Dominion - Crumbling Enterprise

The night isn't young anymore. She's old and lying down in the midst of her oh-one-hundred-hour stroke. She isn't going peaceful, either. There's turmoil. A lot of gagging, coughing and ratcheting noises. The mobs outside are screaming for blood. The city is one large riot. Three towers were destroyed, all in the down-town core. Hundreds are dead, more are dying. He can't even think about the carnage that he's done. The only thing running through his mind is that he's done a job, done it well, too.

The planet is Delgucwain III, in the Melbasa system. A part of the Lyzrantii Dominion Empire. It's at least a part of the protectorate. A lot of martial law is going to be put into place come tomorrow when the big ships arrive after news of the atrocity hits Lyzrant. What was it? The planets entire electoral eligibles shot, two major corporation boards murdered, two financial institutional buildings destroyed, and the planetary senate brought down in a torrential ruin. It'll be a while before this planet gets out of the new economical slump its about to be plunged into.

There's only a few people who knows he did it. Not that it matters; there's no evidence to prove it, not even to a proper court. The Dominion Empire wouldn't even dare lay a finger on him, either. All his papers in the right order. If something happened to him, there'd be an inquiry. The Gre'kuquen Republic would even go so far as to start a war if things didn't pan out in the end in their favor, if he died.

Who was he? A lowly sergeant in the Gre'kuquen Confederation Navy. An Intelligence Division Naval Insurgent. A group designed to infiltrate, spy on and disrupt the enemy. Too bad for everyone else that the Gre'kuquen Republic considered everyone en enemy, even those it was at peace with.

Sergeant Olek Visarett-Romyal strode from the apartment building quite pleased with himself. He could hear the sirens. The last explosive had detonated approximately five hours ago. In that time, Olek had set his final affairs in order. The ship he had was going to leave from the spaceport in three hours, whether he was on board or not. Plenty of time. It wouldn't take long to get there, probably thirty or forty minutes. The skylanes and surface roads were dead. Most everyone was glued to their intra-neural sensorium, siphoning off information as the government, what was left of it, and emergency crews, released it to the news agencies. It was complete and utter pandemonium. Olek loved every moment.

His glistening black shoes tapped out an up-beat rhythm as he stepped down the marble stairs of the wealthy high-rise. He turned to the figure clad in a red jumpsuit with same-colored overcoat, told him he wanted a fare to take him to the spaceport, waited for the confirmation, and stood in place.

The night never looked so good in her agony.