly. "Though I was a bit disappointed considering how the Dramatic Chipmunk was defeated by a simple taser. I was expecting more of a challenge."

"I was disappointed in a different way," said Jennxpenn. "I wanted the Dramatic Chipmunk to be a real talking animal, but I soon found out that the prairie dog who called himself the Dramatic Chipmunk was actually an advanced robot created by cultists. Guess you can't have everything in life."

"Just like in the case of Millennium Park," said the Nerd. "Having lived in Chicago for quite some time as an Internet Police agent, I learned about Chicago's history that included the construction of Millennium Park. The completion of the park was delayed repeatedly, and while the London Eye and the Millennium Dome were opened on schedule in time for the new Millennium, Chicago's Millennium Park failed to meet that deadline. In the end, corporate sponsors were needed to fuel the Millennium Park project to the end. I'm sure some Chicagoans were less than pleased with getting less than they anticipated. Well that's life."

"At least these Chicagoans could enjoy Pokémon 2000 to ease their embarrassment regarding the Millennium Park being incomplete in 2000," commented TamashiiHiroka looking up from her Game Boy.

"Do you have to interject Pokémon into everything?" asked the Nerd. "Not everyone is a fan."

"I'm surprised you're not a fan of Pokémon considering you are a gamer. After all, Pokémon is one of the most successful video game franchises of all time," said TamashiiHiroka.

"I'm more of a Mario fan," said the Nerd. "He was a part of my generation. I was too old when Pokémon came along."

"I'm a fan of Pokémon," announced Jennxpenn. "I believe that Pokémon inspired several important memes on the internet. I bet you researched them while you were a scientist at the Institute of Internet Studies, Chief."

"We did. Some of my fondest memories as an Institute scientist were when Forest Gibson and I investigated how realistic Pokémon was to real life," said Chief Horner. "But we all know how George Zazz put an end to that research."

"I'm sorry with how Georgie ruined everything for all of us," said Jennxpenn. She then whispered into the Chief's ear. "I would suggest looking into the personal records of some of the agents. I think some may still be harboring some loyalties to Georgie."

At Cloud Gate, HurricaneAubrey heard everything from Chief Horner's talk of budget cuts to the merits of Pokémon spoken by TamashiiHiroka and Jennxpenn. Looking at the three woman and the one man talking with much energy and charisma, HurricaneAubrey felt excluded.

"At least the Critic has the excuse of being incapacitated after his fight with his father that resulted in General Walker's death," said HurricaneAubrey as she placed her hands over her face, with her eyes being revealed from the spaces between her fingers. "Why did I buckle under pressure from being taunted by Disaster Girl?"

HurricaneAubrey thought about ways of disproving claims of her being an incompetent Internet Police agent. She needed evidence that she was still a capable agent, but she knew that her breakdown in the Asylum was known by everyone.

"How humiliating," said HurricaneAubrey. "Okay. Try to think of your accomplishments as an agent. There must be a whole volume of them."

Try as she might, she couldn't. It is an unfortunate truth that humans tend to remember traumatic and cruel memories much easier than happy ones. HurricaneAubrey could instantly visualize the disaster at the Abraham Lincoln Presidential Library and Museum as well as the fiasco at the MET.

"Where are my happy thoughts?" questioned HurricaneAubrey to herself.

HurricaneAubrey saw Cloud Gate in front of her, which was nowadays barely seen by anyone considering Chicago's quarantined status.

"I became a full-fledged Internet Police agent at this site when the Nerd gave me the badge," said HurricaneAubrey. "On that same day, I interpreted Cloud Gate as a representation of the transfiguration of one's life. It certainly applied to my time as an Internet Police agent for better or for worse. It's been an incredible journey being an Internet Police agent."

HurricaneAubrey began pacing as she thought of what she achieved as an agent.

"I just… I just can't remember my successes as an agent," cried HurricaneAubrey. "Maybe this is a sign that my time as an Internet Police agent has come to an end. It appears that my failures are more prominent than my accomplishments."

With her arms crossed, HurricaneAubrey pondered about a scenario where she would leave the Internet Police.

"Before becoming an Internet Police agent, I was unemployed and desperate for work, any work. I tried getting a position at art museums, but I was passed over for seemingly having no talent or skills. Eventually, I was brought into the Norman Greeting Card Company as a warm body to make greeting cards for a tyrannical dictator of a boss," thought HurricaneAubrey. "Now that the greeting card company is permanently out of business (not that I wanted to be rehired there anyway), where should I go if I leave the Internet Police of my own accord?"

The Critic was fully awake with his eyes wide open as he continued lying on the stretcher. Meanwhile, HurricaneAubrey looked at Jennxpenn talking quietly with Chief Horner as the latter was giving occasional stares towards her. A moment of panic was arising within HurricaneAubrey.

"Is the Chief going to fire me?" said HurricaneAubrey. "Could it be because of my recent failures? Or maybe she believes my regrettable past with George Zazz is a liability for the agency. If I'm fired, then I won't have the luxury of having enough time to craft a plan that would help me navigate the job market of a post-industrial world. Where will I go? How will I live? Will I have to take a soul-crushing job? Or will I have to make due with being a bum on the streets?"

Chief Horner approached HurricaneAubrey. The agent's hair was disheveled, and black circles encircled her eyes.

"Yes Chief," said HurricaneAubrey in a professional tone.

"I heard that your little sister was hitchhiking through Central Europe," spoke Chief Horner. "Do you remember where she was when you last spoke to her?"

"She was in Venice, Italy," said HurricaneAubrey. "Oh no!"

HurricaneAubrey went off in the distance and took out her portable device. She was trying to get in touch with her little sister, hoping she was safe from the War of European Succession. Chief Horner understood the situation completely, and thus, she moved on to determining the well-being of the Critic.

"Everything okay Critic?" asked Chief Horner.

The Critic gave a thumb-up while his eyes were closed.

"Good," said the Chief as she walked away from the Critic's stretcher.

The Critic breathed a sigh of relief when he opened his eyes to see the Chief far away from the stretcher and talking with TamashiiHiroka.

"I need someone to go to British Internet Police and the French Internet Police as a diplomat on my behalf," said Chief Horner. "I think you're the right person for the job. Do you accept?"

"I accept," said TamashiiHiroka without question. "I won't let you down, Chief."

"Excellent," said the Chief.

Rome. The city invokes the legacy of the Roman Empire, the entity that conquered much of the Mediterranean world. Ironically, the city itself would be occupied by foreigners for much of its history. A complete list of non-Italian rulers of Rome would be long and exhaustive to cover. The main point is that Rome was a city of such prestige that anyone who could take it would be filled with immense pride. It would be Frank Murdoch that would be on top of the world as he, dressed in a brown business suit, was touring the newly captured Eternal City with Roxy Harmon, who was wearing a pink Chanel suit. He was giving a presentation of Rome's history and culture to a live audience, with the cameras following him as he gave insight on why Rome was the center of Western civilization. While in the ancient Roman Forum at night, Frank was telling the audience about the assassination of Julius Caesar on the Ides of March.

"In 44 B.C., the Roman Senate conspired to kill Julius Caesar, successfully performing the deed on March 15th. What was the result of Julius Caesar meeting his demise by multiple stabbings? A series of bloody civil wars that brought Rome to the brink of destruction. If only Julius Caesar wasn't assassinated early in his reign, he could have done so much more than bring Roman culture to Gaul and establish the Julian calendar. His influence could have averted the eventual collapse of Rome and prevented the Romans from creating an Empire based on low-quality bread and circuses," explained Frank.

Frank motioned his hand towards the Roman Colosseum.

"For all its majesty, the Roman Empire fell because of its appeal to the lowest common denominator, which would have been avoided if Julius Caesar hadn't been mercilessly killed. The Colosseum was an arena where the weak and helpless were slaughtered for the amusement of the Plebeians. But Roxy and I are here to fulfill the dream of Julius Caesar and bring back the Roman Empire in the form of the nation of Europa, and I will be its Emperor and Roxy will be her Empress. The era of cruel and unusual entertainment will come to an end with the rise of the Heartlanders. Good day, and good night to all of you here in Europe and beyond," said Frank as he adjusted his tie to appear more formal.

The broadcast was finished. The camera crew departed, leaving Frank and Roxy alone in the ancient Roman Forum.

"Look at this. No annoying tourists mucking up this sacred area. No vendors selling tacky and inappropriate t-shirts. The Roman Forum has been restored back to its former glory thanks to me," said Frank as he stretched out his arms.

Frank looked at Roxy to see how excited she was of their successes in the War of European Succession. He was taken aback to see Roxy appearing crestfallen.

"Why the long face?" asked Frank.

"We may have taken several Italian and German cities, but we are running low on resources and men. I anticipate that our initial surprise attack will be met with a devastating counterattack from the uncaptured German and Italian cities as well as their neighboring allies. In other words, we're fucked if we don't drastically change our strategy to compensate our shortcomings," said Roxy. "Namely our association with Emperor George. The public sees the Heartlanders as a continuation of Emperor George's failed American experiment. They view us as the villains."

"We're fine," said Frank as he lit up a cigar. "If we stick to our morals, then we will win. It doesn't matter if we must level the all the glass skyscrapers of Frankfurt or demolish those tacky tourist shops in Venice Don't worry. All this bloodshed will end once and for all when we conquer Europe."

Frank saw Roxy's worried face. The middle-aged man caressed the hair of the young woman barely older than a teenager.

"If you're worried about governing Europa as Empress, then I'll make sure we build that farmhouse in France we always talked about during our killing spree across America. After France falls, I'll get the finest architects and builders to recreate an authentic French farm that will serve as our vacation home. Let's see. We'll need ducks to have servings of foie gras. Sheep for wool and lamb chops. Vineyards for the finest wines. Pigs for the…"

Roxy was barely listening to Frank as he rambled on about what he wanted for their French country house. She was concentrating on what Frank said about wanting the bloodshed to eventually end.

"What happens once the bloodshed ends? Dealing with boring bureaucratic crap. I can't have that. I need to keep fighting," thought Roxy. She looked back at the Colosseum, which was illuminated by spotlights. "I want to be bathed in a pool of blood."

Roxy crossed her arms as she imagined herself swimming through a pool of blood in the Colosseum. Frank raised his eyebrows as he then saw Roxy smiling as she then stretched out her arms.

"You're looking happy right now. That's the Roxy I like to see," said Frank.

In Roxy's mind, she was showering under a thunderstorm of blood in the Colosseum.

"I want this so badly," thought Roxy as she grinned. Her smile faltered when she returned to reality. "Frank and his buddies probably want peace after victory, but I want a continuous flow of blood. Besides, they alone can't hold the cities for long."

She remembered her meetings with Siberian General Natalia Petrovskaya. The general had emphasized the vast military resources Siberia possessed compared to the measly equipment stolen by the Heartlanders.

"I need to make an alliance with the Siberians," thought Roxy.

It was a March characterized by betrayals. Roxy was going to conspire with General Petrovskaya in removing Frank and his cronies for her own gains. And thousands of miles in the American city of Chicago, an Internet Police agent was also on the path of treason. The highway of no return for this Internet Police agent began in Chicago's public forum known as Millennium Park.

Please review this story to provide me some advice on improving it. What other internet personalities or memes should the Internet Police encounter? Thank you.