Ok. So, as far as the Secretary, I will be meeting with Saint about a potential replacement. Just to finish the term for a bit. Surprised he walked off.
As far as the Regional Stall, there are a lot of busy people right now. Summer will be a much more stable time.
The Shield of Secrecy Broken
When the Meneldor breached the 1st Perimeter Boundary, The American Defense system went into absolute overdrive as Ships across the system began to rush towards the perimeter Breach. 3 Infinity class supercarriers, The Armstrong, Ouroboros, and Ragnarok, all began to deploy their 11 Stalwart class Frigate escorts which they housed within themselves.
On the Ark itself, a General alert was sounded as Civilians and Military personnel were being tasked with evacuating to their bunkers or a safe location as the Perimeter was breached. The President himself was present in New Columbia when he was briefed about the situation. As the ships approached the Meneldor, a general message was broadcasted to the large ship. "Unknown vessel, Identify yourself! You are in violation of the American Perimeter Defense network. Please Identify yourself or we will be forced to defend out home!" The voice over the communication stated. Though the ships were still a few hundred miles away in sight range, the Infinity class ships and Stalwart class frigates were equipped with weapons capable of attacking from such a distance.
On Mars, the scene was absolute chaos as Mothball fleets were ad hoc assembled with some ships deploying towards the Boreal ocean where a slipspace gate was soon activated by Martian Federal Forces to help aid in taking the American Martian Defense fleet and sending them to the Washington System. Though the trip normally took 2 weeks by Slipspace, it would only take 12 hours via the Martian Gate. It would only be online for an hour before needing to recharge over the course of an entire month...if all went smoothly which it sometimes often didn't with such an energy hungry device on such a large scale. With the slipspace portal opened, it was a bit hard to keep under wraps that something was going on with the American Federation. With a vast swath of their Solar defense fleets being redeployed through the portal to the Washington System, every other nation in the solar system would just see it as nothing more than an American withdrawl, though wherever the fleets went, the Government wasn't going to say as the location of the Washington System was never publicly shown on any Galactic map of the country.
*looks at empty schedule*
*writes in sharpie* "cry"
I'd love to help, but I'm busy.
Being honest there's nothing you really can do, this region is roleplay based and the government is a bit of a joke (no offense to you all) but nobody really cares who's president or who's the defense minister. The only important thing is the roleplay, and currently there ain't much, most of the people on the map don't post and those who do post are few and far between, the only decently active people are FNU, UAF, UE***, Xo (can't believe I said that), and Unovia. Then there's me but I'm currently busy trying to summon a demon to bite off UEs head.
VlorŽ, the Adriatic Coast. The Bottleneck was hell for any vessel looking to go out into the Mediterranean, and everyone knew it. Seaplane pirates were an issue everywhere in the Adriatic, but at the line between the Adriatic and Mediteranean they were as common seagulls, and equally obnoxious. Any ship wanting to pass through usually sought protection from either the military or local bounty hunters, but the latter was far more common with the military being stretched too thin to offer much more than a patrol boat usually. However, on a little speck of an island in the middle of the Bottleneck laid the Hotel Mirno, a middle ground where either side could converse without having to tempt death.
Conversation gently fluttered through the lounge of the hotel, the piano gently whispering as people dined amongst friends and themselves. On the second floor, a balcony overlooked the main dining lounge, and there sat Besmrtna svinja. He was a local cryptid, well known yet also a mystery. All that could be figured of him was that he was indeed a pig, indeed very old, and indeed a bounty hunter. Heíd only been shot down once in his time, the other 246 times, he hadnít had any issue against his opponent. If you wanted a guarantee of safety you requested the Immortal Pig. However, the man traversing the stairs had something much different in mind, the pistol gently clutched in his hand evidence of it. He was unsure if what he wished to do would work, but he figured that whatever magic had damned the Italian likely wasnít bulletproof. By the time heíd reached the top of the staircase, the pink skinned pilot turned to look at him before returning to his plate, no sign of worry befalling him. By the time heíd placed the pistol on the back of the pigís head, all he heard was some mumbling: ďAn old friend once told me that, those with any honour fight in the air, yet here you are.Ē Two seconds later and the would-be assassin found himself pinned to the ground via the chair Svinja had just been sitting on.
After tying the manís hands together with a dinner towel and some champagne wire, the porky pilot made his way outside. It was dark out, but the moon provided a solitary source of some light. There at the end of the dock was the pigís plane. It was older than dirt at this point, and he knew it, but at this point he couldnít bring himself to fly anything else. Its red paint still gleamed as it did so many years ago, and the engine purred like a kitten. On the tail section, a remnant of the life he left so long ago remained, the Italian tri-coulour and the Royal Cross. Hoping into the aircraft, he gently throttled it up, and took off for nowhere.
Just a little introductory post to the first ever media character Iím yoinking, alongside some locations I can abuse use later.