Hail! Hail! to the Queen of Scales


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    A dense fog rolled off London's river Thames. Curfew had been set and her majesty's sentinels were sent out for their evening patrol. One deviation from the resistance's carefully calculated plan could have meant the utter end of a century's worth of research. August 17th, 2050, This was the date marked in stone that the resistance planned to bring a long overdue end to the reign of her majesty, Queen Elizabeth II.


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    The rain pattered rhythmically against the pavement, rival only to the drumming of our boots and the beating of our hearts. Red unit - Birdcage walk, Blue - Mall, and lastly White - Constitution hill. We flanked them from all sides. Our destination, the source of all conspiracy, home to the cold blooded queen, Buckingham palace. Using the cover of London's fog, White unit bobbed and weaved off the path and through the trees narrowly escaping sentinel suspicion, like clock work, all three units converged at Buckingham as Ben echoed out twelve prompt knells. Just in time for the midnight changing of the guards, an age old tradition and the perfect cover for our cause. 

    Stealth was no longer a priority. On Captain Harker's call, once the final chime rang out into endless night, units red and blue exchanged in a hailstorm of gunfire with the queen's mechanized guard. In the midst of the chaos, the alarms, and the death throes of our fallen comrades, I turned to White unit's Commander Briggs, awaiting the order to sally-forth. His stone-faced expression sent a shiver down my spine.

"Ready!" He called, unclipping an M-83 from his belt. We all followed suit and tossed our smoke grenades into the fray. 

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Tipping the Scales

    Buckingham palace now clouded by smoke and fog, Operation Union Jack's White unit B-lined for the palace doors. With one swift kick, Commander Briggs left them in splinters. What confidence we had mustered when storming the palace had left us in shock and pallor on sight. There she stood, calm and composed, as is her majesty's natural demeanor.

    "Tea?" She offered.

    "Take the shot." Briggs grunted through gritted teeth. I stood frozen in place thinking "what if we were wrong?"

    "Take the shot!" Briggs barked. My hand trembled as I reached for my gun. I lined my sights up just below her gilded crown,closed my eyes, took a deep breath, and with a bang, it was over. Her majesty had fallen, Briggs was mortified, he unable to draw his sword, fully expecting something more. We weren't heroes. We were terrorists, terrorists responsible for ending one of the greatest and longest reigning monarchies in world history. 

    Or so it seemed, until she rose once more, peeling the flesh from her face and confirming all of our suspicions: Queen Elizabeth II, The cold blooded reptilian queen. She hissed her foul split tongue and bore her venomous fangs at us.

A smirk crossed Briggs's once startled expression and in a flash he drew his blade and severed her majesty's scaled head. 

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