“Bahreltahn damnit, Jay! Take the lens cap off, get all of this!”
Light, blurred concrete and frantic jerking as a camera is jostled about and adjusts to the sunlight. A smoking building with tendrils of flames flaring from its windows and a hole viciously torn in its roof.
Sirens, more shouting, gunfire.
The camera focuses in on an attractive young woman who is in the process of brushing falling ash off of her shirt. She looks directly into the camera, instantly donning a mask of concern and sternness.
“Trisari Kerah with Channel 3 News in Ki’wana, here at Veechtahv Hall in Downtown. It’s…” she hastily checks a wristwatch. “1:39 PM. Approximately ten minutes ago, an explosion went off inside Veechtahv Hall behind me, where a historic meeting between the heads of state of several nations and our very own Lord Mayor was taking place. The origin of the explosion is as of yet unknown, and as you can hear, there is what sounds like gunfire coming from inside the building.”
“Platz da, platz da! Inneratroopen durchkommen!” a group of men rushed past the reporter, violently shoving her and the cameraman to the side. They caught glimpses of the red dragon-shaped patches on the men’s shoulders, the rifles in their arms.
“That was, uh, Waltch – I think. Military forces are responding to the situation, including foreign security forces tasked with protecting the VIPs inside!” She looked back over her shoulder. “Hell of job they’re doing. Damn toriní fah—“
Another explosion from within the building caused both individuals to duck instinctively, backing up. A new chorus of screams echoed around the quickly emptying plaza.
“Another explosion has rocked Veechtahv Hall! We still have no information about what’s going on inside, or about that status of the Lord Mayor or any of the officials inside. Stay—“
“Sir, ma’am, I’m going to have to ask you to vacate the plaza!” A man shouted; a police officer soon entered frame. “You need to leave, it’s not safe here!”
“No, no, we’re covering the situation, we-“
“I said, scram! Give me that thing!” The officer made a grab for the camera.
“I’m turning it off, we’re scramming! Come on Tris!”
The feed went dark.
“All evidence points to a government entity, sir.”
A long conference table with a monitor at the far end, fully occupied by dozens of important officials from across the vast Waltch bureaucracy; those who couldn’t get chairs stood against the walls. Prime Minister Xavier Laberenz reclined in a hospital chair on the monitor, one arm in a sling, bandages wrapped carefully around his head. His short blonde hair, usually immaculate and precisely groomed, was a mess and caked in what could only be blood. He sat forward at this information. “Oh?”
“Etzonocua. A large continent to the southeast of the Antonian mainland. The AID has a sizeable dossier on it; it’s just never been relevant.”
Laberenz reached for an object leaning against the chair; a sturdy wooden cane, which he used to push himself to his feet. A poor leg, a result of his injuries, but not during this latest attack. These ghosts came from the Siege of Heaven a short few years ago. The man moved towards the camera slowly and deliberately, leaning in close so that his piercing grey eyes took up a majority of the frame.
“It’s relevant now.” He hissed, stern despite the lack of apparent true anger in his voice. “And this incompetency will be harshly remembered. Who here is part of the Second Directorate?” A handful of men and women reluctantly raised their hands, not daring to look away from the monitor. “You’ll be lucky if this doesn’t land you in the Resettlement Program. The Party does not accept anything but the best.”
“I’m not sure that’s entirely necessary, Mr. Laberenz.” An older man entered the frame as the prime minister sat down. “I don’t think anybody could’ve truly anticipated this.”
Laberenz scoffed, but said nothing else on the matter. “I’m surprised you’re walking, Escher. You were covered in so much blood I might’ve mistaken you for Leinkojusk himself.”
“I’m afraid I’m not much of a dragon, though I’d wager it’d take one to kill me.”
“That can be arranged, if you ever tire of politics.”
“I’ll keep that in mind. Now, I’d like to compare our information with that your agencies have collected, see how much of it matches up. I’d like for the others to be here, but they’re either unconscious or in surgery.”
“Of course. Go right ahead. I think you’ll find the Directorate is very thorough.
“Of course it is.” The man reached inside his coat and readjusted the goggles on his face; goofy things, really. Apparently they protected his eyes from harsh light. Escher produced a slim manila envelope from the jacket and opened it. “Please, stop me if anything I say doesn’t match up.
“We’ve determined that the group behind the attack is in fact the government of Etzonocua, a large hermit kingdom across the ocean to the Confederacy’s southeast. Nearly two billion citizens. Roughly half the size of Waldzenia. It’s something of a caesaropapacy. An emperor and ‘archprophet’ rule the nation, together with a vestigial premier, forming a triumvirate. Communication and travel, into or out of the empire, is exceptionally rare. From what we can gather, it seems to be an utterly communist society ruled by a church.”
“A communist theocracy.” Laberenz observed. “It’s all of Magnus’s worst nightmare rolled into one.”
Escher nodded. “As such, it has a total command economy and all-encompassing government that enforces religious law. They follow a faith called Tlacanatlism, which features a pantheon of very violent gods; it focuses heavily on human sacrifice and the worthlessness of the individual in the grand scheme of things. But the emperor and archprophet, of course, are divine and speak for the gods.”
“That being said, its economy is in shambles, and both its society and military are stuck somewhere back in the 1950s. Despite this, its entire population seems to be completely indoctrinated to believe in the superiority of their regime. Even the leadership; or perhaps, especially the leadership.”
“They made a public statement, broadcasted to all governments involved at the conference.” A man from the Directorate spoke. “Apparently, stability and goodwill in the region is a threat to them and an affront to their gods.”
“They can’t actually expect no response?”
“Perhaps a response is exactly what they’re looking for. “ Laberenz mused. “I have a feeling that this regime is playing a very tricky game…” He placed his chin in his hand, staring off into the distance, becoming lost in thought.
“A response is exactly what they’ll get from Antonia, regardless of what game they’re playing.” Escher said sourly. “An attack like this on Antonian soil is completely unforgiveable. The people will call for blood, and they’ll get it.”
“I didn’t expect such a populist response from you, Mr. Escher.” Laberenz remarked without looking at him. “But I suppose any nation would do exactly the same thing in such a situation….Herr Stark?”
A bald, barrel-chested man seated towards the front of the table leaned forward so that he was in better view of the camera. “Ja, Herr Premierminister?” He rumbled beneath a silver walrus mustache.
“Assemble de Blodigkomisja in Gotherfell.” Laberenz stood again with visible effort. “I will be there shortly. I expect our…” The prime minister paused for just a moment, thoughtfully glancing over at Escher. “…allies to gather as well.
“Are you sure that’s the best idea, Mr. Laberenz? Your wounds were quite grievous, as I understand it...”
“So I’ve been told.” Laberenz scoffed. “So I was told when Rodgren tried to kill me. Honestly, Herra Escher, it’ll take the hammer of the damn gods to put me down at this rate.”