Gunshots.

A member of the group known as ETR fired his spammer- an automatic pistol- over the wall. Shots were exchanged between the Reserve Guard as they duck behind cover. Police sirens wailed as cars barred citizens from the area. More shots. Rinse and repeat.

Just another day on the job.

Bant Tennerson, Member of the FIC- the Ikaranarean "Federal Investigation Committee" sat there, not fighting, but listening to the carnage from his car. The fighting was up to the Reserve Guard and local police. He was to do the, well, investigation that came afterwards. He heard a shout.

"WE HAVE YOU SURROUNDED AND OUTGUNNED. SURRENDER NOW, AND YOUR LIFE IS NOT VOID."

A tense moment. No shots. The ETR members must have ran out of ammo. After an incredibly long minute, Bant heard the distinct click of handcuffs. It sounded like the battle was over.

He looked out of his car window, and saw three people with their hands bound. The Reserve Guard members looked as happy as military officials just engaged in a battle could be- those 3 were a stubborn bunch. But, again, thank the gods, no civilian casualties. At this rate, the Narussian police would become the best in the world at preventing civilian casualties. Frankly, he couldn't tell whether that was a good thing or a bad thing.

Bant exchanged a few words with the officers. He looked at the building. He felt bad for who ever owned it- it was a small store that was popular in this town. He hoped that they had some damn good insurance.





It was the first time since this damn group popped up that they had managed to capture any of its members. They usually escaped or died. Or tried to escape and were killed. The fact that they surrendered this time could have meant that these were less die-hard members- and their aim may have not been as important, but any information was better then none. The one sitting in the room, separated by a thick glass wall, was the one who fired the gun. What surprised Bant was the fact that he was so young- couldn't be older then 25- and how clean he looked. No tattoos. No scars. It was strange. If you were to give the guy some clothes and put him on the streets, he would look like any regular person. What in the name of all the gods could this ETR group even be?


He prepared his files, his laptop to take notes, and checked to see if his aide- an upstart kid straight out of college who wanted to be in the FIC himself one day- was ready, which he was, and then he spoke into the microphone that blasted into the walled off room.

"Unlawful destruction of private property. Carrying an unauthorized weapon. Armed endangerment of civilians. Resisting arrest with armament. Gang activity. The list goes on, and on. Depending on what your group is, some people are throwing around the T-word. I'm gonna be real with you, kid. You have 2 options here. You don't cooperate, in which case you either rot in a prison in Ikarn or get to feel 2,300 voltts of electricity run through your veins.." He pauses for a second. "Or you cooperate, in which case, you might stay in a more reasonable prison, and only for a few decades. I dont know who your loyalties are to, but trust me, I've seen uncooperative bastards with less charges then you walk out of this room, and by a few years they're begging for the chair. So, if I were you, I'd forget whatever that group you fought for told you about loyalty or whatever bullshit they made up to indoctrinate their members and answer my questions to the best of your ability."

The prisoner looked at him through the glass wall with utter disdain. But there was also a hint of fear, an emotion Bant had learned to recognize a long time ago. He found that it was easier to interrogate it the captive new what they were getting into if they didn't cooperate. The Ikaranarean judicial system was particularly harsh to uncooperative people.

"I want to get started with an easy question. What does ETR stand for?"

30 seconds' pause.

"Eat The Rich."

His aide started typing, and he himself wrote it down on his notes.

"Good choice. Do you have any clue what that name signifies, or is it some mindless drivel?"

A slightly shorter pause, before: "What it signifies is the destruction of the Narussian elites and the overly rich all over the country, the equalization of the working class to the standards of the most privileged."

"So, it's socialist propaganda. Great. What was your goal when attacking 'Mandrin's Market' on Lost street in the city of Akeros?"

A long pause then. "We were meant to go somewhere else. The cops pinned us near there, so we entered that store."

"Then where were you supposed to go?"

"The abandoned building on Tennet street."

He made a note for the police in case other members made it to that location.

"And what business did you have over there?"

"Hell I know. I was just following orders."
---
The investigation continued like this for some time. He was able to get some menial information about the gang, which was much bigger then he previously expected. More than 5000 members just in one location.? But then, he asked the biggest question on his list.

"What is the overall aim of this group? From what you've told me, you don't smuggle drugs, or weapons- although you can get them. You don't do anything moneymaking at all, really. What is your purpose?"

He seemed resigned to answer this question. It didn't take the prisoner a long time to respond.


"To establish a new regime in Ikaranara."



That's when it hit him. The FIC kept thinking "gang, gang, gang." But the evidence the past weeks didn't point to anything that could make this group money. It's like their funding came from elsewhere. And moreso, the horrible truth was, with the sheer size of this "gang," there was another possible explanation.

Insurgents.

And his time was over. He would have to interrogate another day.

"Police will be here shortly to escort you to your trial."


And then he looked at his aide.
"Schedule us a briefing with the Head Governor and his cabinet immediately. This is not a matter of organized crime. This is a matter of national security."