"Welcome to Highfort National News, your source of all the latest political intrigue and juicy entertainment gossip! I'm your host, Jennifer Corovian!" the anchorwoman sat in front of the searing heat of the studio lights with a reserved smile as cameras filmed her upper body movements behind a curved, oak desk.
On one side stood the green-and-white striped flag of the Republic, with its defiant phoenix and fasces in the center; on the other, a newer one asserted its presence.
Blue with gold trim on the borders, it was graced with fourteen mildly-imprinted, gold-gilded stars. Regal was the first thing that came to mind when most people first saw it, and they wouldn't be too far off in thinking that.
"As you know, with the secession of several regions encompassing the Koppa Desert, the War for the Republic has broken out," as she spoke, the green screen behind her altered to show a political map of the Republic, "Now we bring you the latest on the fight for the capital city. Live from the High Fort, our very own Jameson Williams!"
"Thank you, Jennifer," a bald-headed man with a nervous smile and wearing outdated flak-jacket appeared in a small window in the upper right corner of millions of television screens before expanding to overtake the image of the newsroom.
"Mr. President, corridor is clear," a guard adjusted his steel helmet, not in fashion since the end of the First World War, before motioning for Robert to make his way into the hallway in front of his office, "Rebels shifting focus to Senate building."
The aforementioned President adjusted his suit beneath his own flak jacket before checking his pistol and switching off the safety, "After I'm in the exit zone, take a team and get Consul Callican out of the Senate."
The guard nodded before darting out into the hallway, the President following carefully behind him. Shoes quietly clacked across the carpeted corridor as they made their way toward the back exit.
"Burning buildings light the night and gunfire interrupts the once-bustling city as the Royalist Restoration Coalition and Republic Vanguard square off over control of the nation's prized jewel," Jameson moved away from the center of the camera to show of the medieval crenellations of the High Fort, "Traditionally the fortress has acted as a center of government and a symbol of power for kings and dictators. With the new additions of the Executive Offices and the domed Senate Building, it's now a jewel for democracy and thus a hot spot for both sides, leading to intense urban combat."
The broadcast collided with said fighting as the camera flashed static for a moment, its stable platform interrupted by quaking from artillery fire.
Two screams registered on the tinny microphone of the camera: one male, one female. Audience eyes around the nation were glued to their television sets.
"Carrie, get the camera out of here!" Jameson's panicked face briefly appeared on camera before being replaced by a background of smoke and fire, "Fuck, we're leaving!"
"Carla, what's the sitrep on that chopper?" Robert called out, jogging over from the basement exit of the office building and huffing all the while, "And what's Viktor's ETA?"
"Chopper's flying, be here in five," she paused to peek around the corner of the Executive Offices, keeping watch to ensure the main street was clear of rebels, "Lieutenant Xeno maintaining radio silence. No contact since morning."
Their brief conversation was interrupted by gunfire as rebel scouts took pot shots at the building.
"Don't let them get away!" Robert raised his pistol to shoot one of the rebels, a young woman wearing a bandana with an ornate design reminiscent of a crown, "Drop the fuckers!"
She slumped forward a moment later. Robert's eyes briefly flicked over her falling corpse, her arms flailing like a gasping fish. She looked no older than he was when the democratic resistance had been in full swing, just a college kid looking for a righteous cause. And by the final look etched on her face, she'd found her cause.
His gaze hardened and he turned to the next target. She had a gun; she'd been shooting at them. She was not innocent.
The scouts dropped like flies, two by two or sometimes one by one as either Robert or Carla was reloading. The few that were left beat a hasty retreat to inform the rebels of the president's location.
The whir of a helicopter pierced through the din of combat as the president's exit arrived. Robert turned quickly to spot Amanda's face but found that the Consul had not yet arrived. The thought of leaving her inadvertently left him in cold sweats.
Nobles were not known for their mercy.
"Deploying flares," the pilot flicked a switch as rockets filled the sky, the rebels attempting to ground Robert's only method of escape, "Mr. President, do you copy?"
"Copy, over!" The arrival of more heavily-armed rebels, led by the surviving scouts, was heralded with gunfire which threatened to overpower the little radio piece set in the president's ear.
"This is Turtle White, landing zone looks hot," the pilot paused to peer around the area as he circled the craft to avoid being hit by enemy missile fire, "Landing zone looks hot. I see four vehicles approaching down the main street. We need to go now, over."
"Negative, the Consul's not here!" Robert spoke between gun shots as he took shelter behind a garden wall designed more for aesthetics than avoiding missile fire, "Circle the area, over!"
The pilot shrugged, "Negative, Mr. President. Primary objective is you. Repeat: primary objective is you, over."
The gunfire only intensified as each second passed, more rebels closing on in the newly-identified Executive Offices in a frantic attempt to topple the head of the democratic government. Another stray rocket flew harmlessly beneath the helicopter as it continued to circle the landing zone. It began a slow descent.
"I am your president, you listen to me!" Robert yelled into the earpiece as he reloaded his pistol, "We don't leave without Amanda, over!"
As the chopper touched down, a familiar face emerged from within. Mirroring the president, he too wore a flak jacket over his suit, though it was accompanied by a modern-looking ceramic helmet. A raised fist came up and was the last thing Robert saw before blacking out.
"So sorry, again, Mr. President," Foreign Affairs Minister Jefferson Smith offered a smile as he clobbered Robert right in the nose, "But we have work to do."
"I see..." Ms. Corovian gazed off-screen as her producer waved around a phone with new information from the front lines. Nodding gravely, she turned back to offer a grim smile for the audience, "Ladies and gentlemen, I have both good and bad news."
Taking off her thin-rimmed glasses, she rubbed the bridge of her nose, "The good news is that Mr. Williams and his crew are safe and have continued to send us text updates from the High Fort. Unfortunately, they've sent us grave news."
"Consul Senatus Amanda Callican has been captured by the Royalist Restoration Coalition," she licked her lips as she attempted to phrase the next bit of information to be family-friendly, "The rebels have taken her to another facility, where we are unsure at this time. They appear to be intending to torture and possibly kill her on national television."
Another off-screen gaze followed by rapid nods.
"I have it on good authority that the President will be issuing a response later today on the fall of the High Fort," the anchorwoman offered a hopeful smile, "Let us hope that the Republic can stand tall in her hour of tribulation."
The President awoke to a bloody nose and a throbbing forehead. He let out a groan as he sat up, the rumbling of the helicopter alerting him that he was in-transit.
"Ugh... What the fuck happened?" he rubbed the back of his balding head before searching and finding his glasses in his pocket. He felt strangely exposed and vulnerable without his flak jacket and pistol.
"You were being your usual, stubborn self, Robert," Jefferson offered a chuckle as he looked over the disheveled president before producing a handkerchief to stem the bleeding, "Amanda's a good ally and a good person but we couldn't risk losing you both. Not when the Republic needs her president."
Robert grudgingly accepted the cloth with a swipe of his hand and jammed it in his nostril before letting out a grunt, "We don't leave associates behind."
"Who said anything about leaving her behind?" the minister let out a snort, "Got a team on a plan to break her out already. Really, Robert, you don't remember that I was in the High Freemen? I'm rather offended. You, on the other hand, have bigger fish to fry."
A manila folder slipped into Robert's hands.
"You remember the trip we took a few months back? To the nation of Swith Witherward?" Jefferson let out a grin, "We penciled in a reciprocal visit for them. This month, in fact - today."
