Saturday, April 1, 2017

Eirinn Go Brach

“Those who shout the loudest represent the fewest,”- Rian Forster, “The Protest” (1969)

March 17, 2017,
18:37 local time,
Doyle’s Shipyards,
Boston Port, Republic of St. Daniel’s


(Dropkick Murphys- I’m Shipping Up to Boston (2005 Epitah Records))

It was a pleasant day at the supply depot for this quaint seaside community, thought the depot’s lone security guard.

Then the murders began.

Before he had time to react, the guard was shot in the head by a sniper located on one of many amphibious assault vehicles headed toward Boston Port. The guard died instantly, and though the other workers at the depot heard the gunshot, today being St. Patrick’s Day, they mistook it for fireworks.

As the assault team approached the harbour, they made quick work of the Boston Port Police, a tiny force that was only meant to service the small town, not fight an army. The team then landed at the harbour, docking at the depot where they would really get to work.

With the rest staying outside to guard the perimeter, communications jammers were placed outside before a dozen soldiers entered the facility. Each carried assault rifles and were more than capable in their use. They were not clothed except for a thong and a head covering with ornamental wings that only exposed their eyes, though strapped on to their legs were various small belts that contained additional weaponry. The women in the group wore tiny string bikinis that barely provided coverage, as well as masks that looked like a bearded Highlander, in addition to also wearing the soldiers’ other clothes.

The only ones in the group who did not wear a mask were the group’s three leads, joint second in command Josephina, a redhead, and Harold Tulock.

...and their leader, Sinn Fein, whose imposing muscular frame he adorned with a vibrant tattoo of a winged druid. He was the most experienced soldier of the bunch and the most capable, using his prowess to assert his dominance over his crew.

As the team entered the work areas, Fein barked at each of the workers, all in various different states of celebration- stereotypically so, thought Fein, as many were drunk- of today’s events. He ordered them all to march in front of him, eventually taking all the workers within the depot- some 56 people- to the expansive boiler room, which provided the depot with power.

“It’s too hot in here,” said some of the workers, not used to the room’s excruciating heat. Some of them even started to take off their clothes before Fein started barking again.

“Silence!” he bellowed, “and put back on your clothes.” He watched with stern eyes as the workers did so.

“Now,” he said in a much calmer tone, which brought out his thick Ulsterian accent. “If you cooperate with me, you might make it out of here alive.”

“Who are you? What do you want from us?” asked one man, a rotund, balding pale-skinned man wearing lots of St. Patrick’s Day paraphernalia, which drew Fein’s ire.

“My name is Sinn Fein,” started Fein, who was then promptly interrupted by the rotund man.

“Sinn Fein?” he said. “Your name is ‘Ourselves’?”

“That’s right,” said Fein, as if the answer was obvious.

“How can you be so full of yourself that you’d call yourself ‘Ourselves’?”

Fein, expressionless, responded by shooting him right between the eyes, killing him instantly.

“Does anyone else dare to question me?” he said, scanning the room. The scared, stunned workers all shook their heads for a “no” answer.

“Good,” said Fein with a smug smile.

“Now, as I said,” he continued. “My name is Sinn Fein. I, like the rest of my crew here, are proud, ethnic Irishmen and Irishwomen. We came out here today to strike against the destructive Irish stereotypes, ones perpetuated by your silly, ‘St. Patrick’s Day’ parties. It is you that forever cast all of Ireland as nothing but a group of drunkards who are lazy and good for nothing except to get into trouble.”

“Really?” said an older woman, who wore green but was otherwise not dressed in St. Patrick’s Day paraphernalia. “I don’t think that at all...I think of the Irish as a fun group of people that love to party and have a good time. I don’t think any of you are lazy.”

Fein casually shot her in the head, killing her instantly.

“St. Patrick’s Day should be a day I fill myself with pride,” said Fein. “Instead, it is a day I fill myself with dread, knowing that the rest of the world uses it as a petty excuse to get drunk and avoid their responsibilities. Meanwhile, too many of my Irish brothers and sisters toil in abject poverty, because they have to deal with the realities your stereotypes have brought upon them. You may think this is all ‘harmless fun’, but you do that viewing it from your privileged lens and fail to see the reality of your actions.”

Fein took a deep breath and then spoke with passionate indignation.

“Well, no more!” he bellowed. “No longer will I allow this malfeasance to continue. No longer will St. Patrick’s Day ‘parties’ be allowed to continue. No longer will anyone desecrate the Irish name and our people. No! Today, I begin the journey that returns us to glory!”

“Okay,” nervously said a young man, slightly tanned and dressed in a dress shirt. “Let us help you with that...you’re right, St. Patrick’s Day does cast the Irish in a bad light.”

The man then reached for his plastic bowler hat, tinted green, took it off and threw it on the ground.

One of the female soldiers took notice of his show of defiance.

“I’m glad that you see the light,” said the soldier who flashed a warm smile as the young man began to pant nervously. The soldier proceeded to walk towards the man, staring into his eyes with an alluring look.

As she walked up to the man, two other soldiers ran beside him and held his arms, immobilizing him.

“Please, please,” he pleaded, “don’t hurt me! I have a daughter...she needs to see her daddy again! She’s only eight...her mother died last year...I’m all that’s left!”

The man continued hyperventilating and began to sweat, watching with anxiety as the female soldier was nonplussed by what she heard. She continued to walk towards him, slowly but methodically, until she found herself right next to him.

At this stage, she knelt down and started to undo his pants.

“No no no!” begged the young man, helpless as the soldier slid down his pants. She then grabbed his penis and began to stroke it, sometimes even licking it, as the young man grimaced at what was unfolding. Whoever this group was, he thought, he never believed he’d see a group so brazen.

Eventually, the young man’s penis got erect, and the soldier had a fun time sucking on it, even though the young man wished she didn’t. Much to his chagrin, she aroused him to the point where he exploded with ejaculate inside her mouth, a load the soldier loved to swallow.

As she did so, she emphasized every movement, just to maximize the psychological effect she was having.

“I like this guy,” she said. She looked back at Fein who gave her a nod, allowing her to pull out a syringe and plunge it into his neck, making him lose consciousness.

After the other soldier dragged back her new conquest, the other soldiers present were eager to get into the fun as well. They went in groups of three and targeted workers they liked- men and women alike- and gang raped them, all while the rest of the depot staff watched on in horror, helpless as the other soldiers kept them from helping out their colleagues. Five men and six women were “enjoyed” by the soldiers, suffering the same fate as the first worker the soldiers had captured. They were destined to become concubines in the group’s harem, a harem the group justified by believing “the world has made Ireland its slaves”.

Then Tulock and Josephina had their own fun with two other hapless workers, before Fein himself stepped into the fray.

Sensing a grand moment, the room was silent as Fein looked into the crowd and picked out a target. He eventually settled on a buxom redhead, Fiona Kjallstrom, the depot’s secretary, and zeroed in on her. He began to undo her blouse and exposed her cleavage, before running his hands on her breasts. He stood over her, expressionless, as the crowd looked on, anxious.

“I’m going to enjoy you later,” he said with an ominous smirk before sticking a syringe in her neck and rendering her unconscious.

He then barked at his soldiers and told them it was time to go, which caused another soldier- a young man who was a recent recruit- to beg to let Fein let him have a choice.

“Sir,” he said, “I’m sorry…I got nervous.”
“I understand,” said Fein. “You’ve never done this before. Go have your choice…but be quick.” He then gave the young soldier a nod, causing him to run at the crowd in excitement.

The young soldier picked out a svelte brunette, exhibiting so much strength that he held her down all by himself. His boisterousness got the better of him while he was raping her, ripping open her vaginal and uterine arteries and causing massive bleeding. Not realizing this, he pulled out his syringe before Fein took aim and shot her dead.

“Hey!” screamed the young soldier, “why’d you do that?”
“You ripped her up,” said Fein coolly. “She was going to bleed out in seconds…you gotta learn when you’re raping someone you can’t just go in like a jackhammer…you gotta be smooth and gentle. There’s no rush.”

The young soldier nodded in acknowledgement while the rest of the depot’s workers gasped, horrified at the callousness of the soldiers.

The soldiers carried on, bringing in a few large baskets which they would use to carry out their new concubines. A few others were selected and sedated, bringing the total group of concubines to 22- 14 women and 8 men.

When the baskets were filled, they were rolled out to one of the depot’s cargo planes, which the soldiers had hijacked. The remaining depot workers were then ordered against the wall along the far corner, all lined up in single file.

Fear gripped the workers, many of whom tried to protest and fight back but the soldiers quickly subdued them. With the depot workers left as a quivering, anxious bunch, Fein made one last address.

“I think most of you understand your fate,” said Fein. “Don’t worry, your friends will be treated well. They paid a price for your transgressions with their freedom, just like you will pay with your lives. Let today serve as a reminder to the wider world that Ireland will never accept a role of subservience ever again.”

The soldiers then cocked their machine guns and aimed them at the crowd. They all then readied their guns and waited eagerly.

Fein then knelt down and recited a prayer:

“Morrigan Morrigan Three times Three,
Hear the words I ask of Thee.
Grant me vision, Grant me power,
Cheer me in my darkest hour.
As the night overtakes the day,
Morrigan Morrigan Light my way.

Morrigan Morrigan Raven Queen
Round and round the Hawthorn Green.
Queen of beauty, Queen of Art,
Yours my body, Yours my heart.
All my trust I place in thee,
Morrigan Morrigan Be with me...”

Jospehina then released a raven as Fein walked back to the group. He then turned to the crowd.

“Eirinn Go Brach!” he shouted.


The soldiers then pumped their cartridges into the hapless workers, killing them all in a bloodbath the world would not forget.