Northern Utopia

ACT IV - And for Two Thousand Years There Was War

“And you’re sure about this?” A woman asked, dressed in a dress shirt with a black skirt.

“So long as ‘Volkov’ exists, ‘he’ will be a target. This much is necessary for what is to come. He will be the necessary cover to shield and to obfuscate what we seek to accomplish,” A man responded, overlooking another man on a hospital bed. The man on the bed was covered in wounds and stitches, the bandages covering his body stained in red. “I had grown complacent, I looked on to the enemies outside that I didn’t realize the enemies breeding from within. Enough sacrifices have been made, this will be the single greatest sacrifice to outweigh all that we have lost. A temporary setback, and another addition to the list of my sins. But, one day, it will all make sense to those who would oppose us.”

“So, you want us to go through with the operation? This is a one-way road, no going back after this. Are you prepared for its consequences?” The woman inquired, hands crossed.

“I was prepared for it the moment we crossed the boundary. Let justice be done though the ‘heavens’ fall. Inform the medical staff, prepare the operation. I lament I have to share this burden… Regardless, one day, they will look back on our actions and look with gratitude. No gods, no masters. Say, what results have we gained from what we recovered at the Atoll?” The man inquired.

“More than we could have expected, it was a treasure trove. Not to mention our being coming into contact with them. It goes without saying, but your hunch was correct. The pharmaceuticals we discovered are beyond what we could have expected, the ability to alter the human mind, it unlocks a new tool for our operations,” The woman replied, handing a clipboard to the man.

The man looked down at the clipboard, a series of medical testing results laid out in printed texts, “Good, it makes this much more easier. Once the alterations to the physical appearances are finished, prepare him for its applications. You have the script, yes?” The man asked.

“Yes, I do have it. But, are you sure about this? That script, it’s everything, the truth. Are you ready to provide him with the whole truth to achieve this?” The woman inquired.

“It’s the only way. This only works if he thinks that he is me. For this, he must know everything. Remember this…” The man placed his hand on the woman’s shoulder, “Danila is dead. Now, I hope you’ll have everything necessary for the operation accommodated for, I have… Much to do.” The man left the room.

The woman stared at the unconscious man in the bed before looking away, “I have no room for regret, not anymore. If this is the path he will take, then I’ll follow him to hell to see it through if I must.” The woman spoke to herself, turning off the lights in the hospital room.

…

“What is ‘he’ really planning?” Nikolai asked, a fierce look in his eyes.

“Insurance, for the new age. ‘Him’, the real one will be working on his own for a while. So, he’s leaving his right-hand man in charge.” The same woman from before replied, now in a separate place.

“Danila-”

“As far as this new situation of ours is concerned, he is dead,” The woman interjected.

“What is it all for?” Nikolai inquired, a little shaken.

“To ensure the tomorrow we get is the brightest it will be. After his machinations come to fruition, the seeds he’s planted have unearthed its riches, when he reaps what he sowed, everything will have changed. Yet nothing will feel different, at least to the uninitiated outside. To us? Nothing will feel the same. The gardens he plants today will be the environment of a new era.” The woman explained.

“A new tomorrow? So, no more anomalies, no more threats, no more… Of all of this?”

“In a sense. Of course, the only threat that remains to this world will be itself. Humans are unusually stubborn about its hatred for one another, I guess in an environment where it has had no competitors, the only thing left is to compete with one another, so they differentiate themselves by race, by color, by ethnicity, of nationality, faith, and even down to gender to ensure they don’t feel remorse. Us vs them. But, after what’s to come, humans will no longer feel alienated and differentiated by one another.”

“By how? We’ve bled each other out for thousands of years, how can he expect to change everything?”

“By ensuring mankind gains the enemy it has so thoroughly required, something different, something truly alien, but most importantly? A true competition. There are things in this world you don’t know about, for thousands of years, the unspeakable have long hidden in the shadows. When humankind realizes the true nature of this world, billions will clamor for war. From which, the world will be united against an enemy.”

“So that’s how it is… He’ll make this shadow war we’ve fought against the unspeakable since the dawn of time one which is exposed into daylight. Then, what we’ve had to deal with, Tigritsa, the anomalies, they’re just the tip of an impossibly deep iceberg. And what if humanity wins this war? When the guns go quiet?”

“We have to shape that age. We’ll each have roles to play. Building the foundation for a revolution from which the world will be changed forever, led by ‘Volkov’ - the true one, and the phantom.”

“... No, If human life is pieces on a chessboard to him, ‘Volkov’ can go to hell. I’ll play along with this farce, make the Phantom stronger and ensure that, once this ‘new age’ comes? We’ll build the new future, not him.”

“Hm… You know, one day, there will only be room for one ‘Volkov’. And if the day ever comes you decide to side with the Phantom, I’ll aid the real one. Then you and I will be enemies, too. One of us will have to kill the other.”

“... Fine by me, I’ll be ready for the new age. Until then, we’d better get used to coexisting.” Nikolai stood up, walking to the door, leaving the woman as he slammed the door behind him.

“So be it…” The woman muttered to herself, turning to leave as well.

INSTALLATION-01
TIGRITSA MOUNTAIN RANGE
1730 ZULU HOUS
MEDICAL WING

(BGM: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IU2wBKoDOzg)

A man woke up in a bed, covering his eyes from the hospital room lights. Until he noticed it, his right arm, no longer bone and flesh, but a cold, polished metal alloy. Staring at his face through the polished metal as he visibly panicked, pushing himself out of bed and crawling toward the door. Hearing the commotion, a male nurse walked in, seeing the man crawling on the floor as the man grabbed the nurse by the leg with his metallic arm, pulling him onto the ground and punching him in the face.

With the nurse unconscious, the man tried to lift himself off the ground, until soldiers barged in, pointing their rifles until promptly lowering it as they grabbed the man, pulling him back onto the bed, restraining him. A doctor rushed in,

“Sir! Calm down, you are safe! This is Installation-One!” The doctor tried to comfort the man, but he didn’t budge as he continued resisting. The nurse inserted a needle into the man’s hand, injecting a sedative into his blood stream as he relaxed, the sedative calming his nerves as he fell unconscious.

“The Boss said this would happen.” A soldier remarked.

“What do we do if the Chief keeps coming back agitated like this?” The other one asked.

“We keep trying until he acclimates to the new situation. We have to, if not for the Boss, then for the Chief’s sake,” The soldier responded, staring at the man on the bed. “Oh Chief… What did they do to you?”

…

The man began waking up again as a doctor stood at the edge of his bed, “Can you hear me?”

“Are you having difficulty speaking?” The doctor asked, looking somewhat worried at the non-verbal state of the man.

“Can you move your head?” The doctor asked as he saw the man look around, “Just nod if you can hear me.”

The man slowly nodded as the man pulled out a penlight, flashing it at the man’s eyes, seeing the pupils narrow, before raising it, “Just follow the light, now… Look up, please?” The doctor instructed as he saw the man look up.

“Very good… Now, can you speak?” The doctor asked. “Can you recall any basic information?” The doctor added until he turned, seeing a soldier hailing him as they nodded sideways, indicating for them to not ask. The doctor obliged.

“Well… You appear to be fine, but the lack of audible responses is a little concerning. Still, if you don’t wish to speak, I will not pry further. Now… This will come as… A rather shocking news to you, but you’ve been in a coma for an extended period, a few months to be exact. During your helicopter journey to Installation-01, you were attacked by hostile defectors during a failed attempt to seize power of the organization. You suffered extreme injuries,” The doctor explained, showing a CT scan of a torso riddled with shrapnel. “We removed most of it, but due to the serious nature of your injuries, we put you in a medically induced coma for a few months, nearly five months to be exact. Because of the injuries you sustained, we had to… Amputate your right arm, as you can see…” The doctor added as the man stared at the metallic arm.

“A prosthetic from Northern Electrica, high-quality, top of the market one. I understand that this is a shock to you, but do understand your right arm shattered in multiple places from the impact of the helicopter crash, shrapnel from an anti-air missile striking it, and gunshot wounds. It’s a miracle you are still alive. Despite the… Best of our abilities, we were unable to prevent scaring on your face,” The doctor offered a handheld mirror. “Cosmetic surgery could only do so much, unfortunately these are the scars you will carry with your life,” The doctor added as the man stared at the mirror, his metallic arm crushing the plastic handle.

This wasn’t right, something was wrong, terribly wrong. The face was familiar, more than anything, but the face he wore on the mirror didn’t feel like his. His head was… It was a mess, he remembered things he didn’t remember remembering, experiences, sounds, smells, emotions, and… Hatred, hatred of such unparalleled degree swelling up and burning inside him. Hatred of such sickening and inhuman levels… Tectunia… The gods… The Three Point Peninsula… Yukina… Yura… These were the words that kept repeating in his head. They felt real, yet not at the same time. As in, the memories felt real, just that it didn’t feel like his.

It didn’t help that he couldn’t remember anything else for that matter, just memories that feel like strangers to him. Yet, these were all he could remember. Perhaps he was thinking about it too much, perhaps a nearly five month-long coma had left him somewhat confused and muddled… Yes, it had to be so… But, the feeling couldn’t be shaken off, that something was terribly wrong.

The man sighed, “Status report?”

A soldier walked forth, “Chief, in your absence, Director Viktoria has been heading the remaining loyal members of the council as the provisional acting auditor. I can call her if you want.”

“Do so.”

“Yes, Chief.” The soldier responded, walking out of the room, followed by the doctor.

…

A woman walked in, with long black hair fashioned into a simple ponytail with side tails, “Volkov, it’s good to see you up and awake again.” The woman stated.

Volkov? No, he was… He was… Who was he again? … He’s Volkov. ‘I am Volkov,’

“Volkov?” The woman asked.

The man shook, staring back at her, “... Viktoria, I- … What’s the status with our military strength? How are our soldiers?” The man asked.

“We sustained a great deal of loss, we’re only at half our operational strength. We repelled the defectors, but our security and military forces were depleted. Regardless, soldiers can be recruited later, what we require is your administrative acumen.” The woman explained.

“... reroute reserve medical resources to treat wounded security and military personnel, and get me proper clothing… I want to speak with the council.”

…

“I have to personally thank Ms. Viktoria for acting in my absence. Now, regarding the state of the organization in the wake of the Fourth, the Fifth, and the Eight’s defection and attempted ousting of myself from power, I feel it prudent to announce coming changes. From henceforth, you will not refer to me as the Auditor, but the Chief Director of the Department of Abnormalities, as well as the Chief Executive Officer of the Novatek Corporation. From henceforth, it is clear the Department will need to operate in the light, so it stands to reason we need a front-facing cover, being a corporate entity. I am under the impression the defectors are currently operating out of Paradyne. The calculus of our situation has drastically shifted, from henceforth, you can consider the department to be in a state of war with the defectors. By maintaining a physical presence in the veiled world, it provides us the agility to operate in places we were previously unable to. Any objections?” The man asked, staring at the screens.

“A unanimous agreement, then it is settled.” Viktoria stated.

[CLOSED RP]

There's an ancient proverb often spoken in the Kilamehi Rainforest.- "What differentiates a great leader from a good leader, is the ability to give up power when the time's right."

Unfortunately, Kilameh's provisional caretaker Akhileshwar Amaty, didn't get the privilege of giving up power, when he fell down the stairs today at his residence. He was chosen to lead the nation through a transitional phase, while the Kilamehi people decided what type of nation they wanted to build. A jack of all trades, Akhileshwar managed to restore most of what infrastructure was destroyed during the civil war, and set up the foundation of important industries, as well as jumpstart important industries such as Kilameh's indigenous semiconductor industry that makes highly specialized logic chips in small quantities.

However his tenure failed to ultimately settle on Kilameh's government system. Therefore, as soon as the other prominent Kilamehi leaders heard about his death, they knew this could be huge for their trust funds.
------------------

White coats could be seen everywhere in the Malakus District Hospital, where doctors desperately try to save a man long gone. In the waiting room sit 4 distressed individuals, knowing what this means for the young republic.

On a beanbag in the corner of the room lays the young general Alto.D.Vitis, now a Field Marshall and Head of the General Staff. He is a celebrated war hero in a country that not long ago was foreign to him. Born to a father of Miotian descent, several political rivals call him the Kingdom's spy or asset.

On the Afzhiz Sofa, sit two people.
Reading a magazine is a middle aged woman named Nadia Korovin, director of the Corellon Intelligence Buereau, and Head of the EYE Program. She recently led a successful operation in which the CIB eliminated around 80 assets belonging to Altikar.

Next to her is a man applying lip balm on his heavily chapped lips, Dr. Saghir Navaz. A renowned researcher turned Interior Minister is a relatively quiet man. Some call him the perfect successor to Amaty, due to the two's similar laid back posture.

On the right side of the room lies a red armchair, on which is sitting another young man. With heavy mascara surrounding his green eyes, it's almost as if he's looking right through you. The man is the current Archon of the Corellon Church, Caelion II, the only one who has no business being in the room, however no one minds it either.

A very serious looking doctor struts into the waiting room, and breaks the news.

"Mr. Amaty is no more, as he was thirty minutes ago when he was brought in. I told them that this is a dead man but they forced me to run all sorts of tests. Do they think I'm a novice. I'm the best goddamn diagnostician in this republic for Corellon's sake"

The room stays silent, for they knew he was dead, however tried one last time to avoid this impending crisis.

"I guess it's time for a Constitutional Convention", says Alto.D.Vitis.

Indeed. It was time for a Constitutional Convention.

------------------

In other news....

The Provisional Government has released the 'Dasrakh Report' this Wednesday, concluding a two year long investigation on Kilamehi involvement in the infamous Dasrakh incident. The Dasrakh Committee, one comprised of people from the Kilamehi Supreme Court, Armed Forces, and Military Police worked over two years and concluded that the Kilamehi Liberation Forces only sent a team of Lieutenants to study Altikarian tactics used in the battle of Dasrakh, unaware of the atrocities that were soon to be carried on. The report also has statements from the Altikarian Armed Forces whistleblowers that state that there was no Kilamehi involvement in the incident. The committee thus releases this 234 page long report to the public to see.

Aurora Central Broadcasting

__ __ __ __ __ __ __ __ __ __ __ __ __

`` Halló, good afternoon, I am Heydirsson. You are watching Aurora Central Broadcasting. The current time is 12:00 P.M Stortfjall Standard Time.

Our first news of the day: Triton, ABSYSTEMS, and Eltrax Inc, three of the biggest defense contractors for the Ministry of Security and Defense, have been indicted on charges of corruption, antitrust violation, bribery, and attempted murder. Following an attempted kidnapping and murder of several parliament-appointed investigators assigned to a corruption investigation regarding the aforementioned defense contractors. The Metropolitan Police Department of Stortfjall was mobilized to the corporate premises of these three contractors following the indictment. We'll move to Ms. Idrina Missinova on the ground, Ms. Idrina? ``

`` Thanks, Heydirsson. I'm currently standing in front of Triton's offices, where tensions are running high as police officers and tactical response units are currently staged outside, attempting to break down barricades erected by individuals inside. This standoff has lasted for almost half an hour as law enforcement have warned over loudspeakers that more serious measures would be utilized unless the higher-ups of Triton willingly surrender themselves. As you can see behind me, several officers can be seen armed with riot gear, with reports that they are preparing to utilize tear gas and less-than-lethal equipment to breach the premises if they have to. ``

`` I see and have representatives from Triton, ABSYSTEM, and Eltrax Inc made any statements regarding the ruling or the ongoing law enforcement siege? ``

`` As of now, there have been no comments made thus far, whether in person or on their social media pages. However, judging by the corporate premises being barricaded, we can assume that the reactions were not positive. ``

…

“And what the hell do you want me to do about it?! You said that the Auroran National Action would win the election! And now the parliament has their hounds purging the military for corruption!” A man in a military dress uniform spoke over a phone.

“Listen, we’re running out of time. Before long, law enforcement is going to breach those front doors, and I won’t be able to protect you or anyone else. As a favor for what I’ve done for you in the past, I’m asking you to do this. If we can pull off what I’ve suggested, then our worries will be permanently erased. Afterwards, the only issue will be smothering the fire and damage control.” Another man responded over the phone.

“We’re already doing damage control! You want me to commit treason so that we don’t go to prison? Are you out of your mind?!” The officer shouted.

“Shouting isn’t going to solve anything; action will. It’s a gamble, regardless; whether we succeed or not, we’ll attempt to end this on our own terms. Would you rather their hounds arrest and try you without a fight? You know what the outcome is if they put you on trial. You either do this, or we’re both going down together.” The man on the other side of the phone explained.

“Are you threatening me?!” The man asked angrily, slamming his desk.

“If the need arises, I will use all my means to get myself out of this. If we want to avoid that outcome, you have to do as I say; otherwise, it’s a world of pain waiting for us.”

“... I’ll consider it,” The officer responded, hanging up the call before burying his face in his hands.

“... F–k… F–k… F–k! I should have never gone through with their suggestions in the past, and now I’m stuck in this legal quagmire…” The man lamented before staring down his landline. Shakily reaching over, he dialed a number.

“*Ring*”

“Sir?”

“... Prepare the division for an unscheduled exercise; have them ready to deploy out from base by the afternoon. I just received a surprise memo from MOSD.”

“Yes sir, I’ll inform the battalion commanders.” The officer hung up the landline.

…

“Hey… Where the hell are we going?” A soldier asked, peering out from the top hatch of an armored personnel carrier driving along a highway headed north.

“S–t, beats me, PSG said we were being sent on an unscheduled surprise exercise, got the whole division being mobilized for it.” Another soldier replied.

“A surprise exercise? Who authorized it?” The soldier asked again.

“Apparently MOSD told the Major General to do it, so now we’re heading out.” The other soldier explained.

“... Okay, I see… But why are we heading north? We usually go south for exercises; what the hell are we doing going north towards the capital?” The soldier asked.

“Listen, I’m not a genie; I don’t have all the answers for you, man. Now, get the hell back in here before Company Command makes a fuss about soldiers poking their heads out of vehicles during transit.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah…” The soldier responded, heading back inside the cramped troop compartment as he looked around to see his fellow squadmates either napping or fiddling with their smartphones.

“Hey, are y’all getting cell reception out here? I’ve got no bar at all.” A soldier asked.

“I thought I was the only one; maybe Tengja is having an outage?” Another theorized.

“An outage when we’re nearing the capital, really? Maybe on the periphery, but right in the capital seems improbable, honestly.” Another responded.

All they could think at that point was one thing: that something strange and abnormal was going on. What was it? They couldn’t tell, but obviously something was happening, or about to happen.

…

Aurora Central Broadcasting

__ __ __ __ __ __ __ __ __ __ __ __ __

(BGM: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JXtujxT9rzA)

A man in military attire, flanked by soldiers, appeared on the broadcast,

`` Due to failing public confidence in their current administration to execute their responsibilities as dictated by the constitution and serious lapses in administrative and legal judgment, the capital will be temporarily falling under provisional military authority until stability within the government can be re-established. We ask that residents cooperate and work alongside military forces in enforcing this until our republic can find its right footing. I, Major General Sigtýr Asksson, will be provisionally assuming the role of Minister of Security and Defense in the wake of Minister Frans Hugleiksson’s resignation, citing his lack of confidence in continuing to lead the armed forces of the Republic of Aurorheim. As provisional minister, I ask that the armed forces execute their oath-given duties to this republic, and fulfill what is necessary to preserve our country, our way of life, and our democracy. ``

...

Armored vehicles and platoons of nervous soldiers had gathered around Stortfjall as residents watched from their balconies and from the sidewalks. Their early morning commutes were disrupted by the sight of armored personnel carriers enforcing roadblocks with armed soldiers setting up defensive perimeters and taking up vantage points.

Main battle tanks shook up neighborhoods and blocks as their tracks passed through the streets of the capital city before stopping at the designated areas, pivoting and pointing their turrets towards intersections, highways, and roads as a tense peace formed within the capital.

The roaring of engines hadn’t subsided as armored vehicles all began moving out towards key buildings, splintering and jutting out towards their intended targets. The people watched as armed soldiers stepped out of their vehicles, rapidly pacing towards the Ministry of Security and Defense’s building, corporate premises of Triton, ABSYSTEM, and Eltrax, promptly disarming and detaining police officers, confiscating their weapons.

It didn’t take a mathematician to understand what was happening; it was a coup d’etat. The stubborn cries of old people unable to accept that the world was changing, that their way of life was coming to an end.

Keighuan Historical Public Park, Ellisburgh City-Metropolitan Commune, Hournesol, Astana-Anders
—-----------------

Cloudy days as always.

Wind flows between the crevices and arches of blades of grass, which are eroded and carved from their original position by the flow of the air currents. A thousand cycles of natural erosion and consolidation with each force of the gust. An infinite amount reflective repetition of the objective world until it ends in just an infinitesimal small patchwork of space.

Small patches of neutral, grey deserts of almost perfectly smooth limestone dot the floor. They are interrupted by small fissures or elevations within them, either ant hills or otherwise rises within the earth itself. As far as the eye can see, the horizon is distorted by the presence of hills to the northwest and southeast, rising above the rest of it like monuments - artificial structures seemingly of a past cycle of life.

A man enters the picture, he wears a dark, fuzzy trench coat, that goes all the way to his knees - exposing a pair of grey khakis and polished and shiny dress shoes. He's old, his comb over nearly white. A head like a pentagon flipped outside down, fissures dot across his chalky white face, sagging underneath the gravity of the world. Yet his eyes are full of life, an ocean of brown water within them as it sinks into a nearly all-consuming dark vortex of a pupil.

Behind him is a younger man. He wears a vest with a camera attached to it, extending outward like an arm emerging from his stomach, with a microphone attached to the end of it - a fuzzy grey head at the very end of it. He is wearing a complete black outfit. Black sweatpants, black tennis shoes, black t-shirt, even a black ski mask topped off with a pair of dark sunglasses. The only notable thing about him is a pastel red baseball cap turned backwards - revealing gushes of his brown, curly hair from the hole within it.

They continue walking.

The old man stops. He turns around 150°, facing somewhat towards the camera, revealing a microphone within his hands, though one only the size of his thumb.

He speaks softly.

"Testing. Testing. One. Two."

The camera man gives him a thumbs up.

He gulps. Fixes his trench coat's collar.

He begins.

"Keighuan Historical Public Park is a 350 square kilometer public area just 10 kilometers south of Ellisburgh's legendary Bowhead District Commune and 15 kilometers northwest of Shepardsborough, a small city of just 11,000 people - including the wider incorporated communal districts. It's rather unremarkable for its size. Home to native species of Silent Marrowok, a type of Prairie Bunting, as well as populations of Astanai Plateau Goats and the rare Hournesolese Whelp. Other than that, there really isn't much the average Astanai or tourist would ever really want to visit.

And yet, this site is constantly ranked among the top 20 public parks for tourism for the past half century - ever since its foundations in 1930 even. To answer why lies in the fact that where I'm standing here right now was home to the single deadliest single day of combat and the deadliest day in recorded Astanai history. Here, in this 350 kilometer square park, over 35 thousand men and women died over the course of 24 hours.

The reason why is simple; where I'm standing is the most defining moment of the 2nd Battle of Ellisburgh, where a combined total of 98 thousand people died, in order for the Astanai Republican Army to retake and hold the city of Ellisburgh from the Imperial Army of Astana-Anders. And it all began, with a simple telegraph.

On May 4th, at exactly 6:37 A.M., First Officer of the 45th Rifle Division, Colonel Paxton Forshaven, would receive a telegram passed onto him by his superior, First Officer of the 12th Army Corp, Corp General Victor Fitzsimons. It was a telegram directly sent by Dimitri Kier himself. Just a few hours prior, Commissar-General August Kork had received information from the First Commander of the 32nd Infantry Regiment, Lt. Colonel Louis-Prosser Bulk, that Imperial Lieutenant General, Stanley Baptist, with his 15th Infantry Division would mount an attack through the Ellisburgh Basin, taking the southern outlying villages of Shepardsborough, Bernstin, and Mercan, using that as a jumping off point to smash into southern Ellisburgh, whilst the main force under General Ian Murray would continue pressuring Commissar-Generals Ida Holmes and August Kork from the Northeast.

Knowing that no such reinforcements could be sent to aid Forshaven, Dimitri would send a letter to his officers. It was then passed onto Forshaven at sunrise. It reads as such;"

He takes out a horizontally long paper. It is yellowish and slightly crumpled.

"I must congratulate all you officers and soldiers whenever possible. In any other circumstance, a weaker man would have been destroyed under the sheer weight of this awesome catastrophe.

As such, I have but one thing to ask. If I must stoop to the level of our opponents and take upon the minstrel caricatures they have assigned me, then I shall take hold and issue my first - and only - royal prerogative: that should all our socialist republic fall, should all our victories and struggles be in vain and are cast out of this world and history like proverbial Luciferians that we are, that one thing remains to stand as our sole reason and accomplishment. That on this day, not a single inch of Ellisburgh's mechanized and blood-soaked earth and soot is reclaimed by the Imperial vultures apart and to be apart of the wider ecosystem of industrialist and gentry reaction.

That is all."

—-----------------

A man stares off in the distance. He oversees everything going on. He sees the old man giving a salute - pointing at a large, expansive crest of hills out in the distance. Some of them are dented, unnatural slumps and dips within the largely uniform plateau. The artillery was so intensive that even chunks of the hills were taken off. He sips something from a grey steel thermostat. It's almost 10 A.M., yet it is still below 16.

The man is rather tall, standing at about 5'10. He wears a simple grey trench coat alongside a bowler hat. He is much younger than the host. With a thin stubble of blonde hair for a beard, a square chin, a head like a beehive that stretches out into the curve of a large, thin nose, sloped like the diagram of Boyle's law. He continues to drink from his thermostat.

Behind him is a traffic of action. Stagehands rush with gigantic metal poles of lamps to and fro location and location. Hosts are sitting on chairs waiting for their turn, reading scripts and screenplays within their chairs. In the distance, a set of trailers are parked and lament over their idle situation. Make-up artists and cameramen are too hustling throughout the set.

In the orderly disorder and commotion, a rather young man comes onto the scene. He passes through the crosswalks of oncoming human traffic and disrupts the carefully planned and organized paths of all those he accidentally comes across. Yet with each step of his walk he strides into it with reckless abandon, each step assured - as if he believes himself to be of no issue for those passing by - merely a small speed bump or roundabout they will quickly forget about.

The man wears a massive open, blue overcoat - almost a fusion between a duffel and pea coat - a large hoodie twice the size of his head, alongside large and fat sleeves, yet slim down the waist - obscuring parts of his maroon cargo pants. His face is rather like an inverted triangle, with signs of it being crumpled near his eyes. His hair is dirty blond, short and spiked upward, with the sides of his head shaved, leaving behind a faint gray patch all around his cranium.

He continues to dart his way toward the man observing everything, he himself calmly observing everything around him; the set designers articulating exactly how they wish the shot to be documented, prop workers making sure each camera and piece of lightning equipment is exact to how the director envisions it, day labourers carrying heavy sandbags and boxes full of professional equipment. An ecosystem all to its own.

The man rushes past through, and finally meets the gentlemen overseeing it all. An aide to his side, and, briefly surprised, taps him on his shoulder to turn around, spinning his hand to simulate the motion.

The man overseeing it all turns around, and stares straight into him: perplexed, his eye ridge crests into a wave. Then the man remembers him, his eye ridge forming into the shape of a mountain as he recalls who the young man is.

"Nice to meet ya, Mr... ?" Asks the man overseeing it all.

"Holloway, Witness Holloway." Asks the younger man.

"Ah right, sorry. My mind wanders a lot ever since the first drafts were approved of.' He motions away his aide with his left and with the right for the younger man to come with him. 'Eh come, come. I'll have them re-shoot it later."

They once more move through a crowd of people, but as they do so, a wide open space forms around them. As if the man who's overseeing it all's very existence is to not be disturbed by them. They soon make it to a rather empty part of the set, the grass undisturbed by any footprints except their own and for those who came before.

"Once again, sorry for my forgetfulness"

"Izal good. You're not the first nor will you be the last."

"Pfeh. So uh, re-jog my memory real quick, who's this for again?"

"Oh, I'mma the correspondent for The Flouvesabaster Republic, I'm the herd media journalist. And well, Commonwealth TV has made quite a stink over this new project."

"Yeah, it's our first serious historical doc for the start of the new Noahs admin. They wanna make a good first impression for the new government."

"I see."

"And well, what better way to do it then a staple. Good ol' military history."

"Brings ya back to the 90s right?"

"Hehe. Indeed. It's how I got into the whole business of military history in general."

"You know, mast film students don't have innie interest in joining the Aura (ARA), ya'know?"

"Different times kid.' He strokes his facial hair. 'Back then, everything was tied with each other. The military had influence with everything. And everything had influence on everything. And I don't mean in the commonsense idea, like how socioeconomics and politics affect everything. I mean it literally. Those kids back in my day studying horticulture or Fengese culture were just as responsible for planning counterinsurgency operations in Ubvebas. And those same kids in turn were influenced by the military."

"HA! I knoose it!"

Confused.

"Wha?"

"I knoose that sentiment was present within your documentaries! I just didn't think you'd ever formally admit it."

"Well, you gotta leave the readers with something."

"True at"

The two look back to the film set. A commotion has arisen. The scene they were directing has ended, and so the actors have decided to take a little break with their next take now on hold as they are discussing.

"Well regoddess. If I have to ask, what exactly made ya wanna focust on Keighuan specifically? Ya usually forcust on the more technical aspects of the military. You know. Individual engineer units. Research specialists. Their stories and was-not."

"Anyone interested in this subject knows the story of Keighuan. How 98 thousand men and women would die in little over half a day. How Paxton would end the battle with his right arm completely severed and carried by half-dead compatriot soldiers. How Baptist himself would perish, perched over a column of failed bayonet charges."

The director looks over back at the film set.

"You see that hill, the one that was an overhead passage?"

"Ye."

"For over an hour, as the left-wing of the III Rifle Regiment smashed into the incoming cavalry charge overlooking Courtesy Ridge, that's the name of that their hillside in order for the right and center to flank and attack their weaken left and centre: over 1,000 artillery shells would strike that their ridge - a centre of sniper control and quick foot movement - causing it to collapse, and killing over 1,000 men and woman who were standing on or descending upon that hill."

"Common knowledge, right?"

"One of the most cinematic experiences you can ever read about."

"So, why then here?"

A pause for a second.

"Under King Joseph I, the entire Ellisburgh Basin's communal pastures and commons would be encloused under the orders of the Imperial Elector to the March of Darling Country, under the authority of the Duke of Feeisegull. It would now serve two purposes only; for extraction of resources for public works and for recreational use - both of which were due to the high levels of phosphate within the river banks northbound of Ellisburgh.

In the outbreak of the Black Decade war, the entire area was protected and patrolled by the March's son's militia following the outbreak of peasant riots within the area and prior, in which it endured heavy extraction in order for its manufactories to be able to readily produce bog iron for weapons and equipment. And yet, no matter how many more common land they enclosed and how many peasant families fell into poverty, they couldn't keep up with demand. And all it had accomplished was further ballooning the debts by the crown himself, the point where even the wealth from Veoannia couldn't account for it. And so, payments were halted to specific vendors. Including the soldiers, and there's nothing worse than an unpaid soldier

The area would be held under the March of Darling Country until the Edict of the Public Works, in which the right to build public works and the land to such works was sold to a consortium of urban workers from, where else? Ellisburgh. The man who led the experiment? Nathaniel Baptist.

The Imperial Ellisburgh Baptismal Construction Manufactory would be given the exclusive right to construct and maintain levees, enclosures, ditches, urinals, water conduits, and all other manners of public utilities, whilst the March was now given exclusive authority to ensure their protection from thieves and scoundrels. In effect, what was left of the militia in the aftermath of King Maximilien's military reforms would effectively form the foundation of the later Imperial Police.

To compensate the lords for their loss of taxable land, infrastructure responsibilities, and now loss of their personal mercenary armies - the Imperial crown granted them the exclusive right to loan funds for these new start-ups to pay off their own debts.. In response, many of these new businesses would split themselves in twain; selling the obligations of their offices to subordinate or mutual partners, buying the office of public works and then starting another company, impersonal to their name and selling it to them for a fee. Even some went so far as to sell the maintenance of their public works to others, whilst retaining the right to build the original property.

The Church took notice. The largest landowner, and directly tied to the crown, they initially chaffed at the loss of their exclusive right to maintain and construct their own monuments and offices. But with their loss, they no longer had to spend as much on their own upkeep, and could even pay others far cheaper to do so than they could do so on their own, and thus would themselves become married to the feudal-owned banking system. In fact, they were now liberated to use their coffers on the non-essentials. The arts, poetry, the humanities. And all of that was directed to their universities under their system.

The University of Ellisburgh, just a couple of kilometers from here, was the epicenter of this. Their former modest classes and crypt churches were decorated with the finest decorum the prairies had seen. And in doing so, they hungered more. They loaned massive surpluses to these new companies. But these companies, so loaded with contracts and so few with capital or mechanisms to make profit, were struggling to keep up. So, these universities, with their privileges to conduct business autonomously from the limits of their city's status with crown permission, rewrote the laws: allowing these companies to be as flexible as before.

One of the authors of such a proposal, which allowed the owners of these businesses to create companies separate to themselves, a function reserved for state-owned trade corporations, was Hugo Murray, nephew of the Governor of the Feeisegull.

Each expansion, each new responsibility and right incurred, each incurred another peasant family going homeless, another craftsmen and guild being usurped and going bankrupted or outright subsumed and forced into servitude. Another project to enlist indentured Veoannish into. In fact, I read about a peasant from Mordecai - a town that was destroyed during Ellisburgh mind you - that existed about 50 kilometers southeast, whose family, a family who's wealth was rooted within weaving, going bankrupt and forced to work as day-labourers for these ventures. The man who signed off on the bankruptcy I believe was named Oswald Forshaven.

A million more peasants forced off their land and off their livelihoods. A million more riots. The need to expand and reinforce security, to protect the new profit mechanisms of the crown, to directly cut and silence any need to revolt. And yet, at the same time, another avenue for growth. For the military never existed in isolation.

No, never. Even after all the disparate military forces were in direct control of the Imperial throne, they were still always connected somewhat to their homeland and their former retainers. For many of these new, professional soldiers, were the remnants of those whose families whose guilds and craft halls were bought up and sold for cheap due to inexcusable debt and lack of income or who's families had their land stolen. For the feudal lord, now the ultimate issuer and forgiver of debt, would be offered stock in profitable ventures should they complete their service. Those peasant families and urban workers, not completely decoupled from the financial system, would have any debt forgiven if they did the same.

And the military as a whole, on their part, were given another bonus for their existence. The feudal lords and provincial governments were ordered to pay a portion of their taxes and levies collected to the maintenance of their regiments stationed within the borders in exchange to making their royal reimbursements tax deductible. Each upgrade in equipment, new comfortable addition to their accommodations, even their new education was paid for by the feudal lords.

And in turn, these young soldiers and officers would become assets to their university. Teaching young generations about what they learned and garnered in their time; in addition, getting a crash course in the classical humanities as well. The military structure made no pass on this either, granting schools access to their own network of military professionals, even going so far as to offer them cash back to fund research beneficial to them.

These students in turn, would expand their curriculum of their own academies: their position elevated, they began to invest heavily back into their education, either through direct financial payments, or expanding the field of knowledge they had taken up. And with each expansion it seemed, a new world opened up. The growth of early modern anthropology, linguistics, geology, botany, zoology, architectural history, all of it gave our very own Ellisburgh a new tool to use to expand its finances.

A new library or campus center to erect, a new laboratory built. And each time, another fund for the university and Church to reap the rewards from. And as such, the military too. With each passing return of the cycle, these same institutions would reinvest into these same classes and students. These students saw themselves, in each little niche and salon, a role to play. With each new discovery, they made their families and Empire richer."

"Sounds like a typical academic analysis, I gotta say."

"True, but that boring utilitarian notion doesn't come close to what I want to highlight here. Because here, in the midst of their enlightenment of their society to the true workings of the universe, of expanding their expertise, they saw something: the end of their existence. This through line exists throughout the Empire. From Vera to Kkhanoese rule. In each expansion, they saw the end of their own existence. Each passing generation with each new advancement saw who they were destroyed.

Linguistics destroyed their notion of independence from other, primitive cultures. Anthropology destroyed the notion of our existence lying outside of the natural human body. The military allowed those same men to realize the incompatibility of their former lives with their desires for a better life and existence. Maybe that only served to legitimize the Imperial government. It certainly did that for a time. Maybe the old Marxists were right about why so much of the middle-class sided with the monarchy over the Republicans. I'm unconcerned with that personally.

They fought for what they are. And they knew their history. Their legacies and histories are the only ones that remain intact. Stanley Baptist worked at the Imperial Polytechnic for Public Works at Ellisburgh as part of their "School of Industrial Engineering and Architecture". The same school that his grandfather, Victor Baptist, would help to found with the blessing of the 2nd Northwestern Pontoon Battalion. That same Battalion was responsible for inventing dovetail joints, which would eventually enable the establishment of advancements in lighthouses, now they could be used on even the most unstable of underwater beds.

I wonder how much he knew what they contributed to: entire new districts like Peterborough in Vander, entire Port cities too like Commonlodge and Masdalee, new avenues of revenue. And in doing so, entire independent and small fishery guilds would be dismantled and replaced by the private monopolies such as the Saint Peter Company.

The Saint Peter Uprising, by fishermen in 1791, crushed by soldiers who hailed all the way from Ellisburgh, whose lives were started by the same school their brother Pontoon Company founded. And with a new playing field for investment and development that had been cleared by the destruction of those last remaining guilds, the surrounding elites - brokers of debt - wanted to invest heavily into the research that their pontoon companies could build.

So the Johnson-Thal Company, the monopoly that effectively governed Adaro and Ruvlenko, was able to convince the feudal lords and its board to invest heavily in businesses started up by, who else, soldiers from the 2nd Imperial Engineering Troops, who had experience with innovating on commercial technology. They set up another company, poured money into it, and had it fund and purchase all of those smaller start-ups."

"Sounds like a proto-venture capital."

"Precisely. Except these firms would later go on for themselves to become local monopolies, subservient to the larger monopolies?"

"And what does this all mean exactly?"

"Those same men who lost their livelihoods? Got picked up to work in the shipping and fishing industry, now run by the same people who bought them out and later asked troops to crush them. They got to see safer passages for their children to emigrate when the going got tough, instead of praying for salvation that they could survive the choppy trek.

Those that stayed got to see the building of pristine new marvels, marvels they never got to use but could still feel the effects of. Cheap goods lining the store. Freshly manufactured iron tools from across the Empire that could be purchased from their market, instead of having an entire economy dependent on the existence of either localized steel mines or the skilled hand of tradesmen. The peasant could now purchase the tools for their labour, instead of making their own. A burden off their back

As for the urban bourgeoisie, they got to see all the benefits of their existence. Pristine urban parks and recreational halls. Cheap and comfortable luxury goods. Public services on the cheap. Booming industry to work and manage, high salaries and wages. Job security. What have you. And the military would grow and grow as their ranks swell and budget arose.

Their history was secured in that sense. They found themselves aware of all that was happening. How the military delivered them a paradise of a standard of living that most could only dream of where they live. They could choose for themselves what they wanted to be. Artists, musicians, managers, educators, theoreticians, philosophers. The military in turn would be dominated, with exception of the higher ranks, by a young, professional, savvy soldier class.

That was all they had. Nothing was guaranteed anymore, not their existence not their survival could be guaranteed by the feudal lords that still governed their existence by holding debt over their head. And most chose that existence of the middle class, completely burden by freedom.

And they knew their history. They knew they would one day have to turn their hides against those farmers and workers they saw each passing day.

The peasants for their part had nothing. Each passing generation, their labour became more and more meaningless. They no longer knew how to make tools, how to build ploughs and ditches. All they knew was work. On occasion, such as Dimitri's mother, they were asked to scribe names they never knew for appointments that seemed alien to them.

They were merely labour. And they had no history. No grand narrative. No nothing. Even the Church, which had formerly given them that, had been so thoroughly shaped and warped, that it was no more a church than a local bank or office of a landlord. And at any moment, a bayonet would pierce them at the simplest of whims. Forshaven knew this. From a young age, he knew that one day, he would stare down the barrel of a cracker-rifle.

And he chose the one choice in his life that would ensure just that. And it would cost him his arm and years of his life that day, and he would never choose anything. If he was burdened by economics, then by God, he would die surrounded by it. Land and bread was the SR slogan after all. To work for nothing, not even his own life.

When he would die in 1928, he would merely say how he never got to work the land he wanted that was now controlled by the local communal government. If he was no more a cog of a machine before and after he carried the Republicans to victory. And by golly, would he never have chosen anything differently."

"So, ya're saying effectively, that from your perspective, not only were they given the stage, but also they staged their own deaths."

"A bit too poetic for my taste, but if that's the takeaway, then yes."

"Didna ya goan a rant for 10 minutes bout how medieval economics and military policy allowed 2 men to kill themselves as they wanted to?"

"... I see your point. Now, when does the interview start?"

"It already did."

"I know. I just do best when I pretend I'm free-talking."

In the distance. Someone yells action.

THE PILLAR - PART 4

--- Tiqnaferen-Arena, Tiqnadis - Kyrzis Onin Grand Finals ---

Ganida sat on his designated seat, overlooking the fully booked stadium from a private porch. One half of the stadium was filled with white-and-black jersey fans of Hyrdy Blitz. The other half was covered in teal colour, the fans supporting the home team of Tiqnadis Teals. It was the first time Tiqnadis Teals had ever made it to Grand Finals. The Zov wore a tidy suit, lacking of fan attire belonging to either club. He sat back, both of his arms comfortably on the armrests. Ganida heard footsteps behind him. He calmly looked over his shoulder and saw a familiar figure entering through the glass doors of the lounge area. Alisa Silfestér, visibly cautious as she approaches Ganida, walks besides him, standing there as she looks at the arena. Ganida notices her avoidance of eye contact with him.

---------------

Ganida: "You're free to take a seat, Alisa. I covered everything for you for this match."

---------------

Alisa stood there, silent. She tightened up her maroon vest and tucked white puffed shirt underneath it in her black trousers, before eventually sitting down. Her eyes finally met with Ganida's.

---------------

Alisa: "How have you been?"

Ganida: "I've been like a human. What about you?"

---------------

The former Zov gave a slightly confused look, having clearly difficult time to brush off such an odd answer. Ganida didn't even seem like he threw a joke, his face remaining the same.

---------------

Alisa: "I've been... doing fine. I'm sorry for what you experienced in your first days, I never thought that letting the Republicans be on their own would lead to... that."

Alisa muttered, apologizing what Ganida had to experience during the press conference. She partially felt the reason for it, believing that having Quziq as a Republican pressure valve could ease off political violence.

Ganida: "I never blamed you."

---------------

A brief silence fell between the two. the teams of Krysznas Kuzikstania and Tiqnadis Teals just entered the court, followed by intense chants and cheers from both sides of the stadium. Ganida gave lousy claps to both team entrances. Alisa did the same, although she still wasn't fully focused on the match itself.

---------------

Alisa: "Why did you invite me here?"

She inquired Ganida. To her, Ganida was one of the least likely person to watch volleyball. Ganida raised his eyebrows, glanced at Alisa before turning back to the upcoming thriller of a match.

Ganida: "There are plenty of reasons, many of which are tied to plain showcase."

Alisa: "Showcase of what?"

Ganida: "Of the state of our empire. This very match is quite a showcase of the state our empire is heading towards. I've never really followed sports that much, but volleyball had always interested me. It's a sport where humanity is perhaps closest to pure perfection. Do you watch volleyball?"

Alisa: "No, not really. Northern Hurona isn't really known for volleyball."

Ganida: "Perhaps, but it's still the most popular sport by far. New Manchester is - or was - on the 3rd league of Kyrzis Onin. There's also a Karagon-team on the 4th. Surely not the top of the order, but the presence is there."

Alisa: "Can you elaborate your love on volleyball?"

Ganida: "I wouldn't call it love. I'm interested in the sport as an institution. Many say that Shanting Volleyball entered a new era in 2025. Almost every club in the 2nd league is very much capable of playing and even winning the Elite - yet they made enough microscopic mistakes in games that mattered, preventing them from entering in Elite. The Elite right now is a small box that can fit 15 perfectly sized coins. Outside there is 20 other perfectly sized coins: They are just of the right shape and size, but it's sheer impossibility for them to enter a full box. Volleyball in Shanting has become so optimized and competitive, that it becomes perhaps too unpredictable, leading to expansion being the only reasonable solution. I believe the same idea applies to our empire as whole, at least to varying degrees."

Alisa: "That's quite far-fetched in my opinion."

Ganida: "I allow your opinion. Do you mind elaborating why you're indifferent regarding my thoughts?"

Alisa: "..."

Ganida: "... Or are you trying to protect your own worldview, but struggle to act?"

Alisa: "I just don't think a sports event like this is comparable to an entire society."

Ganida: "That's not elaboration, Alisa. I do understand if you haven't come up with anything defensible for your own cause. You're a human, afterall."

Alisa: "So are you."

Ganida: "Perhaps. Have you ever read the 'Infinite Empire'?"

Alisa: "Back in school yes."

Ganida: "It's quite an interesting work by one of the greatest minds that have ever existed. Iqlyzzi himself as a Zov managed to topple down almost anything out of his path but the fact that human societies tend to eat themselves alive. He even fell in depression, trying to find a way to make ordinary humans carry the torch of an infinite empire."

Alisa: "But he passed away before he could finish the last chapter that would have explained how."

Ganida: "Perhaps. He could have also deliberately left the last chapter unopened. Iqlyzzi had previously stated in the earlier chapters that he's too flawed himself, even though he is exceptional. He also ranted that perhaps humans are not advanced enough for perfect Zovism, and that if only humans could have had greater minds to understand beyond themselves."

Alisa: "And?"

Ganida: "Maybe he wished that someone even more capable than him would eventually take the Zovship and finish the last chapter."

Alisa: "I doubt that would ever happen."

Ganida: "You are free to have such thoughts. In the end, there shall be a written ending to 'Infinite Empire', or it's postponed even further. I am willing to put my theories to test."

Alisa: "And what do you mean by that, exactly?"

Ganida: "Let's watch the beautiful game, Alisa."

---------------

Alisa was ready to interrupt, but she held back. She decided to let it be, and calm herself as she observed the game that just started. She was amazed by the movement of the players on both sides. The chants and stomps made by the fanatic fans made them feel like part of their team. Each score was wildly celebrated by the scorer's side. Hyrdy squad was carried by Kasnar Zenite, the 21-year old prodigy widely regarded as one of the greatest players of all time. Everything he did was perfectly executed. His dives all felt intentional, blocks directed the ball to exact positions he wanted to. Yet it still wasn't enough. Somehow the Tiqnadis players had answers to Zenite's questions. They were already on their way to save the ball from touching the ground in places where Zenite directed it. In the end, Zenite's perfection didn't matter. Tiqnadis provided the least possible chances for him to participate as possible, striking the ball anywhere else but within Kasnar's reach. In the end, Tiqnadis Teals had won it all, an unexpected yet still somewhat expected upset. The Tiqnadis fan zone broke in tears of joy from their first-ever Kyrzis Onin Championship win, while Hyrdy Blitz, led by Kasnar Zenite walked away.

Ganida stood up, gave couple claps before started making his way out from the porch and grab a glass of water from the bar. Alisa looked at Ganida, silent. He looked back at her.

---------------

Ganida: "Just like I told you."

Sovereign's Sight Line A Station, Hansk City-Metropolitan Commune, Keteria, Astana-Anders
—-----------------

Thousands of tons of steel stop, jolts up slightly, and comes to a gradual complete rest. The rest of the passenger car and its burgundy-coloured is empty. The rounded squares windows are tainted black. The sparkled marble floor is unusually clean. In the universe of the subway car, only a single thing exists within it. And in the universe of his province, no other thing is more powerful or respected.

His face - a thin rectangle - protrudes outward near the end, more so than his small, medium nose. Dark brown accents all of his chin and mouth that forms a ducktail beard. His eyes, a common brown, sunken with dark spots surrounding them. Short straight hair is jelled all the way to the back, with a slight fade on each side. His choice of dress is professional, a long black overcoat over his black three-piece suit, accented only by a white dress shirt and a brick-red tie. He is the Premier of Keteria, Drake Chancellors II. In his universe, he is at the mercy of God.

The gangway door opens. A man covered in pure black military attire, with a modern rifle by his shoulders, enters his empty train car.

"Premier Chancellors, sir. The station is secure, sir."

He nods quietly and the man exists. The train chimes, the doors opening soon after. He stands up, composes himself, fixes his coat, and enters into a wave of reporters and journalists flashing cameras and sticking their microphones into his face.

Two security guards enter from behind him and stand at attention at both sides, clearing the way and giving him a small bubble in the sea of reporters. He strides quietly, not disturbed by the commotion of the reporters.

The train station is outright flooded with reporters. The solid tan brick floor and pristine white tile walls disappear into a sea of warm fabrics and cool coats. He walks up the stairs that lead into the station below.

Staring at him, across from the grey concrete sidewalk, is an old building. It's unassuming. Not standing out from the rest of the public architecture beside it. It's a rectangular concrete building, yellow slabs adorning it from the outside. It's divided by a small balustrade that wraps around the entire building before ending where the buildings to its side begin.

The only thing that stands out about it is a white panel holding up, in big red letters, "NATUC". Flocked by journalists on all sides, the door is left wide open for the Premier to calmly walk right on through.

Inside is a congregation of men and women numbering in the hundreds, potentially even thousands. Folding chairs situated across the brown tiled floor. All the way in the front is a raised platform with 2 black collapsible tables spread across it, with 7 different men and women across it. Above them is a metal banner reading, "SOLIDARITY - THE UNION'S FIGHT FOR THE WORKING-CLASS" hanging from the rafters.

The premier sits near the front, just right in front of the left side of the platform. From left to right are the following: Rex Kemp, President of the Hansk City Trades Hall Council; Jonas De Boer, HCTHC Secretary; Andor Brando, HCTHC Chancellor; Mikayla Ashfield, HCTHC Vice President and Delegate of the Keteria Public Employees Confederation; Richard Daudelin, Delegate of the National Astanai Trade Union Confederation - Council 82; HCTHC Labour Policy Advisor and Delegate of the Public Transportation Workers Union - Local 52, Mathias Iskander; Delegate of the Industrial Builders Solidarity Organization - Local 21, Nancy Hellstrom; and Delegate of the Medical Professionals of Keteria Trade Union - Local 115, Elon Turner.

They all sit composed: hands crossed, bodies straight or hunch over, a calm demeanour all over themselves. With one exception. Each and every one of their eyes dart from one another cautiously and with concern, light carrying their worries and inner thoughts from one to the next.

The room itself is loud and roaring. Representatives from all across the labour movement within Keteria have made the trek here. Local division presidents and business-managers, labour organizers, politicians, local activists, leaders of economic solidarity organizations, alongside media journalists and onlookers from all across the political spectrum have landed here to watch over the minutes of this meeting.

The building is the Hansk City Trades Hall Council, the main coordinating and representative body of the National Astanai Trade Union Confederation within Keteria, and it is here where all decisions and proposals that millions of public service workers within the province will have to abide by when the vote has been cast and counted for.

Premier Chancellors pulls his coat sleeve, revealing a steel watch underneath, accented with gold foil on its edges and creases. It reads 2:35 PM, Eastern Standard Time. The meeting will begin.

Rex taps the microphone with a loud thudding echo, dominating the conversations of all others across the room. In a few short seconds, the room goes quiet and the tensions rise.

"Greetings, to all of you who have come in her' today.' begins Rex. 'And before we begin, let me just say that it is a great privilege to have here in our midst, the - and I do mean, THE - Premier of our great province here today. Ladies and gentlemen, give it up to our Premier, Mr. Drake Chancellors, sitting right in front of us today."

The entire audience erupts into rapturous applause, clapping and cheering at the notion of their supreme representative in the same room as them. He raises his left hand up in an L-shape, curled into a fist. His ego has been stoked. The state of sheer unanimous approval slows down before stopping after a minute or so.

"Do you have any words to say before we begin, Mr. Premier, sir?" Asks Rex with a wide, thin grin on his face.

He stays quiet for a moment, contemplating what to say.

"I can't say anything that won't already be said by what you all have decided."

The entire hall erupts in agreement and approval at this statement. Even the rest of the governing body above him are all in accordance with him. It's exactly what he wants.

"Then in that case then, let me say what you and I are all thinking before this meeting starts.' Rex swallows his own saliva at the end, a loud gulp that ends quickly as it begins.

'That all here at the HCTHC cannot express how much we appreciate your attendance here. Because in these times, we're gonna need as much help as we can get. For we are experiencing right now the greatest betrayal in modern labour right's history since the attack on the NATUC's collective bargaining rights during the Johannist's privatization and decentralization of state industry.

For we have received official word - all the way up from Omni City herself - that under the direct orders of Lord President Damien Noahs himself, they will begin the process of dismantling the Brixger Trade and Labour Agreement of 1996, an agreement which has been reaffirmed and supported by each and every successive elected government: whether conservative or leftive. Any change likewise, under the consent of both parties.

In doing so, it has cemented the very fact of our nation's history and society, that it was the labour of the common worker in creating the land you see before you. A nation which has among some of the best employee living standards in not just Dissopoloforia or the Highsteppe, but in the entire world, yes sir. Our neighbors in North Electrica, the Veoannias, and the Coastal kingdom of vale, are all envious of the welfare and class advancement that us Astanai workers enjoy.

And it is because our collective might, and the self-awareness of each successive government since revolution of this fact, that we work for the benefit of our nation - the birthplace of ourselves and our families - rather in hostile opposition. Each government knows this fact, which is why they have consented in working with and for the supreme arm of the working-class. The union of the unions, and the sole guarantor of our conditions whenever our elected officials forget this fact; Na Tucker herself, the NATUC.

The NATUC is the sole union recognized and consented to work for the safety and improvement of our brothers in the public and private service; whether it be, medical, transport, law enforcement, construction, timber, finance, services, education, communal management, manufacturing, public safety, engineering, my list goes on and on.

In addition, we set aside certain privileges for ourselves for the benefits of our communities. In lieu of complete reimbursement of individual benefits; such as, redundancy payments, PTO exchange, the maximum extent of salary increases, we have instead reinvested some of that back into our communities directly, funding and establishing union-based credit unions, modernizing local energy and transportation infrastructure, supporting union-owned businesses and cooperatives, and directly allocating funding to federal public services.

Any and all legislation in relation to public administration, labour and trade policy, has been in direct alignment with not just this fundamental agreement, but also in the interests of both the government and us, the working-class.

But now, under the purview of so-called decentralizing and 'economic growth', the Noahs administration, under the pretext of the economic downturn of the previous Fide administration, has decided to unilaterally and without compromise, annul our agreement. They may claim they have attempted to reconcile our interests with their new demands. Simply put, these are false.

Their compromises were more or less insults to us. In nearly all of their negotiations, not once did they attempt to compromise on removing our sole right to negotiate on behalf of our families. That directly impacts us. They claim they seek to ensure the voice of all workers and improve local industries. And I will commend them on offering for multi employer and multi enterprise bargaining. But the fact of the matter is, there are no independent unions here. Not for Hansk City. Not for Keteria.

Keteria is limited by its climate. Its farmland is sparse and fractured, divided by land ill-suited for agriculture or protected by federal environmental laws. Much of what was family farm was collectivized, and is still communally owned by municipal governments. Those agricultural workers, both independent and a part of local state-owned companies need strong established unions.

Our industries were born recently. 1920s at most outside of Port Charters. Unlike in Eastern Heliarearce, we cannot rely on services. Our industry depends on energy and food processing. Dockworkers for Port Charters, miners for thorium. Engineers to build dams and off-shore wind farms. Those are not industries that can be taken care of the private sector. Those require, as they have for decades, a cooperative and efficient public sector to mitigate disaster and ensure the growth of our industries.

We're not opposed to small, family-owned businesses. Hell, that's why we're fighting for this agreement. Our dues, our pay rises that we shaved off, go back into funding these projects to help allow for small businesses to exist. We're not opposed to a private sector. We are opposed to privatization. And that is what this government is aiming for.

Do you know what their initial policy proposal was on the reinvesting clause? Have that go into funding local private-public partnership programs and cooperatives, so they can develop our communities and make a profit. Whatever profit is made, goes into a fund to support local co-ops and businesses. Have them contract construction workers out. That is their genius proposal.

Do you know what that would entail? The complete disintegration of all the standardized safety, labour, and administrative agreements that our union mates have fought for. It means divesting from an equitable community into one which encourages private contracts and growth. It means the fracturing and splintering of industries related to each other, so that private and state interests can pick apart our rights bit-by-bit. It means our communities go for producing products useful for our families and livelihoods, and instead leads to the growth of unnecessary luxuries and speculation.

That is the reality of Noahs' so-called 'Industrial relations reform'. CommonwealthTV and the conservatives will say otherwise. But should this act be passed, it will mean the death of us in Keteria. And as any rational man would do, he would fight to the bitter end to preserve his life than let a murderer take it from him.

Thank you."

The crowd erupts in celebration. Hooting and howling bounce off of the walls, a continuous reverberation of sheer excitement. Mr. Chancellors is simply sitting in his seat, his head rested against his left hand in the air. He simply nods to Rex.

He gazes into the direction opposite of him, outside a right window still open for all to see. It's a chiseled statue of Dimitri Kier. He looks back at Rex Kemp. The meeting's minutes are being read.

Aurora Central Broadcasting

__ __ __ __ __ __ __ __ __ __ __ __ __

BEEEEEEP!

Nothing was being broadcast, just a blank, dark screen as a robotic, artificially generated voice began talking over the screens of anyone watching the channel.

``... This broadcast has been intercepted from Concordia on behalf of President Vilhjalmur Brandson. Today, as of July 27th, the greater Stortfjall metropolitan area is in the hands of conspirators in the military attempting to usurp power from the legitimately elected democratic government under President Brandson and the Auroran People's Determination party. Effective immediately, President Brandson and his cabinet, having been relocated to secure locations, have authorized the federalization of the Home Guard as a comprehensive nationwide state of emergency has been declared. ``

`` Civil orders are as follows: disregard orders from Major General Sigtýr Asksson; Minister Frans Hugleiksson still retains his position as Defense Minister within the President's cabinet. Reject or refuse Major General Sigtýr Asksson's orders; do not comply with his illegitimate occupation in Stortfjall short of insurrection. Under no circumstances are civilians advised to attempt to resist conspiratorial forces with lethal force; all individuals attempting to do so will be charged and convicted as illegal insurrectionists. Comply with legitimate government communique's from Concordia. ``

`` Disregard all prior broadcasts; the legitimate government currently rests in Concordia. ``

`` Frelsi eða dauði ``

The announcement ended as the screen remained pitch black with no noise or visual changes.
Suddenly, the screen flashed with white text on a black background,

*** EMERGENCY ACTION/ALERT NOTIFICATION ***
ISSUED: MINISTRY OF SECURITY AND DEFENSE, PRESIDENTIAL CABINET
TIME: 1050 ZULU HOURS

ADDRESSED: ACTIVE DUTY, ACTIVE RESERVE, HOME GUARD, INACTIVE PERSONNEL RESERVE

THE FOLLOWING MOBILISATION CODEWORDS ARE ACTIVATED EFFECTIVE IMMEDIATELY:

* SIERRA-TANGO INPUT-DELTA

(72nd Infantry Division; Reserve)

* TANGO-NOVEMBER INPUT-DELTA

(29th Infantry Division; Home Guard)

* FOXTROT ALPHA-DELTA

(1st Armored Division)

* FOXTROT INPUT-DELTA

(1st Infantry Division)

* FOXTROT SIERRA-OMEGA-DELTA

(1st Special Operations Division)

* DELTA-FOXTROT DELTA-SIERRA-BRAVO

(41st Detached Sentinel Brigade)

MATERIAL CONDITION: RED

ALL PERSONNEL ASSIGNED TO THE ABOVE CODEWORDS MUST REPORT TO THEIR DESIGNATED
ARMORY, MOBILISATION STATION, OR READINESS CENTER WITHIN 04 HOURS

ACKNOWLEDGE ACTIVATION VIA A MASS-SMS TEXT FROM A DESIGNATED NUMBER
CHECK WITH UNIT COMMAND FOR APPROVED AUTHENTIC NUMBERS

DO NOT UTILIZE OFFICIAL MOSD DEFENSE ALERT SYSTEM OR WEBSITE
__ __ __ __ __ __ __ __ __ __ __ __ __

The Battle for Aurorheim - ACT I

The streets of Stortfjall had all but emptied as an uneasy silence had settled across the city, occasionally interrupted by the movement of tanks, armored vehicles, and foot soldiers moving between streets. Yet, this easy tranquility was interrupted by a distant roaring as windows and glassware inside people’s apartments shook. Several fighter jets flew by, above the city’s now-empty airspace.

“Jón, I don’t like this. What are we doing here?” PFC. Gunnar asked, gripping his Lv-05 Light Machine Gun at an intersection fortified with sandbags and an armored personnel carrier watching guard.

“Hell if I know; we got no cell reception, internet’s out, and constant power outages in the city. We can only rely on our radios due to EMC (Electronic Electromagnetic Compatibility) and Frequency Management; guys in signal units are probably working around the clock. For a surprise exercise, isn’t this a little crazy? Moving into the capital, blocking off streets, establishing roadblocks, and setting up defensive perimeters? This whole thing feels less like an exercise, and more like…” Specialist Jón went quiet, thinking about it.”

“An occupation?” PFC. Gunnar asked.

“... Yeah, that’s probably the best way to put it. An occupation,” Specialist Jón nodded, lowering his rifle as he leaned against the sandbags. “Something stinks up to the wazoo, and I don’t like it.”

“Hey, you and me pal,” PFC Gunnar responded, continuing to man his Lv-05 Light Machine Gun, pointing it down a street.
…
______________________________________________________

Overlord (AWACS)
“Viper 1, Overlord. Radio check on Secure Channel 3.”

Viper 1-1 (Lead)
“Overlord, Viper 1-1, read you loud and clear. Angels 25, established in orbit Alpha over the city.“

Viper 1-2 (Wingman)
”Viper 1-2, two-ship in standard trail, 1.5 miles. Search radar operating clean.”

Overlord (AWACS)
”Viper 1-1, copy all. Be advised, civil aviation authorities report civilian airspace is clear. NFZ enforcement is in full effect over the metro area. Any unannounced tracks are considered non-compliant.”

______________________________________________________

Two fighter jets circled over the city as window panes and glassware shook from the roaring of their jet engines.

“Communications are a mess, what with these traitors controlling the Ministry headquarters.” The lead pilot spoke over the radio, looking around their canopy, scanning the surrounding sky over the city.

“Tell me about it; the temporary headquarters in Concordia have been running around like maniacs trying to set up provisional frequencies and methods of communications.” The wingman replied, seeing bright radial lines on their radar screen, “Do we still not have ECCM deployed?”

“No, the whole force-wide alert is only an hour old; we don’t even know if half the country is going to side with President Brandson and his cabinet or not.” The lead pilot responded as the two fighters circled above the city.

“Isn’t this risky, flying around over what can be called enemy territory? Won’t the conspirators just shoot us down?” The wingman asked.

“Doubtful; this is the capital city. Intelligence assumes General Asksson has his men on need-to-know; half of them probably don’t even know they’re in the middle of a coup. Asksson mobilized his forces on a false surprise exercise excuse; it doesn’t rule out the possibility that many of them don’t know what’s happening.” The lead pilot responded, still looking down onto the city from his cockpit canopy.

“That’s rough if you ask me, not knowing you’re actively committing treason against your own country.”

“We have no time to pity them. Let’s keep comms clear before command gets all pissy. We have an air blockade to enforce.”

Click to show...

Astana-Anders wrote:

Sovereign's Sight Line A Station, Hansk City-Metropolitan Commune, Keteria, Astana-Anders
—-----------------

Thousands of tons of steel stop, jolts up slightly, and comes to a gradual complete rest. The rest of the passenger car and its burgundy-coloured is empty. The rounded squares windows are tainted black. The sparkled marble floor is unusually clean. In the universe of the subway car, only a single thing exists within it. And in the universe of his province, no other thing is more powerful or respected.

His face - a thin rectangle - protrudes outward near the end, more so than his small, medium nose. Dark brown accents all of his chin and mouth that forms a ducktail beard. His eyes, a common brown, sunken with dark spots surrounding them. Short straight hair is jelled all the way to the back, with a slight fade on each side. His choice of dress is professional, a long black overcoat over his black three-piece suit, accented only by a white dress shirt and a brick-red tie. He is the Premier of Keteria, Drake Chancellors II. In his universe, he is at the mercy of God.

The gangway door opens. A man covered in pure black military attire, with a modern rifle by his shoulders, enters his empty train car.

"Premier Chancellors, sir. The station is secure, sir."

He nods quietly and the man exists. The train chimes, the doors opening soon after. He stands up, composes himself, fixes his coat, and enters into a wave of reporters and journalists flashing cameras and sticking their microphones into his face.

Two security guards enter from behind him and stand at attention at both sides, clearing the way and giving him a small bubble in the sea of reporters. He strides quietly, not disturbed by the commotion of the reporters.

The train station is outright flooded with reporters. The solid tan brick floor and pristine white tile walls disappear into a sea of warm fabrics and cool coats. He walks up the stairs that lead into the station below.

Staring at him, across from the grey concrete sidewalk, is an old building. It's unassuming. Not standing out from the rest of the public architecture beside it. It's a rectangular concrete building, yellow slabs adorning it from the outside. It's divided by a small balustrade that wraps around the entire building before ending where the buildings to its side begin.

The only thing that stands out about it is a white panel holding up, in big red letters, "NATUC". Flocked by journalists on all sides, the door is left wide open for the Premier to calmly walk right on through.

Inside is a congregation of men and women numbering in the hundreds, potentially even thousands. Folding chairs situated across the brown tiled floor. All the way in the front is a raised platform with 2 black collapsible tables spread across it, with 7 different men and women across it. Above them is a metal banner reading, "SOLIDARITY - THE UNION'S FIGHT FOR THE WORKING-CLASS" hanging from the rafters.

The premier sits near the front, just right in front of the left side of the platform. From left to right are the following: Rex Kemp, President of the Hansk City Trades Hall Council; Jonas De Boer, HCTHC Secretary; Andor Brando, HCTHC Chancellor; Mikayla Ashfield, HCTHC Vice President and Delegate of the Keteria Public Employees Confederation; Richard Daudelin, Delegate of the National Astanai Trade Union Confederation - Council 82; HCTHC Labour Policy Advisor and Delegate of the Public Transportation Workers Union - Local 52, Mathias Iskander; Delegate of the Industrial Builders Solidarity Organization - Local 21, Nancy Hellstrom; and Delegate of the Medical Professionals of Keteria Trade Union - Local 115, Elon Turner.

They all sit composed: hands crossed, bodies straight or hunch over, a calm demeanour all over themselves. With one exception. Each and every one of their eyes dart from one another cautiously and with concern, light carrying their worries and inner thoughts from one to the next.

The room itself is loud and roaring. Representatives from all across the labour movement within Keteria have made the trek here. Local division presidents and business-managers, labour organizers, politicians, local activists, leaders of economic solidarity organizations, alongside media journalists and onlookers from all across the political spectrum have landed here to watch over the minutes of this meeting.

The building is the Hansk City Trades Hall Council, the main coordinating and representative body of the National Astanai Trade Union Confederation within Keteria, and it is here where all decisions and proposals that millions of public service workers within the province will have to abide by when the vote has been cast and counted for.

Premier Chancellors pulls his coat sleeve, revealing a steel watch underneath, accented with gold foil on its edges and creases. It reads 2:35 PM, Eastern Standard Time. The meeting will begin.

Rex taps the microphone with a loud thudding echo, dominating the conversations of all others across the room. In a few short seconds, the room goes quiet and the tensions rise.

"Greetings, to all of you who have come in her' today.' begins Rex. 'And before we begin, let me just say that it is a great privilege to have here in our midst, the - and I do mean, THE - Premier of our great province here today. Ladies and gentlemen, give it up to our Premier, Mr. Drake Chancellors, sitting right in front of us today."

The entire audience erupts into rapturous applause, clapping and cheering at the notion of their supreme representative in the same room as them. He raises his left hand up in an L-shape, curled into a fist. His ego has been stoked. The state of sheer unanimous approval slows down before stopping after a minute or so.

"Do you have any words to say before we begin, Mr. Premier, sir?" Asks Rex with a wide, thin grin on his face.

He stays quiet for a moment, contemplating what to say.

"I can't say anything that won't already be said by what you all have decided."

The entire hall erupts in agreement and approval at this statement. Even the rest of the governing body above him are all in accordance with him. It's exactly what he wants.

"Then in that case then, let me say what you and I are all thinking before this meeting starts.' Rex swallows his own saliva at the end, a loud gulp that ends quickly as it begins.

'That all here at the HCTHC cannot express how much we appreciate your attendance here. Because in these times, we're gonna need as much help as we can get. For we are experiencing right now the greatest betrayal in modern labour right's history since the attack on the NATUC's collective bargaining rights during the Johannist's privatization and decentralization of state industry.

For we have received official word - all the way up from Omni City herself - that under the direct orders of Lord President Damien Noahs himself, they will begin the process of dismantling the Brixger Trade and Labour Agreement of 1996, an agreement which has been reaffirmed and supported by each and every successive elected government: whether conservative or leftive. Any change likewise, under the consent of both parties.

In doing so, it has cemented the very fact of our nation's history and society, that it was the labour of the common worker in creating the land you see before you. A nation which has among some of the best employee living standards in not just Dissopoloforia or the Highsteppe, but in the entire world, yes sir. Our neighbors in North Electrica, the Veoannias, and the Coastal kingdom of vale, are all envious of the welfare and class advancement that us Astanai workers enjoy.

And it is because our collective might, and the self-awareness of each successive government since revolution of this fact, that we work for the benefit of our nation - the birthplace of ourselves and our families - rather in hostile opposition. Each government knows this fact, which is why they have consented in working with and for the supreme arm of the working-class. The union of the unions, and the sole guarantor of our conditions whenever our elected officials forget this fact; Na Tucker herself, the NATUC.

The NATUC is the sole union recognized and consented to work for the safety and improvement of our brothers in the public and private service; whether it be, medical, transport, law enforcement, construction, timber, finance, services, education, communal management, manufacturing, public safety, engineering, my list goes on and on.

In addition, we set aside certain privileges for ourselves for the benefits of our communities. In lieu of complete reimbursement of individual benefits; such as, redundancy payments, PTO exchange, the maximum extent of salary increases, we have instead reinvested some of that back into our communities directly, funding and establishing union-based credit unions, modernizing local energy and transportation infrastructure, supporting union-owned businesses and cooperatives, and directly allocating funding to federal public services.

Any and all legislation in relation to public administration, labour and trade policy, has been in direct alignment with not just this fundamental agreement, but also in the interests of both the government and us, the working-class.

But now, under the purview of so-called decentralizing and 'economic growth', the Noahs administration, under the pretext of the economic downturn of the previous Fide administration, has decided to unilaterally and without compromise, annul our agreement. They may claim they have attempted to reconcile our interests with their new demands. Simply put, these are false.

Their compromises were more or less insults to us. In nearly all of their negotiations, not once did they attempt to compromise on removing our sole right to negotiate on behalf of our families. That directly impacts us. They claim they seek to ensure the voice of all workers and improve local industries. And I will commend them on offering for multi employer and multi enterprise bargaining. But the fact of the matter is, there are no independent unions here. Not for Hansk City. Not for Keteria.

Keteria is limited by its climate. Its farmland is sparse and fractured, divided by land ill-suited for agriculture or protected by federal environmental laws. Much of what was family farm was collectivized, and is still communally owned by municipal governments. Those agricultural workers, both independent and a part of local state-owned companies need strong established unions.

Our industries were born recently. 1920s at most outside of Port Charters. Unlike in Eastern Heliarearce, we cannot rely on services. Our industry depends on energy and food processing. Dockworkers for Port Charters, miners for thorium. Engineers to build dams and off-shore wind farms. Those are not industries that can be taken care of the private sector. Those require, as they have for decades, a cooperative and efficient public sector to mitigate disaster and ensure the growth of our industries.

We're not opposed to small, family-owned businesses. Hell, that's why we're fighting for this agreement. Our dues, our pay rises that we shaved off, go back into funding these projects to help allow for small businesses to exist. We're not opposed to a private sector. We are opposed to privatization. And that is what this government is aiming for.

Do you know what their initial policy proposal was on the reinvesting clause? Have that go into funding local private-public partnership programs and cooperatives, so they can develop our communities and make a profit. Whatever profit is made, goes into a fund to support local co-ops and businesses. Have them contract construction workers out. That is their genius proposal.

Do you know what that would entail? The complete disintegration of all the standardized safety, labour, and administrative agreements that our union mates have fought for. It means divesting from an equitable community into one which encourages private contracts and growth. It means the fracturing and splintering of industries related to each other, so that private and state interests can pick apart our rights bit-by-bit. It means our communities go for producing products useful for our families and livelihoods, and instead leads to the growth of unnecessary luxuries and speculation.

That is the reality of Noahs' so-called 'Industrial relations reform'. CommonwealthTV and the conservatives will say otherwise. But should this act be passed, it will mean the death of us in Keteria. And as any rational man would do, he would fight to the bitter end to preserve his life than let a murderer take it from him.

Thank you."

The crowd erupts in celebration. Hooting and howling bounce off of the walls, a continuous reverberation of sheer excitement. Mr. Chancellors is simply sitting in his seat, his head rested against his left hand in the air. He simply nods to Rex.

He gazes into the direction opposite of him, outside a right window still open for all to see. It's a chiseled statue of Dimitri Kier. He looks back at Rex Kemp. The meeting's minutes are being read.

Communal Nathanist Church of Saint Peter, Hansk City-Metropolitan Commune, Keteria, Astana-Anders
—-----------------

Chancellors foot rests upon the small step of the church, standing 5 cm off the ground at most. It's a light beige colour, as is the rest of the building. It stands tall and thin, not much more than 20 meters across as its main facade stretches almost 35 meters off the ground. It ascends piece-meal triangularly, almost like a pipe organ. Near the top, an ornate metal cowslip flower surrounding a hexagonal plane of glass. It's almost Cathedral-like in its appearance.

Pushing through the doors, he enters into a small nave Church. Barely 20 rows of seats angled about 20 degrees upward, separated by a single long carpet of pure autumn orange, which leads to a small semi-regular hexagonal staircase. On top of it, a small focal table underneath a white table cloth holds up a Bible upon a book rack. In the very back of the church, a thin cross that reaches near the floor and extends near towards the roof.

The assembly is quiet and small. Only about 2 other people are there. An older man, white in his beard, wrinkles etched into his skin. He wears a dark coat over his suit, covered by a black flat cap as he kneels and recites a prayer in whispers to himself. Walking in between the pews is the head of the congregation, the Reverend. He wears a simple black cassock alongside a white clerical collar. He is a tall man, thin as a twig. His oval head long ago devoid of any hair aside from his eye brows, it's filled in with the presence of blue, circular glasses.

The premier takes in the minimalist splendour of the mass. He takes a seat in the first row and sits near the door. Taking off his coat as he sat, spreading his legs as far as he can, and laying his arms on the pew's back cap. His body slumps as he makes himself comfortable, the coat her wore hanging beside him. Resting, his head held up high to the ceiling, before coming back down as he saw in full view the sight of the cross and liturgical altar.

Soon enough, the Reverend passes by to the very back, and stops his one-man procession in view of the Premier.

"Oh, my Premiership.' Starts the Reverend. 'I did not expect to see you in my humble congregation."

"Don't be so formal Reverend. I'm merely fulfilling my obligation to attend mass once a week."

"Ah, but you see, Mr. Premier, sir, there's quite a difference between attending mass and merely being present in mass."

"That's why I'm doing the latter."

The Reverend is dumbfounded for a second.

"There's a reason as to why you ask to pray for elected officials."

"That does not mean those elected officials are incapable of repenting and redeeming themselves to the ethics of Christ."

"If that were the case, the only way a person may be a virtuous Protestant and an elected official is if he were an absolute monarch. Even then, only by the grace of God may he see the Kingdom of Heaven."

"... uh huh."

The priest continues marching on, but turns a right to the door, and makes a grand u-turn, turning into the pew where the Premier is sitting, before he himself rests just a few scant meters away from him.

"I must admit, I did not expect to see someone such as yourself elected Premier."

"I don't blame you, Protestants don't typically join the SRs."

"I believe you mean, PSRs."

"Right. We went from advocating for a socialist republic to being the party of the socialist republic."

"Quite apt I must say. Until recently that is."

"Precisely. And I don't blame you. My entire existence predicated on the complete opposite outcome."

"Let me guess, you're the descendant of those from The atlas archipelago?"

"Grandfather's generation. His father made the move to Astana-Anders in 1926 in the wake of the end of the Great Northern War. Settled in Kelsbie District just 2 blocks north of the Hamilton Park district. When he grew up, he attempted to make a living in Feeisegull, away from the cramped conditions of Rhombbrooke. He moved to Darwinsfield in Northern Feeisegull, just south of Auralya Metro Commune. He joined a farming co-operative and soon enough, was able to purchase the farmland outright from it.

But by the time my father was born in 1950 as the last of 3 sons, the farm couldn't be profitable anymore, and he sold the farm back to the co-op. He moved himself and his family back to Keteria, this time Hansk. My father was raised there, and soon enough, started his own career as the branch manager of a financial consultancy firm. He made a killing under Johannes' reforms."

"I heard about that during your campaign for Premier."

"It's all true. I didn't have any harsh childhood. My family home was in the nice peri-urban centers of Blake and Faithgold. I lived in Hansk City all my life."

"Then why join the communists then?"

"Who says I did?"

"I remember those days back under the Walker leadership. Those communists in the Keterian SR Branch either moved to the Marxist-Ulyanoviskist Party or took control of local peri-urban councils. I should know. A bunch of Novoroyska-worshiping Novos threw a trashcan into the chapel back in 1999. I had the police arrest them and press charges."

"Ah right, I remember that. It was on the third page of The Doberman Country Journal. It was after the page regarding a report on the forced closure of cancer screening facilities in rural Clariaşi."

"... I uh... forgot. About that."

"Anyway, I was elected to represent the Constellation District Commune Council back in 2010. And I wouldn't blame you for thinking I was a communist. By that point, Anastasia Douglas and her sympathizers were all but out. Areas like Faithgold and Youngman had all been swayed to the extreme liberal faction of the PCP under Rivers. Working-class districts and the urban core were now all but captured by the resurgent far-left. Makes sense when by 2015, Keteria switched from voting for the SR by 56% in 2011 to 89%.

The new-old guard that cow-towed to those areas had no one else to represent. Neither the old Johannist guard for the PCP for that matter."

"Violent times. Unpleasant times."

"I was a weird one to the rest of the council. Constellation sits right at the precipice of the dividing line between the Ausbury Street Circuit and the Foreman Bridge. Everything to the north of Ausbury has been governed by SRs since Dimitri. Everything past the Foreman Bridge hasn't elected an SR candidate for any level of representative since the 1951 General Election."

"Until you."

"Until me. I was elected as part of Michelle Susan's leadership. I worked tirelessly to flip everything from Saxhall to Umbridge, anything that touched the Northeast-Central District. The Oldbridge Street Historical Society to the entirety of the employee base of the HC Industry Credit, plus a couple of community gardens, to vote for me.

It makes it all the more surprising with the fact that I was a part of the conservative faction of the SRs that were on the way out. Meanwhile, everyone else were former members of the Socialist Republican Student Union, who approved a motion to support communism, or who were a part of militant left-wing groups that rejoined the SRs."

"I remember that as well. Faintly, but I remember it. You could never get anything passed on that council."

"Yeah. The only time I could get anything passed during that time was making amendments to mandatory motions, like budget expenditures and establishing local commissions. Even then, I needed to do my hardest to convince them."

"I still remember those public address meetings surrounding, what was it? The 2015 budget? Or was it 2016?"

"You talking about the one where I was censured by the rest of the council?"

"Yes."

"2017."

"Rats. Off by one year."

"It was my boldest move yet. The council, with the backing of the larger federal and provincial SR governments, had begun to retake local public-private projects and even businesses apart of vital sectors under municipal control back in 2013.

It was popular, I'll give it that. But it left too much to be desired. That was especially the case with the hospital system. I still recall being in my office when I read the report for the cost of reinstating the First State General Practitioner under municipal control, I nearly spit out my coffee. 93 million Lien. Nearly 80% of our budget.

Sure the Fed and Provo SRs were covering overhead, interest, regulatory inspections, and more, but that was still so much money that couldn't be used. And all that time as well. I wanted that to be used for the local community welfare board, building community care offices, improving the Sovereign A Station rail lines, giving grants to small businesses, you know."

"I can attest to that yes. I saw a lot more people voicing support to reverse the federal ban on the church providing fiscal social assistance. Even some Catholic priests that I knew were supportive of the current status quo of everything. Laicism and all."

"The local council knew this was a problem at some point in time as well, so they moved to divided the local Communal Public Health Authority into 6 distinct "health precinct", so that instead of the city district having to solve everything, those individual wards could have more autonomy to administer and maintain upkeep, though upgrades would be handled by the city council.

I wanted to push it further. Have each precinct be able to institute a small fee for regular check-ups, non-serious primary care, or a general broadband during specific times and days. Institute and raise contributions for infrastructure or medical upgrades for facilities. Allow non-state entities to the large-scale facilities so they could focus on the smaller, community-care or social services."

"... you shouldn't have attempted to punch Budson, Mr. Premier."

"I know."

"You had dealt with their jeers for years at that point. Why throw it all away for some worldly ego?"

"I was nearly impeached for my actions. My amendment failed, and I was almost kicked off the SR ticket as a whole. For the rest of my time, I was a lame duck."

"Didn't you nearly lose your seat in 2018?"

"Aye. I did. The Provincial SRs were pushing for someone else to win the candidacy. Vernon Meetle, he was called. He was the former Business Director of the Bank Metro Keteria branch and a former advisor to Samantha Pillars, the Premier before my former supervisor."

"... so then why come here then?"

Chancellors, who had been staring at the Reverend, turn his head 90 degrees, and stares blankly at the crucifix.

"It wasn't until my re-election when I realized I was exactly like them."

The Reverend, confused, takes a moment to gather his words.

"I don't believe you mean in the sense of being sinners."

"What's the sole reason for the Protestant faith?"

"Salvation, of course."

"But what was the spark to it. What is the sole reason we split from Orthodoxy, and thus, the Catholics?"

"... Sola fide. Chỉ có đức tin."

"... Einlæg Trú you mean. Sola fide and Chỉ có đức tin's a Catholic language. You're speaking like a Catholic."

"The language of theology comes from the Latin of the Praefectean and Verleschidean missionaries, sir. There is no use in denying the general population."

"A population which has no use in either for centuries."

"... sir, I'm so confused. What is the meaning of all this."

"It. It was after I won re-election that I realized that I was no more Protestant than I was Catholic. And I was no more of an ideological rebel than they were. I was exactly the same as them."

"Sir, when I said I was confused, I didn't ask you to confuse me even more..."

"After Einlæg Trú, what was the most impactful teaching that separated us from Orthodoxy and the Catholics? Especially when it came to how we believed salvation could be delivered?"

"Ritningin Einogsér."

"Only Scripture. The rejection of the infallibility of the priesthood or any other clerical class. Only a priesthood of believers joined by faith can truly provide a path of salvation."

"Am I to believe you connected this with your political epiphany?"

Chancellors sighs.

"Catholicism in Astana-Anders is quite odd. Even to their forefathers in the Verleschdiean missionaries and their ancestral origin in Không Bang, Astana-Anders stands in odds with the rest of society. In the rest of the Christian world, even amongst the Catholic populations, religion remains a personal, individual notion. A testament of one's identity and position within the community. Yet, ironically, you never see that in Astana-Anders. To be Catholic is not personal. It's institutional. It's communal. To be Catholic is not a belief, but a duty, something a part of a greater whole rather than a greater one."

"I suppose so. We are strangers in their world."

"That's why I called you out for speaking in Latin. The language of those missionaries."

"Like I've already said, Premier sir, we must accommodate ourselves to the rest of the world. It is one thing to impose upon them the duty of knowing and bearing the cross that is what is needed to be sacrificed to lead a good life. It's another thing to dictate them. Even the Marxists understood that when it came to administrative theory long before my time."

"And in doing so, you lose yourself."

The Reverend licks his lips.

"Sir, I don't think it is wise to insult my profession-"

"If you believe any sort of critique is an insult to your existence, then there's not much to be saved in the first place."

"Mr. Chancellors, sir. There's a big difference between friendly, intellectual disagreement and calling, my entire faith and profession as well as the faith and professions of hundreds of this local parish, no more than a cheap imitation of the Catholic faith here."

"How else could I possibly explain it? If it's any consolation prize, the Catholics aren't better off. They're worse off than ever before."

"And why would that be."

"Even though we are Catholics, for centuries, we haven't been. It's sort of why I said we're different from the Papacy in Thanh-Phodam. The reason for our lack of personalized faith wasn't due to luck."

"... the Acts of Saint Damien."

"We were cut off from the Mainline currents. The division between state and cleric no longer existed. Princes, archdukes, brothers and nephews of the Imperial crown were given the title of the legitimate papacy. Even before then, the institution of state and church were intertwined."

"Vera. Duchess Issuit II allowed the Verleschidean missionaries to build a church for themselves. They built grain silos, hospitals and clinics, libraries within monasteries, and bath-houses. They even volunteered to help with the maintenance of aqueducts and paved roads."

"It led them to victory all the way to Porter Heights."

"Yes. That was one of the common critiques of the early Protestant movements. Peter Shannon and his followers, executed en masse by 1419. The Foulcians led by Christopher Breckenbridge, who after his death and the destruction of his followers following those dark Wars of the Tithe led his teachings to be settled in Hongrevia."

"Strange how the Protestants led to the historical culmination of Catholic power in Veoannia."

"Now, now, sir. Don't be so harsh and judgmental."

"Perhaps they were right in some ways and wrong in others."

"Wrong about the separation of church and state?"

"In some ways, yes."

The Reverend needs a second to respond, leaning downward to do so.

"Sir, you know the laws better than I do. I fear it is not appropriate to make such a comment."

"Comments like those only count if you're using it to influence your standing for public office."

"Is that not what you're doing?"

"... fair."

"Glad we are on the same page for once then."

"I can't say I blame you either. The Astanai Catholic Church was nothing short of a mouthpiece of the Imperials. By the end, the average Church had been reduced from a place of worship and veneration, to a bank who allowed paramilitaries to use their grounds as counter-insurgency headquarters."

"One can only wonder how long it would've been until those young and passionate priests revolted themselves to reform the church."

"One doesn't need to wonder."

He looks at his watch.

"It took 15 minutes for us to reach the Astanai Revolution."

"As they say, when you need a comprehensive summary of modern Astanai history, just look out your local window."

"Aye. My entire party's history is rooted in those single 2 decades."

"What does that make the Commonwealth then? Rooted in opposing that history."

"That lies in Dei Rei Publicae."

"And why might that be?"

"For centuries, Catholicism was synonymous with the State. And now, in a stroke of a pen, they were now, and I mean this liberally, "completely", divorced from it."

"Why do you mean liberally? Is it about culture?"

"I underestimated you Reverend."

"When one engages with a culture like Astana-Anders, you cannot help yourself getting intellectual."

"And all of those intellectuals were so confused now. If Catholicism is no longer defined by the state, and the recently rejoined Harman Papacy no longer values the direct influence of itself over social life, what is the point of the church now? What is the point of the Papacy."

"Are you saying Catholicism is dead in Astana-Anders?"

"Worse. I'm saying Catholicism is un-dead. It has nowhere to go. And the culture it has constructed has still existed. That's why so many Catholics find it so easy to vote for the SRs and now PSR as much as the various conservative opposition groups."

"And what does that entail, Mr. Premier?"

"... how many governments have we had since the 2015 Constitution came into effect?"

"By my count, 6 sir, even if we include... well... him... and her."

"How many years has it been?"

"Hmm, I don't know to be honest."

"The 2015 Constitution came into effect on November 16 of that year after being approved by both Parliament and a referendum. That's roughly 10 years and 9 months. Divide that by 6..."

"Hmm. I'd say about a year and a half."

"Close, 1.792 years, rounded to 4 digits. About 2 years if we round to a whole number. 2 years. 2 years, a new government.' He leans forward, hunching his back as his left hand allows his head to rest. 'Last year, Noahs made it official that both the Federal Re-Armamaent Program and the Communal-Owned Enterprise project were both being canned.

Billions and potentially trillions of Lien gone in an election cycle. Several bills to establish collective heads of government for provincial governments were scrapped to. The entire Intercontinental Commonwealth project is gone. The only thing that remains of Fide are his social programs and his Communal Wealth Funds."

"That. It is the reality of politics in Astana-Anders."

"How many times did we violate treaties? How many times did we break off relations with Novoroyska alone at the drop of a hat? Under F.R.E.T. After Enoch. Under Lagos. And now again with Noahs.

How many times did governments not establish grandiose projects and plans to reshape and restructure the entire political and social economy, only for the very next to completely upend and instead establish their own plans? How many contracts were broken as a result? How many committees and partnerships had to be re-calibrated when the mood suddenly changed without warning?

And that's just on a federal-level? Lord knows from my experience how much local governments do that on a near constant basis."

"... I think I understand what you're saying."

"... And who is there to pick up the slack when businesses and local communities, alongside international partners, have to pay for disruption to their operations and businesses, the natural rhythm that arises out of a communal identity that has been shaped for centuries, where every action and aspect of one minute change causes unforeseeable impacts on another?"

"The federal government. The federal government is the papacy."

He nods his head.

"The federal government. The SRs in charge. They always pick up the slack. Whenever something goes wrong on a local, communal, or provincial level, they swoop in, initiate widespread reform, and get everything back on track. It's the Papal view of salvation to a literal degree.

I mean, it took until this year, when Noahs passed his Federal-Provincial Partnership Commission Act, that federal-provincial partnerships were formalized to any degree. All this time, the federal government just told the provinces we would pay for half of certain projects and we would provide them with federal funding whenever the government desired."

"I can attest that all of these things are true. I cannot deny that perhaps the very nature of how the government approaches itself may be skewed. But you cannot blame them nor the people for that."

"I am not trying to."

"Even still, the fact of the matter is, to argue that is to argue against the very notion of the will of the people. Against the idea of a priesthood of believers. They constantly fall yes. But the struggle to live up to the ideals of Christian morality is not something that should be brushed away and scolded as a testament to the masses inherent incompetence, sir."

"Of course not, if anything it's the opposite. There is no effort."

"No effort? I must say sir, I didn't think you'd be one to say that there's a moral crisis today."

"Not morality, no. Because even now, there is still one thing that has remained constant. Something in the midst of the coups and the revolutions, and the strikes and the protests has remained the same. And it has since 1943."

"I never thought I'd see the day where an SR politician would denigrate the very birth of their party's existence."

"I'm a maverick, Reverend."

"I must say, I can understand where you are coming from sir. But, something about what you're saying is so... wrong. The very fact that the revolution existed. The fact that people champion Dimitri and his efforts. It's nothing short but the very priesthood of believers attempting to ground and make such an impossible faith exist. Dimitri and the very ethos of an Astanai Republic, his life's work, allows the laymen a blueprint on how they might build themselves and others in collective dignity. He gives them something to look forward to. It is their faith.

I will admit, sir. I have never voted for the SRs in my entire life. In 2014, I was among one of the few in my congregation who voted for William Waters Rivers over your candidate, Vargas. But even I will go so far as to defend that moment of our history, sir."

"There's nothing wrong with that. I wouldn't have joined the SRs as I did if we found that moment to be a mistake. It isn't. But what I am saying, is that's the issue. Our obsession with it."

"Well Premier sir, you can't exactly fault them for worshiping a moment in time that effectively ended the very notion of culture that came before it."

"I don't. But you cannot deny what I'm about to say. The federal government offers grace to the local population, intervening whenever possible; nationalizations, federal subsidies, social programs, wage increases. All of this a normal government should be doing.

Yet it is not treated as such, nor is it viewed as such. It is a Catholic dogma. "There is no salvation outside of the Church". It is not done through planning, but simply through the machinations and inner drive of a political class. Intentional or cynical.

But it is not one-sided. Not in the slightest. You are right. The history of the Astanai Revolution serves as an anchor for the people. A North Star to live up to. And that is the issue."

"Is it an issue for the people to try and synchronize what they viewed as necessary for a functioning society with the cold reality of the world?"

"No. But that is not the concern. The concern is simple. That is all there is. There is no faith within the institution of democracy or government itself."

"I see."

"Take a look at this past election. The moment an economic crisis hit that was outside the government's control. Something that no one could have predicted, Fide was booted out of office, and the SRs lost their majority status for the first time in over 10 years. And all of a sudden, an entire half of a decade worth of planning to restructure the Astanai nation was over.

How many times has this happened? Wasn't the very first coup, the 7th of October Coup, only occurred because the people were tired of Ivan Cosgrave, and so decided to trust Flora, who couldn't handle the outbreak of violence that followed after the introduction of multiparty elections?

Immanuel Hall and Aleksandra Vogel spent entire decades reshaping and modernizing the Astanai economy, intervening whenever possible in every aspect of public life to give the population as decent a life as possible, only for the middle-class electorate they created to decide they wanted more, and voted in for Augustine Davis. And then the other half of the electorate, who prospered under SR rule, decided to revolt against him, causing him to resign.

Wasn't that militancy and factionalism the primary reason why the NRPFF and the 1970 Civil War erupted in the first place? How many times have we not seen this exact situation again and again.

If there has been any fault any SR government has perpetuated, is a system of militant complacency, where any disruption or inconvenience is met with swift and widespread opposition."

"Hmm, quite a conservative analysis."

"If it is a conservative analysis, then it is one that comes from a place of earnest. That's when I realized I was exactly like them. I was all but doing the same thing. Dictating, giving the citizenry what they wanted just to ensure their loyalty. Even if I genuinely did it to improve their lives.

It is a rot that infects every aspect of civic life. Religious, economic, political, academic, even social. I realized this when Fide came into power, when he was granting and expanding the provincial-communes and local governments' fiscal and political authority, ensuring they themselves can determine their own path. I even respect Noahs for this.

But the same issue remains. It is top-down and only ensures that it is complacent. It is in Noahs' case, a false one, it is only replacing the federal government with local governments, which is equally the problem. It is compartmentalizing and privatization in all names except policy."

"What would your solution be? A desireless society? One completely rooted in ungrounded, selfless civic virtue? Advocated by the philosophers of folklore traditions from the Feng dynasty? Or from the minds of Islamic mystics in Monhaine?"

"No. It is simply what we are most famous for, a Protestant reformation."

"Even the Protestant reformation ended up with the division and split of Christendom into an infinite number of sects and denominations."

"Perhaps. Then at the very least, a true decentralization, that no government has achieved."

"And what would that bring? What would it look like, sir?"

"Hmmm. Simply put, the realization that government is the source of freedom. Everything comes from government regulations. Even in the most degenerate of capitalist societies like in, say, The atlas archipelago or Middle gertbland, the existence of a free market requires the existence of a government and public sphere to prop it up.

But it does not give freedom. John 16:2 makes it clear, only that remain is the holy spirit. The government cannot give freedom. Nor could it be some other utopian project that Noahs or Fide wished for.

I cannot say what I want. Only for an abstract wish. But that's why I was elected here. And I hope to see it."

Chancellors rises from the pew, collects his coat, and begins to exit to the right as the Reverend watches on.

"What may I call you then, if you no longer call yourself a part of the SR's right?"

Chancellors turns his head around.

"Call me a communist."

He returns back to the door and exits.

As a train pulls into the Northern Utopia train station, an announcement is made on the train station's PA system.

"Attention Northern Utopia Station passengers. Now arriving on Track 1, is The Featured Map Express to [Insert next Featured Region with the next Featured Map of the Day.] Please stand back from the yellow line and please watch the gap while boarding the train."

When entering the station, the train sounds its modified horn, which sounds like someone is saying: "Congratulations on having the Featured Map of the Day Northern Utopia!"

Also while entering the station, FMP Train Conductor Nikolai, with a bright smile on his face, sticks his head out of the train's locomotive window, waves, and yells: "Congratulations on having the Featured Map of the Day Northern Utopia!"

The train stops at the platform for 2 minutes, and opens its doors, picking up/dropping off passengers.

The train then closes it's doors and departs, heading to the next Region that has the next Featured Map of the Day.

--- THE PILLAR - PART 4.5 - "FIRST EXPERIMENT" ---

Zjaelmar city hall, Pillar of Jazkovn - Summer 1829

"Sir! There is a report you would like to hear."

An officer in his 30s stormed in Jeliven's office. The man subconsciously swept his neatly kept moustache clean as his eyes laid on the Zov. Jeliven's uniform resembled that of the man who interrupted his peace, the only difference in their attire being the Zov's golden ribbon, and slightly more visual same-colour ornaments on the high collar. Jeliven was sitting on his usual cushioned chair, legs crossed, looking outside a glass window. Jeliven turned his look at the man. He observed him from head to toe. He realized what it was about. Jeliven gaze hurdled across the room, occasionally meeting with the man's eyes. He let out a sigh. Should he be frightened or not? He knew this day would come eventually. Jeliven is the Zov. He shouldn't be frightened, he thought. That sigh he just gave was so obviously a way to act calm, the man standing on the doorframe must have caught up! Or maybe Jeliven is overthinking. Or perhaps, it doesn't really even matter. Why would anyone care if the Zov is frightened? He is the Zov afterall.

Jeliven stood up, fixing his gaze on the man who took out a letter from his satchel.

Jeliven: "Is this the experiment?"

Officer: "Yes, Jelivenzov. They want you to... you know... Uh, the letter explains it better than me."

Jeliven stared at the man, his expression saying he allows him to explain one more time. The officer responds by staying silent, insisting the Zov to read the letter.

Jeliven: "I certainly hope this won't destabilize the world. The Aqryils would hate that."

The officer handed the letter to Jeliven. The Zov snatched the letter and broke the seal. He meticulously skimmed through the report. Jeliven's eyes widened. Then, his jaw started dropping. His arms unconsciously started slowly raising the piece of paper up towards ceiling. He licked his upper lip before sucking it in. He gave a stare to the officer, as if Jeliven felt betrayed. He wasn't betrayed by anyone. Jeliven just didn't know what to do with his face in this situation. He quickly noticed the officer gulping out of anxiety, as if he did something wrong. No one in the room did anything wrong, except perhaps Jeliven himself. How could he allow this to happen?.

Jeliven: "We have something unprecedented in our hands."

Officer: "Indeed, Jelivenzov. The crew wants you to be present during the... uhh... the experiment."

Jeliven: "That much I have read. If it truly works, this may be the most significant drawback and advancement in humanity's history since we gained consciousness."

Officer: "... May I say something?"

Jeliven looked at the officer and gave a firm nod. The Zov folded the document and put it back in the letter.

Officer: "I am not sure if humanity has been made to do something like this..."

Jeliven: "Rest assured, I don't know either. Prepare the carriage."

Officer: "It's already waiting on the frontyard."

Jeliven, led by the officer, walked throughout the building, down the grand staircase through the front entrance. The blinding sun didn't give a rest. It took several seconds before Jeliven could see anywhere. The dim electrical lamps barely lit the building, making the contrast between dark inside and bright outside hurtful for eyes. The longer-than-expected drought season has probably affected the river streams and watermills besides them. Jeliven doesn't have much time to ponder that as the officer opens a door of the covered horse-drawn wagon before jumping to the driver's seat himself. The glimpse of the red brick buildings and industrial chimneys behind them aren't worth seeing anyway. The Zov sees them every day in his city of birth. Jeliven climbs inside, where he is met by Kuzian-born Marshal Kezbodek and scientific scholar & 'frontliner' Dägä from Pillar of Quziq. Kezbodek gives a grinning nod to the Zov, the greeting left unanswered. No one breaks the silence as the wagon strolls troughout the city. Only when they reach the less-populated outskirts does Jeliven open his mouth.

Jeliven: "This is a historical day."

Kezbodek: "Indeed it is! If the thing proves to be wonderful killer, we don't have to sacrifice any more lives in wars!"

Jeliven: "The definition of 'life' seems to become more and more hazy each day. We'll see what this 'thing' is all about. Whether we wanted or not."

Kezbodek: "We would have taken a wagonway route if there was one. They will eventually replace all roads I say."

Jeliven: "I doubt that. They're still quite slow."

Kezbodek: "What do you mean? For hundreds of years they have proven to be faster than anything else, apart from a horse on its highest throttle, of course."

Jeliven: "That means it could be faster."

Kezbodek: "Well, it's not like we can launch them forward like Jenivel's Wrath, right? That name does sound a lot like yours."

Jeliven: "That's why I'm more inclined to use the term 'Thunder Spear'. It's much more fitting, and doesn't have much mythological meaning behind it. Nevertheless, it's very unfortunate the earlier Zovs failed to find out the weapon's true secret before Iqlyzzi ended the war with his agreement. There's a lot of things that could have been done otherwise. And we never know which decision was the best one."

The wagon fell silent once again. Jeliven looked outside the dark maroon doorframe at the prospering fields. They would eventually die out in winter, and be reborn again by spring. The only reason they are reborn is thanks to the seeds. The idea for whatever they are heading towards also started from those very seeds. Some time later, Dägä hesitantly opened a satchel that was lying on his legs. He glanced at Jeliven, but retreated back to staring down when the Zov looked back. Soon, Dägä handed out couple sheets of paper to him. They were blank report documents ready to be filled by the inspectors, bystanders, and the Zov himself. In exhange, Jeliven gave a bright, green & golden medal to Dägä.

The carriage stopped. There was a building resembling a barnhouse. It was way too big to be an ordinary barn. This was the place where the experiment will be conducted. A blue-uniform soldier opened the door. Kezbodek, Dägä and Jeliven stepped out. The soldiers guided the three men inside. The heavy reinforced doors slowly opened, letting them all in. Those doors were opened again an hour later. Jeliven and Kezbodek returned to their carriage. Dägä was nowhere to be seen. The officer opened the door to the carriage, his eyes meeting with the Zov.

Officer: "How was everythi-"

He stopped the moment he saw Jeliven's gaze. As if Jeliven had witnessed a monster and was merely a survivor. Jeliven swiftly jumped in, Kezbodek giving a firm, serious nod to the officer before joining Jeliven. The carriage began moving. Jeliven glanced at the marshal.

Jeliven: "This is not the right path."

He stated, taking his eyes off of Kezbodek and looking outside from the window frame, visibly gulping as he tries to hold back tears. He leans to his hand, covering his mouth.

Kezbodek: "What is your order, Jelivenzov?"

The Zov stood quiet, blinking rapidly. For one second he held his eyes open too long, releasing a gush of tears down his cheeks on the next blink. Struggling to speak, he muttered:

Jeliven: "Cancel all experiments. Cancel and archive everything from this path."

Kezbodek: "Y- are you sure...?"

Jeliven: "How do you even end his suffering?"

Kezbodek: "I... I honestly don't know."

Jeliven: "... I stared at the wolves... I made my decision. I'm turning back. Élils Kuten is ashamed of me."

Two months later, Jeliven voluntarily resigned from the position of Zov after 17 years of reign, allowing the Glory Games to begin. The report of the experiment was archived, the original being handed to Gloria Estorias archives, and a copy kept in Kuzikstania Academic Research Center.

------------------------------

QÁZAFOT - FORMATIVE BIOLOGY WING - EXPERIMENT ABA-1 REPORT

-- Slide 1 --

Date: August 10th 1829

Present: Jelivenzov - Marshal Kezbodek (PIL.KUZIA) - Marshal M'Guian (PIL.IATHAR)

Subject: Front.Pers. Dägä (PIL.QUZIQ) - Front.Pers. Krodez (PIL.KUZIA)

Result: Success

Consequences: Further experiments on ABA-1 to be retracted and archived. all sources of ABA-1 must be destroyed. Formative Biology Wing to be closed until further notice. Qázafot continues research on other wings as usual.

-- Signed by Jenivelzov. --

[Jenivel's stamp]

Description: Overall description. Further information on slides 2-38.

"Subject Dägä was provided a complete ABA-1. Transformation to ABA-1-1 was complete. Subject Krodez was mauled by ABA-1-1. As expected, ABA-1-1 attempted to attack other personnel in vicinity. ABA-1-1 posesses extraordinary strenght, but does not carry humanity within its mind. ABA-1-1 vocals suggest intense suffering within the subject. ABA-1-1 was successfully captured in a hole. No casualties emerged in process. Bodily mutilation of ABA-1-1 continued after the experiment. bullets and fire shows little to no effect on vitality of ABA-1-1. It is unknown whether ABA-1-1 feels physical pain. Mental trauma treatment has been provided to bystanders. Further tests will not be continued as ordered by Jelivenzov"