Chapter two: Andrant
He had just gotten off the phone. A significant threat had just been eliminated, but no time to celebrate. He had other, more pressing matters to deal with. He examined his office, which was painted a warm, deep red. It had the air of secrecy. He then sat down at his handsome mahogany desk that he had spent his entire political life trying to occupy. He was the president by definition, but to all intents and purposes he was a king, a dictator, a Demigod.
He looked from across the room at his self portrait. It showed him in a powerful, dignified pose. His face was slightly more lined then the painting showed now. It had a square, aristocratic face with a dark blue eye on his left side and an eye patch on his right. He had lost his eye in the Arnekestanian war 24 years ago. Shrapnel from a grenade that was thrown at his troops killed thee, and left him blind in one eye. The painting also had a thin goatee that hid his rather weak chin. The rest of the frame was filled with his large, muscular body that was draped in his traditional dark blue trench coat, making him look even more threatening then he already was. It was also tanner then he was now since he so rarely saw daylight these days.
He turned away and opened the top left draw and pulled out a long, thin cigar and lit it with a wooden match. He exhaled a thick cloud of toxic smoke that slowly filtered throughout the room, then picked up an envelope that was sitting on the desk, until then unnoticed. He tore it open and read it carefully. He smiled grimly to himself. The Latsiaian government had fallen to Serenthia, The country that he had helped raise, that he controlled. The coup had gone off without a hitch. No one except the former president of Latsiana and a few of his higher ups knew, and they were all currently residing at the bottom of the ocean. The official story was that he had retired. The new president was Wilteck Simmerlin, who in reality was nothing more than a puppet of Andrant. Soon the entire west coast would be his, and after that he would be virtually unstoppable. Oh sure, he thought smugly to himself, some would revolt and the minor skirmishes would continue, but in the end it would all be one world power that he controlled. Especially after the development of his new weapon. It was still in development, but he knew it would change the course of history. The effects were horrifying and almost beyond comprehension and its power of destruction were unrivaled. It could level an entire country and kill everybody in a 500 mile radius and sicken people in a thousand mile radius, providing a deathblow to any country he desired. It was his pride and joy, his sword, his doomsday. One of the key ingredients was the newly discovered element Trixix. It had to be mined from deep under the Klentop Mountains and it had to be refined. Unfortunately, those who worked at the mine never lasted long. He had heard of the symptoms of the convicts, prisoners of war, homeless and invalid who caught the mysterious illness, but preferred not to dwell on such morbid thoughts. Soon none of that would matter anymore anyway. The west coast would soon be his, and after that the spreading of his kingdom would be inevitable. But something still bothered him. The Association still lingered, like a sick person doomed to die. They were misguided, idealistic fools who didn't understand that certain sacrifices had to be made for improvement. They had just bombed the senate, killing twelve people including three senators. No matter what he did, legislation, arson, torture, assassination, they still persisted. He knew they wouldn't win, but they were like an itch he couldn't scratch, always on the back of his mind.
He needed to act.