A Day in a Life (Closed. Tyran Only)

[Cacerta]

Epaulettes and Honor, Part I

Palazzo Khushrenada
Sanreno, Apullia, Kingdom of Cacerta
The Khushrenada Family Palace overlooking Sanreno was, considered by many, far more imposing than beautiful. Although it had been modernized over the centuries since its construction, most of the outer facade -- that of an impregnable fortress constructed atop a rocky mountaintop. Surrounded on three sides by sheer cliffs and rock faces, Khushrenada Palace had only one attackable approach. Palazzo Khushrenada was one of only two unconquered citadels in the Cacertian Archipelago, the other being the infamous Water Fortress of Fumicino.

Growing up within its walls, Vivi Khushrenada could not help but feel both safe and trapped; coming home was always such a bittersweet experience. But, standing next to her terrifyingly straight-faced elder sister, Vivi had no other option than to suck in her anxious sigh. Almost on cue; “Come, Vivien,” She heard Valeriana state to her. “It is best not to keep Mother and Father waiting.”

They were crossing the bridge between the fortress’s two keeps; a structure of stone and mortar several centuries old -- an engineering marvel by the standards of its ancient builders. Valeriana and Vivi’s parents were standing in the doorway of the opened gigantic oakwood gates that stood as part of the fortress’s final line of defense. No attacker had ever made it this far in the Palace’s long and storied history.

House Khushrenada was not only characterized by its staunchly trained troops and impregnable fortress, but also by its characteristic attire. Members of the Khushrenada family wore decorative military uniforms, colored and dyed to represent their status within the hierarchy. Vivi wore blue, a color that symbolized her service in the Royal Navy whereas her sister was adorned in white -- a color only deemed worthy for the leader of OZ, a position their own mother once held before her eldest daughter succeeded her.

Their mother, Sonia Khushrenada, had served as the Duchess of OZ between 2006 up until the OZ Council voted for her daughter in 2013. She was dressed in steel grey -- which represented her former position as Duchess. Unlike other characterized members of the Khushrenada line, Sonia was tender as opposed to terse and her face was soft with emotion. Vivi loved their mother; she really couldn’t tell whether or not Valeriana did -- especially as she went to greet their mother with a handshake as opposed to Vivi’s hug.

“Valeriana, my intelligent daughter,” Sonia said as she shook hands with her. “I know how busy you are with your OZ and Parliament work, I’m glad you could join us for the Autumn Harvest this year. We rarely get to see you nowadays, but I understand and am very aware of why.”

Sonia stroked Vivi’s cheek with a smile, “And Vivi, my young and tender daughter dear,” she spoke quietly and tenderly, “It is always a joy to see you. I sincerely hope that as OZ’s Foreign Representative your sister is not working you too hard. I understand that you will be departing for Nalaya on your sister’s behalf as soon as the festival is finished?”

“I don’t believe I’ll be leaving as soon as the festival is finished,” Vivi responded, “but I do understand that it should be around New Years or later, so a few more months. And no, Mother, Valeriana keeps me busy, but not so much so that it’s hard work. She’s good to her little sister.” Vivi turned to see if her sister had heard them, but she was deep in conversation with their Father. More plans related to turning OZ into a true military force. “I know she has a few meetings coming up with the Queen and Prime Minister Ianelli soon -- specifically to talk about my departure.” Although Vivi was sure her mother already new that.

Sonia Khushrenada was well-known for her skills in deception and although she outwardly appeared softspoken and sweet, it was important to note that she was almost equally as well-informed as the Queen -- her network of information spreading far and wide utilizing skills she had picked up serving in both Directorates of SISMI. It was not to say that the love of her family was not genuine; it was just a key to realize that if anyone tried to take advantage of herself or her family, she could pull the rug from right underneath her opponents. As she very well did during her time in the military and intelligence communities.

Once they had finished with their initial and ritual greetings, the family of four made their way through their fortress to their comfortable living room. The floor to ceiling windows that had been installed led out to a balcony that had been hewn from the rock itself, providing a stunning view of the waters which the Palace imposingly overlooked.

Valeriana quickly retreated into her room. As the Duchess and a member of the House Assembly, she was always inexplicably occupied with something and growing up as her younger sister, Vivi was careful not to bother her. In recent months she had gotten quite close to the Queen, becoming part of her Private Council of which only a select few elite men and women were part. Valeriana could speak very little of her new duties, but Vivi completely understood why. The subject matters were sensitive -- no matter how superfluous one might think they may be.

And, much like Valeriana, her Father did the same -- retreating into his office to go over the day’s occurrence in Sanreno. It was very clear who took from which parent. Valeriana was very much like he Father in many ways, yet maintaining their Mother’s cunning. It always made Vivi feel a bit underwhelming in comparison. She was not as uniquely gifted as her sister, but Sonia was always sure to show both of them her love.

With her Father’s departure, it left Vivi and her Mother alone in the living room. Sonia poured two small glasses of imported Ossorian whiskey -- adding one large chilling stone to each -- before handing one to her daughter. They each took a small sip and took in the setting sun over the ocean horizon before Sonia asked, “So, how are you enjoying your work with the Organization?”

“It’s very different,” Vivi responded, pausing to take another sip from her glass, enjoying the taste and burn of the alcohol, “I was more or less used to being told what to tell my sailors what to do in the Navy. With OZ the only person I report to is Vali and she leaves me to do a lot of things independently and on my own.”

“That’s good, though, Dear. Despite what you might think, Valeriana wants to see you succeed and she always felt that you were far too complacent with being told what to do.”

What her Mother was saying wasn’t exactly false. It was always far easier to just relay orders as opposed to make the decisions on her own. She feared making the wrong call or the wrong decision -- despite being taught at the Academy that every decision isn’t perfect. “I guess I can understand that.”

“Now, Nalaya is going to be a very different place, Vivi -- be sure you understand that.” Sonia spoke tensely and seriously. “This will be the first time you’ll be sent as a representative of Cacerta to a nation involved in active warzones. And keep in mind that you’ll also be the face of OZ to the Protector. Am I to understand that your sister has been petitioning the Queen to deploy Zodiac Commandos to Nalaya?”

“Yes, indeed,” Vivi responded to her Mother. “Vali really feels like that -- if we plan on eventually transforming OZ into a full combat unit, we’ll really have to get them into actual combat.”

“And that will be your call, dear.” Sonia said as she took another sip. “You’ll have to observe the combat zones in Nalaya and make a decision as to how, where, and best you believe their deployment will be.” She placed her hand on her daughter’s shoulder. “And do not forget you can contact your sister or me if you really have to. You’ll be carrying a lot of pressure on your shoulders, but don’t let that intimidate you.”

Vivi let out a small sigh, “I know, Mom. I know.”

[Schottia]

Handon Town Hall,
Handon, Schottia.

High Council Leader's Questions was a gruelling part of any Council Leader's week. There were no soft pitches, no banal "everything in my council ward is fucking spectacular, would my Comrade agree" questions. The attacks could come from any part of the chamber, as well as from members of the public, via letter or email. In addition to this the leader of every party with two seats or more could ask a question with unlimited follow-ups brought to a halt only if they were satisfied, or if the Convener decided that the line of questioning was no longer going anywhere.

Like all council meetings, the Questions took place in Handon town hall, in the debating room, where the 181 High Council Members sat in four tight semi-circles facing the Council Convener and his deputy at the front of the room. The benches were made from dark varnished oak, with a maroon leather cushioning, the same colours which were echoed in the panelling around the walls, and the carpets. The walls were adorned with carvings, of prominent socialist figures, and symbols, and were punctuated at various points with paintings and tapestries depicting the working people's struggle over the ruling classes. Above where the Convener sat was the Green Star of Schottia, flanked by the Pickaxe and the Hammer.

It was a tight squeeze if every Councillor turned up, as the debating hall originally only held 175, and some people had to bunch up. Given that debates had a habit of running on somewhat, there were normally a few numb arms and legs by the end of the day.

The High Council Leader sat in the front row, in the centre section, which normally could accommodate four Councillors (five during the weekly Questions, assuming that the Council Leader would sit sideways on when they weren't answering).

'...so yeah, I see your point Gabi.' Amy was currently answering an email question from Gabi in Bridge of Larchy, who had asked about the lack of female coaches at the top level in Schottic football. 'While we are all immensely proud of Jane Gullie's achievements in the World Cup Qualifiers, we need to look at the bigger picture, and the reasons why more women aren't getting into coaching.' Amy was in the middle of the chamber, speaking directly to the Convener, as was customary when answering a question from the public. Her hair tied back tightly, looking almost brown in the dim light, only accentuate her pale skin. There was no dress code in the chamber as such, and even if there was, it would only give some of the members all the more pleasure in turning up in casual clothes. Amy wore a loose fitting grey jacket with the cuffs rolled up away from her hands, over a SSP-red shirt, and black leggings.

There was actually no way you could prepare for a question like this, no way at all. Luckily she felt like she had a handle on it. 'I think what is important is that we don't do anything kneejerk and try to rush women into managerial roles, but at the same time we need to make sure that there are no obstacles in their path. Remember it is only the last eight years or so that we have had co-ed football at all levels, so these things take time. But you are very right in raising this as an issue, and it is something that the we will need to keep an eye on over the next couple of years.'

Amy looked round for Jon Reeding, the Councillor for Sports and Culture. 'I would be happy to give way to the Member for Ruthshire, if you have anything you'd like to add Comrade?' Amy indicated to her SSP colleague that he could have the floor.

A small, round faced man, with equally round glasses stood up - but not to his full height - suggesting that he wouldn't be adding much. 'No, I concur with the, eh, Councillor’s views on the matter. And as my Comrade has stated, I wouldn't want to intervene in a matter of this nature, until we can establish whether there is an issue there or not.'

'Okay, Council Leader, if you have nothing further to add?' The Convener, Baram Johnson, looked down at the schedule in front of him through a pair of well-loved reading glasses. It was sometimes unclear as to how the shrivelled, balding, man could read through the streaks on the lenses. The Convener was elected separately, by the council, and was normally a former member or the council or a prominent trade union figure. You could accept or decline the nomination, then you would stand against every other candidate receiving a nomination. Traditionally the Convener was not a member of the largest coalition party, and former SWP member Johnson, had been convener now for eight years.

He had an almost dusty appearance, like an aged museum worker who invidualted the exhibits. Everything about him looked at home sat in his chair beneath the Green Star, and he could have been like some type cast actor.

’The next quest-ion comes from NICHOLAS GRANTON....!'

This was fast becoming Amy's least favourite part of the day, and she had to work to keep any unease from creeping into her face. The leader of the Schottic Communist Party had been launching a series of well-aimed attacks against her for months now. He had this angle on her, where he came across as the authentic voice of the workingman, opposing the young career politician, from a well known political family. Every other aging male Councillor who had locked horns with her in the chamber, raised their voices, had crashed and burned at her feet looking like a misogynist. But Granton was one of those people mud didn't really stick to. The problem was, that his working-class, worked-your-way-up-from-the-bottom card, trumped her young-woman card, and as a result he had her bent over the benches, shafting her week in week out. God! That was an image she needed to get out of her head.

'Thank - you, Mr Convener.' Said the aging man, with slicked-back white hair and wide framed glasses. He said it with relish, as if this was the highlight of his week - and there was a good chance that it was. Granton never looked like he wore his suit, rather it appeared as if he had been fired out of a cannon through an assortment of suits, and he would wear whatever assemblage attached itself to him. The top button of his shirt wasn't done up, and his tie sat squinty about two centimetres above it. Amy wasn't even sure if his trousers and jacket were made of the same material let alone matched in colour. This was her nemesis, and if the polls were anything to go by, then he was making slight inroads.

The Local (or "Small") Council elections were coming up very soon, as things stood, the SSP could lose twenty to thirty seats to the Communists, and while that was nothing across all 59 wards, it was movement. It was the first time there had been any movement against Amy Connell in the polls since she came to office.

'Thank you.' He repeated, bringing some cheers from is own party to a stop. 'Thank you Comrades.'

'Go on Nick!' Shouted SCP councillor Rosie McCrorry, a young girl with dyed red hair, which stopped just above her shoulders, and too much eyeliner. She, like the rest of the SCP were already quite animated as their leader prepared to speak. Amy couldn't stand the girl, who was the member for Soessch North, and two years younger than she was. McCrorry always came across as having a chip on her shoulder, and was currently dressed in a t-shirt and hoody, with a scruffy pair of jeans and skateshoes. She looked like she was going to enjoy this one, and her outburst made Amy all the more determined for that not to happen.

Amy way well prepared. If Granton went with Education she had a couple of comebacks prepared. Same with Health, and in particular the need for more community nurses. She was ready to announce a new initiative to increase recruitment, and she would reveal that later this week, even if she didn't use it as a flat retort today. The only thing she was shaky on was those fucking community gardens, and cock up which had meant that some of the city sites going to be used were the same ones that they had already pledged in order to build some new one bedroom flats. The flats were intended for young graduates, to allow them stay near their jobs in the city after leaving University. That in itself had taken a bit of a manoeuvre, as the SSP nearly tripped themselves up on the paid internships fiasco. Creating positions that no one could travel to.

'ORDER! Order.' Shouted Baram Johnson, in his creaky old voice, like an old door requiring oil. 'While I welcome the enthusiasm from the SCP members, particularly the member for Soessch North, can I remind you all that this chamber is a place for civilised debate, not for cheering, jeering, nor goading. Thank you! Councillor Granton.

'Thank you, again, Mr Convener.' Granton cleared his throat and looked up at Amy through narrowed eyes. 'I was wondering if the Council Leader could clear something up for my Comrades and I. A few moths ago we helped pass new legislation to create more community gardens in our towns and cities, in a move which we in the SCP wholeheartedly supported.' He switched his glasses for a slimmer pair of readers and unfolded a piece of paper from his jacket pocket. 'Given now that even the Housing Commissioner Robert Rudden has said this will be impossible to implement along with the plans to build more houses in the city gap-sights - particularly in Lammerton and Handon - Will the Council Leader now admit that building more houses in our inner cities isn't feasible?'

Of course it's not fucking feasible you fucking fuck! She was tied in a knot on this one. She felt like screaming, but that wasn't the answer, keep cool, be nice. He is just doing his job. As well as representing his constituents his job was to hold her and her government to account. Granton had so much mileage on this one, and he could he could attack her for hours on housing, something that had been a failing of previous SSP governments. Amy was going to need a large glass of wine this evening.

[Azura and Montemayor]

An Unexpected Request [1]
Palác Čachtice, Váhom, Azura and Montemayor
8:53 PM Montemayori Standard Time; 27 April, 2016

As the sun set on the city of Váhom the hustle and bustle of everyday life began to settle down. The nightlife in the city was not an active one. While Váhom was the capital of Nitra, the province that it resided in, it was also a calm place. While there was a nightlife, the large dance clubs and local sites of excitement were not as active as they might have been in other cities around the country. For many people this was a welcome reality, while for some, particularly the younger residents, it was one of the downsides of the city. Being a historic city and provincial capital, the environment was not one that was the most welcoming when it came to people who were looking for excitement or innovation, unless, that is, you thought that politics and royalty were exciting. Váhom may have been the provincial capital, but it was also something else. While many would expect a monarch to rule from the capital of the nation he rules, the monarch of Azura and Montemayor did not. The monarch of Azura and Montemayor ruled from Váhom. In doing so, Váhom was given the title the "Royal Capital," while Hrabské, the official capital, was where the national government resided and ruled from. The monarch could have easily ruled from Hrabské, but since the beginning of the Empire of Azura and Montemayor in 1201 CE the monarch ruled from Váhom, the historical capital of the Kingdom of Montemayor.

With the dimming natural light emitted from the setting sun, the artificial lights in the city began to spark to life. Palác Čachtice was no different, with palace servants scurrying to close the curtains and flip the switch to turn on the lamps and overhead lights that were in every room of the palace. There was one exception to this, though. One of the many sitting rooms throughout the palace was left dark except for the flickering light coming from the flames of a roaring fire that sat enclosed on three sides by an ornate marble fire place. The room was situated on the interior of the palace with large windows overlooking a courtyard that sat in the interior of one of the parts of the palace. Surrounded on all four sides by walls and opened to the fresh air above, the courtyard was filled with hedges and flowers along with one or two fountains. The temperature outside was cool, at least cooler than a normal night's temperature in the temperate climate that encompassed Azura and Montemayor. It was in the high forties outside, far too cool for the one occupant of the room that sat reading a thick novel on a high-backed, cushioned lounge chair by the fire.

Stefánia Doležal enjoyed being in this specific sitting room. It had a cozy feeling to it, with the fire place and the cushioned lounge chairs and sofas that were all colored with warm colors. The hard wooden floors made of smooth mahogany and the plush carpets that laid on top of them were also very welcoming. The room was, in most aspect, hers. It was rarely used by anyone else who resided in the palace, with many of the other occupants typically staying in the residential section. While this room was also in a residential area of the palace, it was located among the guest quarters, which were not used as often as they used to be. Stefánia had moved in a book shelf that was filled with books that she had yet to read. The novel she was currently reading had been plucked from one of the shelves recently. She was a quick reader and was already about half way through the novel, a recently published tale about a mystical world of plunder and deceit that followed a pirate, or more specifically a sky pirate, who sailed through the air on his grand galleon going on several adventures and getting into many sticky situations. It was the third book of a trilogy written by one of her favorite writers, Natália Moravec.

She had just started a new chapter when there was a knock on the door. Most of her family members who resided in the palace knew that she liked this room and spent a lot of time in the evenings here, so it was no surprise that someone would have come here to look for her. "Come in," she said, pushing herself up in her seat and closing the book partly while keeping her index finger in it so to not lose her page.

The door handle turned and the door swung silently open. Standing in the doorway was the most powerful man in the nation, and one of, if not the most, powerful man on the entire continent. Her father, Drahoslav Doležal, forth of his name and Emperor of Azura and Montemayor, along with several other titles that very few people actually take the time to memorize, stepped into the room and closed the door behind him. He was still wearing the suit he had been dressed in all day, which was not unusual. Her father was a night owl. He would stay up late into the evening to work or sometimes even just sit around and have a glass of Montemayori wine or a glass of whiskey from Ossoria or Schottia who he specially imported it from. He would then often have to wake up early in the morning to deal with matters of state. She had no idea how he did it.

"Put the book down, my dear. We have something to discuss," Drahoslav said in a somber tone, moving into the center of the room and sitting down on the sofa that was positioned in front of the now roaring fire.

Picking up her bookmark from a small, round wood table beside her, she slid in between the pages of the book she had been reading and closed it, sitting it on the table where the bookmark had been. "What is it, father?"

She could tell something was bothering him. He was acting different. Whether it be the bouncing of his leg or the way he was sitting, there were several things that just didn't seem right. "Well my dear, I must ask something of you. You must understand, I love you dearly. You are my only daughter, and I do not take pleasure in asking you to do something that you may not want to do..."

There was a pause. Stefánia was surprised at how worried her father seemed by what he was trying to tell her. It was true, she was his only daughter. Of the four children he had with his wife and her mother, she had been the only female to emerge from the womb, and in doing so had earned a special place in her father's heart. It was also true that her father did not ask much of her, he didn't have to. She was about to graduate from high school and enter her dream university, Matej Bel University, to which she was just recently accepted last month. She had good grades and was a model student, she was in several extracurricular activities and did community service. She was the perfect child by many aspects.

Taking advantage of the break in his attempted explanation, she took her turn to speak. "I know, father. I know all of that. You don't need to worry, just tell me what it is. I won't get mad or anything."

He turned to look at her, taking his gaze off of the fire. "I know, darling. This is just hard for me. I've told you so many times that I wouldn't do this and I know that you have said so many times you would never want to do this..."

He was getting closer to actually telling her what he so desperately needed to. There were few things that matched his description, she was not a very needy or demanding person, but the things that would match that criteria were things that she was very keen on not relenting to. The feeling of worry for her father turned to a feeling of worry for both him and her now. A small pit began to form in her stomach as she started to think of the possible things her father would tell her in the coming minute. She began to fiddle with her bracelet on her right wrist, twirling it around.

"...but I must ask you to nonetheless. Over the last few weeks I have been in contact with the Imperator of Shalum, Tyler Holland. As you may or may not know, he has a son that is unwed and the same age of you. We have been discussing the possibility of the two of you entering a marriage."

The pit in her stomach grew as her heart fell. While her father may have been using words like 'discussing' and 'possibility' she knew very well that since he was talking to her about it that it was no longer a possibility but rather a reality. He knew perfectly well that one of the things she had been most stern on, one of the things she had stressed for a long time, was that she did not want to be a part of any arranged marriage. She had long dreamed of meeting her perfect man at university of randomly on the street and falling in love with him, not being shown a picture and being told this is who she had to spend the rest of her life with. The only reason that an arranged marriage was on her radar in the first place was because that was what had happened to her grandfather had done to her father. Her mother had been an arranged wife for him, and while they both got along perfectly and loved each other very much, she knew that it did not always turn out that way.

"I can see you are unhappy," he said, reaching out and putting his hand on one hers. "But it is something that will be good for us, good for you. Johnathan Holland is a very nice man, he is your age and much like you. He's an academic, he could attend university with you here. I think he would be a good match for you."

She was beginning to get angry now. She knew perfectly well that this was not something that he did to benefit her. If he wanted to do something to benefit her he would have never even entertained the idea. She pulled her hand back from her fathers, letting it fall for a split second and then hover in the air as her father tried to look into her eyes, but she would not meet them. There were several things she could say, things she felt like saying, but she would not challenge her father. While he may have come in and been very polite about it, there were many occasions where she had witnessed her father being very kind, but then doing a one eighty when someone defied him. He did not seem mad though, instead he had a concerned look on his face. Was it concern for her though? She didn't know. Her trust in him had been severely damaged.

Meeting his eyes finally, she spoke in a stone cold voice, or at least that's what she tried to do. She was going through many emotions right now. From mad, to sad, to confused. At this point she was more sad and confused than mad, even though just moments ago she had been furious. "I suppose I don't have much of a choice then, do I?"

Turning from her and back to the fire, he was silent for a while, eventually speaking. "This is something that needs to happen. I am very sorry. He will be coming here to meet you during the summer. You will have some time to get to know him before the wedding, which will preferably be in August or September. Until then you can keep up with your daily routine, don't let this change anything."

Her father stood up and walked to the door, placing his hand on the door knob. Turning back to her, he once again said, "I'm sorry," and softly opened the door and exited through to doorway. As the door closed and the sliver of light from the hallway was cut off, she sat back into her chair and took a deep breath, beginning to contemplate what all of this meant for her and her future.

[Azura and Montemayor]

An Unexpected Request [2]
Palác Čachtice, Váhom, Azura and Montemayor
9:37 PM Montemayori Standard Time; 27 April, 2016

"I assume she didn't take it well?" Drahoslav's loving wife and Empress-Consort awaited him in his study. She had spoken with him before he had departed the royal residence to go speak with their daughter and she was there now, waiting for an update. She was no more pleased about the arrangement than her daughter was, having herself been forced into an arranged marriage with Drahoslav at eighteen. When her father had told her that she was to marry the future Emperor of Azura and Montemayor she had many different emotions running through her. Much like her daughter, she wasn't fond of the idea of being forced to marry someone that she didn't pick herself, but she also knew she was going to be the Empress-Consort, which softened the blow.

"Of course she didn't take it well, dear. It was as we both expected." Drahoslav had, after finishing the conversation with his daughter, wondered the long, elegant halls of the palace for some time. It was evident that his daughter was apprehensive. He knew she would be. The only obstacle would now be getting her to accept the fact that she was to be married and to get her to open up to her soon-to-be husband.

"Well what did you expect? After telling you for years she didn't want to go through what we did you tell her she will be anyway. I would be quite upset with you if I were in her position also." While she had married the Emperor-to-be, her husband had arranged a marriage with a prince from Shalum that wasn't in line to inherit much of anything. While she was sure that the boy was worthy of her daughter's hand, the incentive that she'd had to go along with her marriage just wasn't there for her daughter.

"Long ago when she would say those things I had no intention of ever making her enter an arranged marriage. You know that as well as anyone. As unfortunate as it is, circumstances change. This is not up for debate. She is going to marry this boy." As he said this he picked up a stack of papers that were held together by a large metal binder clip. The pages contained a lengthy biography of the boy Stefánia was to marry, Johnathan Holland, Prince of Shalum and forth in line for the throne. "It's not like I'm pairing her with her polar opposite. This boy is as academic and intelligent as she is. They will have things in common, more than we may think. I believe that she is going to be happy with him once she gets to know him. Yes, she will be hesitant and defiant at first, but after being with him for some time she will grow to love him."

"Just like we did," the Empress said, suppressing a grin. She was sitting in the middle of the study on one of the two burgundy leather sofas that sat opposite of each other. A glass coffee table sat between the two sofas which currently had two wine glasses and a bottle of wine on it. She had not waited for her husband to return, instead opting to open the bottle and pour herself a glass which was already almost empty. "I hope you're right," she said before downing what remained in the glass.

"I know I'm right," Drahoslav said, moving from his desk, which sat near one of the walls of the room, to the sofa opposite his wife. He placed the thick biography down beside her glass. "Read it for yourself if you'd like. I think you'll find he is much like her."

She laughed and pushed the papers away. "I'm not going to read all of that. I'm more than happy to get to know him in person when he comes to visit. When will that be, exactly?"

"Ideally he will be coming late spring, early summer. He is currently attending university in Shalum and wants to finish his current semester before he travels the whole way here. The wedding is going to be in August or September, the details haven't exactly been ironed out yet."

The two sat in silence as Drahoslav poured himself a full glass of the dark red wine. He wasn't as much of a wine person as his lovely wife, but he certainly didn't mind a glass every now and then. The silence was broke by his wife. "Why exactly are you doing this?"

"What do you mean why am I doing this?" he responded. "This benefits all of us. She gets a husband who is much like her and Azura and Montemayor and Shalum get a chance to improve relations. That is what royal marriages are normally for, darling."

"Don't you patronize me," she began, rising from the sofa. Her voice left the calm and somber tone that she had been using earlier. "We both know that you have an ulterior motive. Whether you want to share it or not is up to you, but I will not be part of your little scheme." Her mood had changed rather fast. Her pent up anger had been stored for some time now, ever since Drahoslav had told her about the arranged marriage, and she was letting it out. This wasn't what she wanted for her daughter. She had thought that by being courteous and somewhat agreeable she would be able to get information, but it was obvious that it was not going to work. Leaving the middle of the room, she marched over to a door on the far side of the room that led to their bedroom. Opening it and turning around under the door frame, she looked back at her husband. "Perhaps you could put your daughter ahead of your political whims." The closing of the door echoed throughout the room.

Drahoslav did have an ulterior motive, but he had no intention of telling his wife. If she was mad now she would be irate when she found out what his actual reasoning was. While he wanted his daughter to be happy, and he sincerely thought that this boy would be a good fit for her, he also wanted himself to be happy. He could never be happy with the smug Hollands sitting up in their estates in Shalum. He held a special kind of hatred towards them. His grandfather had almost been murdered by an assassins bullet because of them, and his great nation was invaded by their military forces many years ago. While his grandfather didn't die, he had to have several surgeries and go to therapy for quite a while to regain his ability to walk. He later died due to complications caused by the assassination attempt. The war was, although he would never admit it, a victory for them as well. While they had been prevented from moving far into the country, they moved in far enough to be able to get a sizable amount of land during peace negotiations. The war result was an embarrassment for his grandfather and father. His now deceased father and grandfather had never forgiven them, and he had no plans to either. While it was true that the current Imperator, Tyler Holland, was not the one who carried out these terrible deeds, he carried the family name, and that was enough. It was why the Azuran and Montemayori military was now more than twice the size of the Shalumite military. He didn't intend to let it happen again.

Getting up from the sofa, he took the biography back to his desk. Before setting it down he flipped through a few of the pages. While he disliked all of the Hollands, he held no animosity to Johnathan in particular. He would make his daughter happy. At least for a while. He was only needed to produce offspring that had both Holland and Doležal blood. After that the process of trying to get one of them on the throne would begin. An Imperator or Imperatrix that had Doležal blood was the first step, but it was more than likely going to be the hardest to accomplish. It would take time. The later stages would cost quite a lot. Many people would have to die. What mattered, though, is that it was possible.

[Shalum]

Technical University of Aachen Dresden Campus
Outside of Dresden, Shalum


Liam Hunt padded through the multi-room dorm he shared with his three roommates, footsteps muffled by the carpet. It wasn’t particularly lush, but it served his purpose. Dressed in his boxers and a t-shirt, his hair was mussed and eyes groggy.

His lanky frame moved with some clumsiness into the living room, where one of his roommates dead asleep sat at a desk, head laying flat on it and his laptop still open, though dimmed.

When he decided to try studying abroad at Aachen’s campus in Dresden, he was initially a bit underwhelmed. But the place grew on him despite how different it was from his cozy little town in the middle of the Arcadian country. He paid his roommate in the room no mind as he opened the refrigerator and took out a carton of orange juice. Feeling how light it was, he decided to drink the rest straight from the carton rather than dirty a glass.

Janeck Freeman groaned quietly as he came to in the living room, eyes burning as he forced them to open, the sounds of rustling elsewhere in the apartment spurring him into consciousness. Temples throbbing and neck aching, he slowly lifted up his head from his laptop, which he had apparently asleep on at some point the night before. Thankfully, all the tabs had been minimized, so he had not destroyed or damaged anything he had been working hard on.

“Fucking hell,” he groaned; rubbing his neck as he braced himself against his desk. Looking around, the lights were dimmer, and the morning sun just now coming through the curtains of the living room/kitchenette area. “What bloody time is it?” He asked with a bite to his tone, fumbling to find his glasses elsewhere on the desk. At least he had remembered to take them off before crashing.

Liam glanced at the digital clock on the microwave. “Oh, about eight. Which is good, if we want to get going early to the Expo,” he explained, in reference to the annual tech exhibition that was held in Dresden everywhere. They’d gone to it the year before, for the first time, and made sure that they got in to it this year. It was a great place to see what was new, and perhaps find someone interested in helping them pursue their own projects.

One could have almost described it comical how quickly Janeck’s head shot up, his eyes widening a bit at the simple mention of the event. “Shit, that’s today, isn’t it?” He asked, moving to stand quickly. There was a loud, solid thump as the Shalumite hit his knee on the bottom of the table, a hiss escaping his lips as he reached down to massage it for his moment. “Should I go wake the guys, or are they already up?” He asked, referencing their two other roommates. Four men to an apartment was not exactly his first choice in terms of living quarters, but it could have been worse.

Liam glanced back as he heard a small groan of, ‘What in the fuck was that’ from the room he shared with the other Acrean in the dorm, an Aurelian by the name of Markus von Braun, the resident Prussian. He was also the only one out of the four to have had any sort of luck with women, and currently had an on-campus girlfriend.

“I’d daresay they’re already up,” Liam commented.

“Aww, you guys took the fun out of it. I was about to pour water on his head.” Zachary Harper grinned as he stepped into the room, looking as if he had been up for a while now. He was bright (and clear) eyed at the moment, teeth apparently brushed and shortly cut hair tended to. Dressed for the Expo, he appeared to be. In hand was a water bottle, full and cold, if the condensation on the plastic was any indication.

“I bet you were,” Janeck commented dryly, looking at his friend. Reaching up, he rubbed his eyes. “How long have you been awake?” He asked, already moving to the hallway, but not stepping into it yet. If he was going to be anything close to presentable, he was going to need a shower.

“Couple of hours,” he shrugged. “Got nice and cleaned up,” he motioned to his current attire. “Plus someone had to be responsible a get together some of the work we’ve done for a nice, fat USB to show off. Since someone got hammered last night,” he punctuated the final sentence; raising his tone to call out to the Prussian still in his room.

“Fuck off,” Markus called back. Creaking and then footsteps could be heard as he finally got out of bed in much the same manner as Liam- who was tossing the empty orange juice carton into the recycling- had. He rubbed his eyebrows as he walked out. He was built more athletically than the rest of them, having played football his entire young life. In fact, it was partially because of a conversation they all had while watching a football match that had been the inspiration for their prized project- a software utilising algorithms that, using already off-the-shelf sensors or cameras, be capable of tracking, recording, and transmitting information about an object moving at incredibly high speeds. Not only that, but they had built in encryptions, features, and numerous other odds and ends. While they didn’t have a purpose for it, they hoped that it would be able to be used for helping in development of things like video games, or for play cameras in sports. What they needed to do, somehow, was convince someone to help them out getting there.

Pressing his lips together, Zachary Harper whistled loudly, resting his hands on his hips as he looked at the Aurelian. “About damn time, mate. I’m surprised you’re up at all,” he chuckled; turning away to head into the kitchen. “Aye, goddamit, we run out of coffee?” He asked as he glanced at the machine, normally full by seven-thirty on the dot, now dry as a bone.

“Yesterday morning,” Janeck replied with a small, tired laugh. “So you got the stuff together onto a USB, eh?”

“Some of it, enough for a nice little demonstration. Mostly copying and pasting shit at random. We’ve got far too much to show off without a hard drive on hand,” he shrugged as he returned to the living room. “When you guys going to be ready to go? You know traffic is always bad around the convention center, especially this early.”

“Not too long,” Liam replied with a shrug, already headed towards the bathroom. “Not too long at all.”



“Right, so, who exactly are we looking for to pitch our shit to?” Markus questioned as they made their way through the exhibition floor. It was packed, especially because of the Defence section which had expanded since the last year. He had to speak louder than usual to be heard over the din of the crowd.

“Probably anyone who will listen,” Liam replied in a lower voice.

“I can’t believe they fit tanks of all things in here.” Zachary mused as he walked alongside the group, coffee in hand, which he occasionally sipped on. Before them, in the center of the defense section, were several armored vehicles from the 2nd Armored Brigade Combat Team of Imperial Army Group south. One of them was a K2A9S, and parked next to it was a Gladiator 3S. “Bet those are fun to drive.”

Janeck just rolled his eyes, and kept his attention focused on his Acrean friends for the moment. While Zach was just as dedicated as the rest of them, he could get distracted quite easily, which made doing group projects a real bitch at times. Thankfully, he was arguably the smartest of them, and had no qualms about working at odd hours of the morning. “I hear Landrut has a booth, SNDI too,” he said quietly as he glanced between Liam and Markus. There were other companies here as well, but none were as big as SNDI, at least in Shalum. When it came to the Acrean groups, he honestly had a hard time pronouncing the rest of them.

“Well what are we going to do with them? Defence? I didn’t think that was our game,” Markus stated in a blunt, even tone, glancing over at Janeck. Liam frowned a bit, but didn’t say anything as he kept walking, sipping on a smoothie that he had bought earlier.

“It's not,” Janeck stated with a small shrug, doing his best to stay innocent here. From the start, none of them had ever been interested in military development, if only because the market was flooded with competition at any given time. “The video game guys we want to talk to are on the other side of the convention center, while we are here, however.” He stated, waving in the direction of the defense crowd. “We can start walking over there now, if you want,” he said as he looked towards the rest of the sprawling convention center; where masses of crowds vied for space.

“Nothing says we couldn’t fiddle with the tank simulators or some shit. I mean, it could give us ideas,” Zach chuckled, though he was expecting to depart from this are at any moment. He doubted his friends would want to linger here long.

“If you feel like it,” Liam replied, following Zach over to one of the booths which had computers set in the front for just that purpose. Unbeknownst to them, or really any of the other goers, the expo was more than just an exhibition; it was a way for the various companies to view and take a look at a potential employee pool, even. “This shite looks complicated as hell.”

While the most laid back, and admittedly lazy of the group, Zachary was particularly intelligent; capable of taking in vast amounts of information, and easily filtering through it. Even the tank simulator, after staring at the various screens and readouts, started to seem easier to understand after a while. Did he know how to operate an actual tank? Certainly not. But to him, this was just an advanced video game. “Yeah it is, but could be worse, eh? Take up the gunner’s position,” he chuckled and nudged Liam towards the controls. “I think this is a K2A9, but I can’t tell,” he muttered as he fumbled with the computer before him.

Liam did as Zachary said, shrugging in response to his friend’s question. Despite their better judgement, Markus and Janeck weren’t too far behind them, looking over their shoulders with interest. It was then that a woman walked up beside them, looking at the two hunched over the monitors. She was young, no older than her mid-twenties, with rich brunette waves and what looked like quite the body, if the way she wore her clothes was any indication. Her clothes themselves were a step above simply professional, or even sexy. She wore a clearly finely made and very well tailored blazer, black, with a flowy cream white blouse underneath that was tucked into her tightly-fitting black pencil skirt that ran to her mid-thigh. Her legs were covered by dark sheer stockings rather than bare, however, and her heels looked to be made of a black suede material rather than fine leather, save for the actual stiletto heels themselves which made crisp though carpet-muffled ‘thwacks’ along the floor as she walked. Her jewelry was simple- golden medal wristbands with a simple gold chain around her neck. She was the exact sort of person that one would send for one purpose- to impress.

“Quite the knack you have for that there,” she commented, a unique accent tinging her words. It wasn’t quite Aurelian, nor Arcadian, but almost something in between the two.

Needless to say, Zach had been deeply engrossed in his work, fingers moving keenly over the controls of the laptop before him. SIlently, he wished that his gaming rig back home was even half as good as this one was. Hell, the joystick alone that he was currently handling cost more than his whole computer system did. With all of this in mind, he did not even notice the approach of the beautiful company representative. When she spoke, the young Shalumite college student was visibly startled, making a sound of surprise as he straightened up and let go of the joystick. On screen, the K2A9 he was piloting ground to a sudden hault. “Oh, ah, thank you,” he blushed fiercely as he looked at her; looking sheepish. “Its nothing, really. Just another control system as far as I am concerned,” he tried to sound more confident; glancing at his friends nervously.

Liam blinked at Zach, and then back at the woman, who had nothing but a welcoming and warm upturn of her lips. He glanced back at Markus and Janeck. He almost had opened his mouth to speak before she did.

“It’s a very, very complicated piece of engineering, that. One of the best in the world,” the woman replied, glancing from the screen, to the K2A9, and then back to Zach.

The other Shalumite man looked more confused than anything else. There were any number of these little stations set up, featuring other vehicles ranging from K2A9s, to Acrean armored personnel carriers and infantry fighting vehicles. For the most part, they were full, or had at least gotten a good deal of attention from Expo-goers wanting to get their paws on something both technical and entertaining. Looking at Liam, Janeck just shrugged helplessly, not sure what was going on, or even what to say.

Angling his K2A9 on screen directly towards the enemy forces, forcing them to bounce their rounds off his tank’s frontal armor, Zachary took his hands off the controls as he looked at the woman whose name he had yet to get. “Complicated for someone not used to it, certainly,” he conceded. “But after working simulators at the university, you learn that things are more similar than they are different, tank controls included,” he smirked at her.

The woman only nodded slightly, eyeing the boys. They didn’t necessarily look worth her time; a couple of college kids with nothing but time on their hands and tech in their minds, most likely. Probably trying to make the next Snapchat or something. “Which university?”

Over the speakers, Zachary could hear the virtual crew of the tank protesting as rounds -a mix of tank shells and small arms fire- bounced off the vehicle’s frontal armor. “Technical University of Aachen,” he explained with a small shrug. Reaching into his pocket, he tossed the USB up and down, watching as it flipped end-over-end before landing in his palm again. “We’re developers if you will, software, mechanical, etc.”

She internally cringed at how he flipped the USB up and down through the air, but remained nothing but polite and welcoming to the boys. It was, after all, her job. She gave him a bright, white smile. “Oh, developers? What sort of software?”

Zachary glanced back and forth between his friends, looking for some sort of direction from them. This was much more of a conversation than he had been planning to get into here, and on top of that, he hated to sound like he was making a sales pitch. Because he certainly wasn’t. Fuck it, what is the worst that could happen? He asked himself silently. “Motion tracking, large amounts of information, that kind of thing. Stuff for like video games, you know?”

“Right. So you lot intend to become video game developers, then? Or is that just a hobby of your’s?” The woman questioned, tilting her head at them as she clasped her hands in front of her.

“Actually we’re- ah- we’ve made it applicable for anything that requires that sort of software. Link it up to a camera and it’ll do the same thing,” Liam chimed in.

Zachary looked over at Liam and nodded in confirmation, smiling slightly. “What the man said. It can work for a lot of things, assuming we had the time and drive to properly format it,” he went a little further. “I -um- actually have an example right here,” he added as he held up the terabyte flash drive; which had cost him a pretty penny, but was definitely worth it.

The woman nodded in understanding, glancing at the flash drive. She knew immediately why the would be carrying something like that around. “A terabyte? Seems like a pretty big program for a few college students like yourselves to have worked on on your own time.”

“Well, I mean, there are four of us.” Zachary replied, glancing up at his friends. While he had put a lot of work in, he was not about to claim the rest of the credit. Without them, the idea would have not been possible, much less taken seriously and actually worked towards. “There is actually more, but I had to leave it behind. Only so much one can carry around, you know?” He asked with a chuckle. “Would you, um, like to see it?” He asked, expecting that they would be declined. Zach figured it would give them a good reason to bid good day sooner than later.

“I suppose I could take a look when I have the time. Need a card?” The woman replied, allowing Zach to place the USB into her hand before she reached into the interior of her blazer for a business card that she promptly handed to him. It was crisp, white, with the logos for Landrut and Avia emblazoned on it with the name ‘Sabrina Anderle’ printed neatly on it, with an e-mail, mailing address, and both office and cell phone numbers.

Zachary glances at the other and slowly nodded, before placing the USB in her hand. While one would have been wary of handing over so much off the bat, he wanted to trust her. And besides, it was not as if what was on the flash drive was anything akin to complete. At most, if someone tried to copy it or steal it, they would have a quarter of the needed information. “Thank you, um, Sabrina,” he smiled up at her as he stood up; silently praying his friends wouldn’t be pissed at him. They had, of course, been planning to show it off to a some of the game developers later during the convention; assuming they could get that kind of private meeting, of course.

“Well then, I’ll- uh- take a look and then get back to you guys,” Sabrina replied with a smile before they began to walk away. They waited till she was well out of earshot before Liam spoke up. “You had to give her our only one?”

“Not our only one,” Markus murmured, holding up another two flash drives. “You’re welcome”.

Zach sighed in relief. “You’re the best,” he said as he patted Markus on the back. Looking over at Liam, he smiled sheepishly. “Hey, at worst we wasted half an hour, right? At best, we made a possible connection-- not that we want to get into military work,” he shrugged. “Plus, I mean, the Expo lasts three days. We would have had plenty of time to get a couple more drives together anyways, if not for our good man here,” he nodded at Markus again.

“Because we all want to walk around with a dozen flash drives in our bag,” Liam shook his head with a sigh as they walked on, further into the expo for the rest of the day.

[Shalum]

Co-written with Acrea

Birmingham International Airport
Birmingham, Crowned Republic of Arcadia
Acrea

---

Colin Leighton was normally a patient man. But now, sitting in the arrivals area outside of a gate in the ever-busy Birmingham International, he found his patience fleeting, his arms crossed and one boot-clad foot tapping against the floor at steady pace. The bloody flight had landed, after all. It was right of him, in his opinion, to be at least some measure displeased with the slow progress of disembarking, especially for such a relatively small flight.

When he had been drafted for military service, Daniel Price had actually been excited, unlike many of those his age who had been chosen to fulfill an important duty to their country. Even though he was a strapping eighteen years of age at the time, he had only left his hometown of Fontera on a handful of occasions, and even then it had only been because of out obligation; whether it be a family funeral, or one of his siblings graduating some college in the northern part of the county. Still young and full of life, he was ready to see the counter, perhaps even the world, on the dollar of his government no less.

Unfortunately, he hadn’t quite gotten what he had been expecting. Instead of being deployed at some foreign base, such as in Mubata or even Nalaya -the Free Colony of Schottia was often considered the most desired of possible deployments- he had ended up stuck in downtown Aragon, manning a desk no less. Some had been chosen for infantry, others for armored forces. But him? Someone higher up thought that force management, a nice way of saying logistics and support activities, had decided that the Empire needed a new pencil pusher. So instead of handling rifles, or driving tanks, he made spreadsheets and waited for anything at all exciting to happen.

If not for his friend Colin, he probably would have gone insane in that office space. The Acrean man, who had been some kind of Federation attache at the time, was one of the few friends he really had there. Someone to talk to beyond when he would be able to have a report in, and things of that nature. When he had learned that his friend had been ordered back to his home country, he had been quite sad, in all honesty. At least until he learned that he was being transferred to Acrea as well, apparently to work at some Shalumite military installation he had never known existed until now. Not that it was a secret, but more that he simply hadn’t paid attention.

Moving through the plane, and subsequently off it, Daniel’s legs couldn't carry him fast enough. The flight hadn’t been terribly long, only a couple of hours, but he felt as if he had been waiting to disembark for an entirety. Finally, now that he was able to leave, he moved as quickly as he could; at least without giving security reason to take him aside. Stepping into the Arcadian airport, he looked around quickly, tugging at the strap of his carry-on backpack as he looked for his friend.

“Danny, mate!” Colin called when he saw his friend. He stepped forward, removing his beret from his head. Berets, unlike camouflage or uniform covers, had no regulations on indoor vs outdoor wear in the Acrean military. He reached an arm out as Daniel approached, clasping hands with the other man. Both were strong, well built. Like brothers, almost. “How’s it been?”

The Shalumite felt rather out of place for a moment as he looked around. Everyone here, in true Acrean style, was dressed to impress, achieving a state of near-impeccability. Meanwhile, he was in flecktarn fatigues of the Imperial Shalumite Army, which were cuffed at his wrists due to the fact that they had been out of his size during the time they were issued. “Colin!” He replied with enthusiasm as he spied his friend, immediately moving to meet him in the middle. “Other than that long ass flight? I am doing great,” he chuckled as he clapped hands with the Arcadian. “And how are you doing?”

“Great, mate. Lass is good, kids are great. Glad you’re here now, though. Was starting to think you’d never escape,” Colin chuckled, shouldering Daniel’s bag as they began walking. His MTP uniform had its sleeves folded up to just above his elbow, emphasising his muscular forearms. “You know, I’d say that they’d mistake you for an Aurelian in that uniform, but to be honest they wear their’s better.”

Daniel’s form was on display, at least in its own way, his broad shouldered and strong biceps easy to make out, even through the fabric of his uniform. Rolling his eyes, he walked alongside his friend. “Thanks mate, I really feel the love there,” he muttered. Of course, it was in good nature. Back on topic, he chuckled. “I thought I never would make it off that damn plane,” he agreed. Continuing, he nodded in understand. “I bet they are. Glad to have daddy back,” he chuckled; leaving it up to Collin to decide if he meant the statement in regards to the children, or his partner.

“Speaking of which, how’d you feel like seeing the kids? Have to pick them up from school and I’m sure they’d love to see you,” Colin explained as they walked, chuckling at Daniel’s comment from before.

“I would love to meet them. It's been too long since I have seen them,” Daniel replied enthusiastically as he looked at his friend as they neared one of the airport exists. In all honesty, it sounded a hell of a lot better than getting started on moving into a new, likely small apartment that he doubted would be just like his last one. Not to mention the fact that Colin was like a brother he had never had, practically family. The same applied to his wife and kids.

---

Kingsbridge, for all intents and purposes, was the stereotypical small idyllic Arcadian town. Or village, almost, though it was a bit larger than that would imply. Nonetheless, its quiet streets and communal atmosphere was likely to be a big change to Daniel. As would be driving on the left side of the road, and sitting on the right. But Colin assured him that they’d make sure Daniel got that down pat. As it were, it was 14:30, right around the exact time the schools in the town let out. Assuredly, as Colin pulled into the roundabout outside the primary school, there were plenty of parents already standing around to receive their children. It was a relatively small school, a simple expansive building at the center with the front entrance and the roundabout and driveway in the front, as well as a small lot, and a football pitch and bit of lawn in the back. Colin pulled into a parking space, and put the car in park, pulling up the brake and shutting the engine off. He turned his head to look at Daniel.

“Ready to face the music?” he questioned, almost teasingly.

“As ready as I can be.” Danny joked as he glanced out the window for a moment, making sure there were no cars vying for the adjacent space before he opened the door. Stepping out, he took a moment to roll his shoulders and stretch his arms, still a little tense from his long flight into the country. “Let me tell you, man, there is nothing more terrifying than a car-ful of Acrean school children,” he added with humor in his tone as they began to approach the school together.

Colin chuckled, just as he was suddenly tackled by a little form. “Hey!”

Playing along, the man let out an exaggerated ‘oomph’, and recoiled a bit, leaning down to pick up his boy. James was not a year above 6, and was still adorable as hell. At least, that was how Colin’s wife described it. His other child, a daughter, had yet to be seen.

A hearty chuckle escaped Daniel’s lips as he watched his friend’s child tackle him, or at least pull off the best attempt he possibly could of it, wrapping his arms around his legs for a moment, before his father finally picked him up. “Hey there, James.” He greeted the boy enthusiastically, reaching over to ruffle his hair. “No love for you Uncle Danny?” He added, sounding nothing less than amused, even as he tried (and failed) to put on an expression of faux hurt.

“Uncle Danny!” The boy cried, and reached out to wrap his little arms around Daniel’s neck, even while his father was holding him. Colin only chuckled, and shook his head as he glanced around for a moment. “Oi, lad. Where’s your sister?”

At that, the boy shrugged. It was then that the aforementioned sister walked out with another boy. At five years old, she was just as adorable as James, just with more pinchable cheeks. As she happily split and made her way towards her father, the boy walked over towards his own mother, or presumed mother, at least. She was attractive. Not necessarily in a ‘hot’ sort of way- sexy, if anything would have been more appropriate- but beautiful in such a fashion that combined the maturity of womanhood with her evident youth. She was dressed rather simply, yet alluringly- a tan blouse that fit her upper body well, with the top two buttons unbuttoned, and dark skinny jeans and nude heels. She squatted down to hug her son, brunette waves bouncing with every movement just as Colin’s daughter walked up to Danny and looked up at him and smiled. “Hi Uncle Danny!”

Reaching up, the Shalumite pencil pusher had wrapped his arms around James’s neck in the best hug he could manage, halfway afraid that he would either crush the boy without meaning too, or somehow mess with the laws of gravity enough to cause his father to lose his grip. “I’ve missed you,” he chuckled; patting the boy affectionately on the back a few times, before he carefully let go. He would hate himself forever if he accidentally hurt the boy, and he knew that Colin or his wife would chew him out to no end at the very least.

Looking over towards the school, Daniel's eyes searched for his friend’s younger child, the most adorable little girl he had ever seen by the name of Katie. It was a fitting designation, all things considered. It only took his impossibly blue eyes a few moments to pick her out of the crowd, however she was not the only thing that caught his attention. The other was perhaps the most beautiful woman he had ever seen, even by Acrean standards, quietly waiting for what he could only presume was a child. While there was nothing gaudy or over the top about her outfit, he loved every inch of it. One could say he loved every inch of her. Before he knew it, he was all but staring at her, at least until the shrill voice of Kati broke his trance.

“Hey there stranger,” he grinned down at her. Kneeling down, he wrapped his arms around her, and gently picked up the adorable little Arcadian. He was tempted to teasingly pinch her cheek, but doubted she would approve of it, especially in front of all her friends. “How are you, sweetheart?” He asked in a warm tone, looking at her with an undeniable affection in his eyes.

“Good!” Katie chirped, giggling as Daniel picked her up. She had shed most of her baby fat, but that didn’t make her cheeks any less pinchable, in Colin’s opinion. Her accent had certainly given her more than a few friends as a toddler when the family had their brief stay in Shalum.

“Have fun with Alex?” Colin questioned, giving his daughter a peck on the cheek as she reached for him. She nodded enthusiastically.

“We spent alllll recess playing football in the gard’n,” she explained.

“That sounds like fun,” Daniel smiled widely; flashing rows of perfectly white and straight teeth. If one thing was for certain, the Imperial Army had a nice dental plan. Holding Kati, he rested her against one arm, inadvertently flashing the Shalumite flag on his other to the world. “How did that go? Did ya win?” He asked with a grin. Flashes of memory crossed his mind for a moment, time he had spent after work with Collin and the family in their little yard in Shalum, kicking a football back and forth while the kids were still learning their bearings.

“Of course!” She said sternly.

“‘Atta’ girl,” Colin said, ruffling her hair for a moment as he turned his head to look at Daniel, a knowing smile on his face, glancing between Alex and his mother a short distance away and Daniel. He had been caught.

“You know, I could introduce you,” Colin teased.

A sudden flush colored Daniel’s cheeks, and his expression turned shifty as he glanced over his shoulder to eye the woman further away for a few moments. She was beautiful, perfect even, and the notion of even speaking to her nearly terrified him. “I-ah-um,” he stumbled over his words, looking back at Colin. “That’s alright, you don’t have to do that. I wouldn’t want to inconvenience you,” he replied sheepishly. For as long as he had known Colin, he hadn’t had a woman in his life, and had gotten quite comfortable with the status quo, lonely as it might have been. Some part of him just -knew- that he would mess up an introduction, somehow.

As it turned out, Colin need not take the initiative as the same boy Katie had left with came walking up. “Hello Mr. Leighton,” he greeted, offering a small wave as he looked up.

“Staying out of trouble Alex?” Colin replied, raising an eyebrow.

“Yes, sir!”

“Awesome,” Colin smiled, and raised his free hand in a fist which the boy enthusiastically bumped before they were interrupted- by his mother.

“Colin, so sorry! He just had to come and say hello,” she apologised, giving Colin an equally apologetic smile as she placed her hands on her son’s shoulders where she stood in front of him.

“It’s no problem, Allison. This is Daniel, by the way. Daniel Price. He was my right hand man when we were in Shalum those six months,” Colin replied, smiling over at Daniel, expecting an expression that was a cross between embarrassment and mortification.

Unsurprisingly, Collin got just what he was hoping for. A looking that could be considered a cross of sheepishness and terror creased Daniel’s expression for a split second, along with any number of other similar emotions, before he managed to reign himself in and put on a nervous smile. Shifting Katie slightly, and again showing off the flag on his arm, he gazed down at this Allison lass with a hopefully inviting expression. “It is a pleasure to meet you, ma’am.” He said, trying to sound formal as he extended his free hand to her.

“Allison Neuer, Daniel Price. Daniel Price, Allison Neuer,” Colin introduced.

“A pleasure to meet you too,” Allison replied, giving Daniel a bright, white, red-lipped smile. Her accent wasn’t quite right for an Arcadian- it was a mix, at least, between an Arcadian and an Aurelian accent. She seemed to take no notice of the flag. Or, at least, if she did, she didn’t particularly seem to care.

Nervous as he might have been, Daniel couldn’t help but smile as he looked down at the woman. Given her age, he would have guessed her to still be in college; perhaps even high school, yet here she was with a child that had to be at least five or six years of age if he was in class with dear-little Katie. “You are Alex’s mother, yes?” He asked after a moment, trying to make some kind of conversation. He felt it would be better than staying dead silent and nervously smiling, like some kind of creep.

“Yeah,” Allison replied. She brushed some hair out of her face, cocking her head slightly as she glanced at her son who was running around with Katie, playing, Colin watching over them while the two conversed with James by his side.

As if on instinct, his gaze followed her own, and he ended up studying the children as they ran and played for a few moments. Without meaning to, a small smile creased his lips, amused as the young girl squealed in what could only be delight as Alex caught up with her. “They’re adorable,” he chuckled as he rested his hands on his hips. “I take it they are good friends?”

“They’ve always been,” Allison chuckled, gazing at the two children lovingly. She didn’t look back at Daniel when she replied to him, and crossed her arms over her abdomen. “And what brings you here, soldier?”

Daniel was silently for a moment as he blinked in surprise. Not that he had been in country long, but even those back home had not really cared about his reassignment. At most, his colleagues had bid him a goodbye, and that had been the extent of their interest. “I’ve actually been assigned to Arcadia for the time being,” he explained with a smile; still watching the kids. “Apparently I’m very desirable among the endless ranks of pencil pushers,” he joked,

“Oh I’m sure that you’re at least a bit more interesting than a pencil pusher,” Allison teased, smiling at the man for a moment. She cocked her head curiously. “Are you staying in town? Working at Arnhem?” she questioned, referring to the Arnhem Barracks, the base not too far outside the town.

“Yes and yes,” Daniel replied with a warm smile, eyes flickering down to meet her own. The blue color of his orbs had been described as powerful, radiant even. “The Shalumite government is paying for my housing and all of that. I haven’t had the chance to visit it yet though, Colin has kept me busy so far,” he chuckled as he glanced at his friend. “Not that I mind though,” he winked as he looked back at her.

“Well, once you get settled in, how’d you feel about coming over for supper? We’d love to welcome you,” Allison invited warmly, glancing over at Alex, not sitting on the grass with Katie. It was clear that Colin was giving them their space.

It was clear that Daniel was surprised by the offer as his cheeks flushed and his eyes grew a little wider. He had only known this woman for ten minutes or so, and already she was inviting him to dinner. “That sounds wonderful, ma’am.” He replied with a warm smile, nodding after a moment. “Would you, um, want me to bring anything? I’d hate to impose, so the least I could do is chip in towards the meal,” he added after a moment.

“Oh, no no. Just yourself,” Allison replied, calling Alex over. He came quickly, Katie going back to her father and Allison exchanged a few words with the boy in German. She glanced up at Daniel. “Say… six tomorrow?” she said, having to take a pause to convert the time.

“That sounds good to me,” the Shalumite confirmed with a smile; glancing down at Alex as he returned to his mother. Looking over at his friend, he was certain that he was ready to leave as well, with the kids now thoroughly worn out from some kind of schoolyard game, or kids simply being kids. “I, ah, would it be alright if I had your number, or some kind of contact information? I’m afraid I haven’t gotten used to the local area yet,” he explained with a smile.

“Of course!” Allison said, blushing at the fact that she had forgotten that incredibly important part of inviting someone over. She shook her head for a moment, taking his phone as he offered it and inputting her contact information, including her address. “There you go.”

Daniel had to admit, she looked downright beautiful when she blushed, the flush that colored her cheeks making her look like an angel in his eyes. The whole time that she spent typing in her information into his phone, he focused on her and nothing else. “Thank you, Allison.” He smiled as he looked down at her number, among other things she had entered. “It was nice to meet you. I will, um, see you tomorrow then,” he smiled and gave her a little wave; bidding the young mother a goodbye.

“See you tomorrow,” Allison replied, as Daniel walked back to Colin.

“Ready to go then?” Colin questioned, smiling at his friend and giving Allison a wave as she left. He gave Daniel an almost knowing look.

“As I ever will be,” Daniel replied with a chuckle, looking back at his friend. The look in his eyes did not go unnoticed. “She invited me to dinner. Tomorrow,” he blurted out as they reached the car.

“That was fast,” Colin replied, smirking at Daniel as he opened the door and the kids climbed into the back. He sat down in the driver’s seat, and took a breath before he started the car and waited for Daniel to take a seat. “She’s single, you know.”

“I wasn’t expecting it either,” Daniel admitted with an honest chuckle; reaching down to open the passenger door. He did pause for a moment, eyeing the children as they got buckled up. As he sat down, he blinked in surprise, glancing over his shoulder for a moment. “She is?” He replied, sounding surprised by the information. “I just thought she was being polite…”

“Yeah she is. Did you see a ring?” Colin teased, chuckling as he looked over at Daniel after pulling out of the lot, and going back onto the open road. The sun peeked out behind the clouds, giving much of the countryside a pleasant sheen.

“Um, no.” Daniel replied with a chuckle as he looked over at his friend, leaving back into the comfortable seat of the Acrean made car. “I wasn’t really looking though. I was having a hard enough time trying to think of what to say to her,” he admitted; rubbing his neck sheepishly.

“You? Daniel Price? Ladies-man supreme?” Colin joked, turning his eyes back to the road as James and Katie bickered teasingly in the back seat of the car. He kept an easy, relaxed pace on the road- which was impeccably smooth.

Daniel rolled his eyes at his friend’s good natured jab, gazing at the road for a moment as he became lost in thought. So she was single, huh? It was good to know. However, he doubted it would matter much, it was not as if Acreans were known for being keen on marrying those who had been born outside of their homeland. “It's not fair, you Acreans are all predestined to be supermodels, and that kind of thing. Poor Shalumites like me can’t keep up with that,” he replied with a chuckle, glancing up in the rearview mirror for a moment.

At that, Colin shook his head while he chuckled, a good-natured smile on his face. “I think she was a supermodel once, in fact, before she got Alex. Not quite sure, never asked. She could still pull it off now if she wanted to, I think.”

“I wouldn’t be surprised in the least. She has the looks for it now, and I am sure she did back when. Good genetics,” Daniel chuckled in reply; resisting the urge to close his eyes. He wanted to really picture her, but knew that it would likely spark body functions that would not be in his favor. “Do you happen to know how she ‘got’ Alex?” He asked, a little more serious now.

Colin’s smile slowly disappeared, and he took on a more serious expression. He glanced in the rearview mirror, and took a deep breath. “He’s not her’s. Biologically, at least. He must have been- god, maybe only a few months’ old when they moved here?” He began. He kept his eyes glued to the road. “She was his godmother, originally. Parents were killed in a car accident, I think. I guess it’s sort of a blessing in a curse, at least, that he was too young to really remember his parents. Allison’s been his mother since she adopted him not too long after she moved here. Never had a father. Allison’s brother is about the most he has for a male figure, but he’s with the First Armoured near Krakow until the end of the year.”

Daniel certainly appeared subdued as he listened to his friend speak, describing the circumstances in which Allison had ‘received’ her child. It was not a fate he had been expecting, to be quite honest. A boyfriend who ran off while she was pregnant, or a father to the child who died of some unfortunate situation? Those were what he had expected, not something as tragic as this.

“She sounds like a great woman then,” Daniel said more quietly; twiddling with his fingers for a moment. He couldn’t imagine that kind of hardship, much less tackling it alone. “I’d do everything I could for her. You know that, right?” He asked quietly, glancing up in the rearview window again. It wasn’t as if he was expecting to end up with the girl, she could certainly do much better than he, but he felt like he needed to say it.

“I know you would, mate,” Colin stated, before he was silent for a few moments. He cracked a smile, and looked over at Daniel. “But don’t you think you’re getting a bit ahead of yourself there?”

An amused grin creased Daniel’s lips as he looked over at his friend. “I know I am,” he winked at the Arcadian. “But you should know me by now. What is life without plans and countermeasures in place? I like to think ahead, to look at the bigger picture,” he chuckled as he ran his hands through his shortly cut brown hair.

---

The Next Day

The sound of the sink running was compounded by the white noise of the television, and the chirping of birds outside as Allison finished the washing up of the last of the dishes that wouldn’t fit in the washer. Though it was a Saturday, she had decided to make her ever-famous Sunday Roast. She liked to attribute that to how she bought and cooked her food- she’d learned once on a trip to Shalum that they liked supermarkets, whereas the Acreans much, much preferred their specialty shops instead. It was pricier, of course, as everything in Acrea was. But it was so much better in her opinion.

Given that the sun had decided to come out in full that day and leave the town in a cheery spring mood, she was dressed accordingly, with a flowy short white sundress with a plunging back and some strappy cork wedges, her hair tied back into a ponytail with two locks in the front to frame her face. She had given Alex- who was in the garden with the neighbour’s labrador, a blue polo and tan khaki shorts. There were people out, walking and enjoying the good weather simply or down the street aways in the fields, playing football. She shut the water off and dried her hands, and took a deep breath.

Six in the evening on the dot. That was the exact moment that Daniel found himself walking up the little concrete walkway to the front door of Allison’s house. As he had been in the country less than forty-eight hours, he had been forced to take a taxi, who he had tipped rather generously even though it had not been a long drive. The Shalumite man was dressed more relaxed than he had been the day before, preferring dark blue jeans and a grey button-up shirt that had been rolled to his elbows. He smelled rather good, courtesy of a thorough shower, as well as his travel pack of deodorant.

Just relax, Daniel. Just relax and everything will be just fine. He told himself as he paused at the front door, hand hovering only mere inches away from the wood. Truth be told, the Shalumite felt rather nervous about all of this. He hadn’t shared a dinner with anyone else other than Colin and his family in years, at least one that didn’t have work related affairs to go along with it. Now, the whole notion of dining with a beautiful woman unsettled him in ways it had not before. Here we go, he finally though, before knocking his hand against the solid wood of the front door.

It didn’t take long before Allison opened the door, only to be greeted by a view of Daniel’s broad chest. So she looked up to meet his eyes, and then smiled brightly. She tilted her head slightly, stepping aside. “Hey!”

“Hey you,” he greeted Allison with a wide, warm smile as he looked down at her. She looked so beautiful in her sundress, though he of course knew that she could make a burlap sack look just as good. There was something about her smile that made his heart beat a little faster, as well. “How are you doing?” He asked, leaning against the doorframe, trying to be as casual as possible. Until she invited him inside, he was perfectly content where he was.

“Great. Come in, come in!” Allison invited, stepping aside. The home was relatively large, given its only two inhabitants, with two floors, a one-car garage that was not connected to the house, three bedrooms, two baths, and separate kitchen, dining room, and family rooms. Of course, while Allison did have a relatively lucrative job, she hated to admit that a lot of it did come from the government and life insurance- the government helped fund single mothers until all children were capable of providing for themselves or until they were 22, at oldest, which the government regarded as the expected age for someone to receive a degree from University.

Stepping into the house, Daniel’s smile never wavered, even as he felt rather small in comparison to exquisite house. All of his life, he had never been a rich man, especially by the stands of Acreans. Nor had he ever needed a house like this, large enough to raise a six or more sized family. Instead, he had always lived simply: from his childhood home, to the apartment he had lived in at Aragon, to even the cottage he had been assigned to on the outskirts of town. “Very nice place you have here,” he said with a smile; resting his hands behind his back as he walked with Allison. “And whatever you made for dinner smells delicious, if I must say,” he winked as he looked down at her.

“Thank you. It’s a Sunday Roast, even though it isn’t Sunday. I just figured, you know…” Allison trailed off as she walked beside Daniel. She paused, in her thoughts for a few moments before she looked up at the man. “Can I get you something to drink?”

“If you want my opinion, there is never a bad time for a good roast.” Daniel chuckled as he walked walked with Allison, doing his best not to gawk as he looked around her house. His sense of feeling ‘out of his league’ would only continue to grow if he focused on anything too hard. “Um, some water would be appreciated,” he smiled down at her. Truth be told, he had never really been a drinker, especially when there were kids around, like he presumed Alex to be.

“Of course, take a seat,” Allison replied as she walked back into the kitchen, her voice ringing out as she called Alex in from the yard. She had returned with Daniel’s water in one hand just as Alex came back in.

“Thank you,” Daniel replied with a grateful smile as he accepted the glass of water from her hand. For a brief moment, his fingers brushed along her soft skin, before they wrapped around the cool glass. “Hey Alex,” he greeted the young boy with a warm smile. “How are you doing?” Daniel asked from where he sat.

“Hello Mister Price!” Alex replied, walking around the other side of the table to drink from a bottle of water his mother had left out for him. After a long sip, he swallowed. “I’m doing fine, how are you?”

Allison’s eyes shot up to Daniel for a moment from the glass as he grazed against her. She seemed to take a moment too long before she returned to the kitchen.

“I’m doing great. Happy that your mum invited me over for dinner with y’all,” he replied with an enthusiastic tone. He rather enjoyed the twang of his voice as he used the Arcadian manner of saying ‘mother’ and the southern Shalumite way of saying ‘you all.’ It was not something he had ever encountered before. “Let me guess, she is a great cook?” He asked with a wink, before glancing over towards the kitchen.

“The best,” Alex said with a smile as he sat to the side of Daniel, finishing off his water bottle. He looked like his mother, oddly- angular, sharp features and hair that was dirty blonde due to the weather and was generally darker in the winter- despite the fact that he wasn’t her’s, per say. “What do you do for a job?”

“I thought as much,” Daniel replied with amusement in his tone, smile wide and bright as he looked down at the young boy at his side. Taking a sip of water, he was silent for a moment. He could see the familial resemble between Allison and Alex, but he could also spy divergences as well. “I’m a soldier in the Shalumite army. Well, I don’t really fight, but I make sure that the soldiers who do, can.” He winked at the boy. It was better than saying he worked a nine-to-five, mind numbing job that was about as exciting as watching paint dry.

“My uncle’s a soldier too. But he fights. Katie’s dad is a soldier too,” Alex replied, as Allison came out and set a basket of bread on the table, along with a small tray of butter to begin with. She gave the two a smile, before she disappeared back through the walkway.

“Oh yeah? That is awesome!” The Shalumite replied with a warm grin as he looked down at the boy. Looking over at his mother, he nodded in appreciation, mouthing a ‘thank you’ as she sat the basket down. He didn’t move to grab a piece just yet, waiting for either the kid to act first, or for her to return. “You know, I actually work with Katie’s dad too. He is a great guy.”

Allison returned with the main dish, interrupting what would have been the boy’s response. Setting it down, she left for a moment more, before returning to the room with two glasses. One, with water, which she placed in front of Alex, and the other with red wine which she placed in front of her seat. With the table already set, she took a seat to Daniel’s left, him at the head of the table. She took a deep breath. “Well, shall we?”

As far as Daniel was concerned, the meal went off without a hitch. He talked with both Allison and Alex, glad that the conversation flowed as easily as it did. While talking over lunch with co-workers, there was something much more intimate about this that he very much enjoyed. These people cared more about him, rather then when a report would be done, or the latest sports scores. “That was delicious, Allison, thank you very much for that,” he smiled at her as he slowly set his fork down on his now empty plate. It had, really, been the best home-cooked meal he had in a long time. As someone who worked long hours, he had gotten quite used to either frozen meals, or something quick from a local restaurant.

“And you are very welcome,” Allison replied with a smile, as Alex worked to clear the table, as was his responsibility. She took a sip from her wine- her second glass- and exhaled, leaning back in her chair to relax. “It certainly looks like you enjoyed it.”

“Thank you, young man.” Daniel replied with a smile, grasping his plate for a moment, before handing it off to the young boy. It was a scene reminiscent of his childhood, when he had been issued similar tasks now and then. “I very much did, yeah,” he admitted as he leaned back into his seat. “It isn’t often that I get to enjoy something that wasn’t frozen ten minutes beforehand, courtesy of my job,” he admitted with a chuckle. Clearly, it was not something that worried.

“Well, nobody should ever have to live like that,” Allison replied good-naturedly, leaning forward and propping her head up atop her clasped hands, elbows on the table as she gazed at her dinner guest for the evening.

There was something about her eyes -her beautiful face as well- that made it very hard for Daniel to look away. He was thankful that he had no requested anything alcoholic beforehand, lest he say something that would embarrass himself, or cause her to throw him out. “It is a living. How much of one is still up for debate,” he replied, humor in his voice as he gazed into her eyes. “I have to say though, coming home to this...a home cooked meal I mean, is likely a lot better than something out of a microwave,” he admitted with a smile. Too much, he had almost said something too much, too suggestive. “I can, um, see why it appeals to people like Colin so much.”

“So I’ve heard. Can’t really say given that I’m the one cooking,” Allison teased, her eyes darting to the kitchen walkway for a moment as Alex could be heard loading dishes. “You seem like you’d be an already married man.”

“I wish I was,” Daniel admitted without a chuckle without thinking. Taking another sip of his water, he shrugged, the sounds of loading dishes little more than background noise to him. “I, um, have wanted to get married in the past. But with work and all, I’ve never really gotten to meet anyone, you know? I don’t really move around a lot, but with the hours I’ve worked in the past, I hate to tell someone that I am going to be home at a certain time, and show up four hours later,” he replied. A smile creasing his lips, he returned the teasing with his own. “I could say the same about you, Allie. You strike me as the very desirable, marry-able type,” he winked at her.

“You flatter me,” Allison chuckled, and then shook her head, a good-natured upturn of her lips keeping the entire time. “You’d think so, but not very many people my age want to get involved with a woman with a kid.”

It was a grim reality that Daniel could understand. It seemed like a lot of the modern culture was in it for the sex more than forming a family, meaning that women with previous attachments were less desirable. As far as those people were concerned, however, Daniel considered them to be idiots. Looking at Allison was just another example of why there shouldn’t be worry about it. “I speak only words of truth, ma’am,” he smiled at her. “If anything, I would think you having a kid is more endearing than anything else. It’s clears to me that you’re a great mother, passing on good traits to the next generation,” he replied honestly.

“I try,” Allison replied simply, a bright smile now gracing her features. Leaning back in her chair, she crossed her arms under her breasts and tilted her head at Daniel slightly. “Any chance I can convince you for tea?”

“I would love a cup,” Daniel had replied with a smile, his eyes shining as he looked at Allison. Moving over to the living room, the two had found themselves on the couch, sipping on cups of the warm, soothing drink as they continued to chat. “This is very good, how did you make it?” He asked with a smile, trying to keep the conversation going. It did not go unnoticed to him, however, how closely they were sitting. It would have taken only some slight movements for their legs, or even arms, to touch.

“Oh, you know. Hot water. Strainer with tea leaves. None of that bagged bollocks,” Allison replied with a smile, setting her empty cup down on the tray that was on the ottoman that sat in front of the sectional.

“That is what I thought. It tastes a lot better than any of that bagged stuff,” Daniel replied with a chuckle, before finishing off the last of his tea. Reaching over, he set the empty cup on the tray, his arm brushing against her’s for a long moment as he did so. Flushing, he smiled at her a little sheepishly. “Sorry about that.”

“No worries…” Allison trailed off. She found herself eyeing Daniel for what might have been just a moment too long, before she cleared her throat and looked away, a blush coming onto her cheeks. It was natural, after all, she supposed. They had so much in common, and talking to him just felt natural. She laughed, he laughed, and they had fun.

You’re adorable when you blush. Daniel thought, smiling at Allison as she looked away. It was perhaps the most endearing sight of her that he had seen all day. Slowly, he reached up and touched her elbow for a moment, fingers running along her skin. “I had a really good time tonight, Allie,” he told her with warmth in his tone.

“I-I had a great time, as well,” Allison replied, looking back up at Daniel. She blinked a few times under his gaze, and swallowed hard, though not too noticeably she hoped. She felt like every inch of her body was on its toes, just waiting.

Had he not been in Acrea, the Shalumite man would have thought it impossible that anyone as beautiful as Allison would give him the time of day, much less want to spend time with him, much less spend a dinner and intimate tea afterwards. “If you’re aren't opposed,” he actually sounded a little nervous now. “I’d like to do this again sometime. If you, um, would like to as well.”

“That sounds wonderful,” Allison said, her voice picking up a bit from excitement. Her smile, ever infectious, was overwhelming in a way. She turned her body towards Daniel slightly, tilting her head to the side just a tad.

Though he might have thought it otherwise impossible, the smile that was on Daniel’s lips only grew at her tone, flashing rows of white teeth. His eyes were alive with excitement and visible joy, and he couldn’t help but turn his body a little more towards her own. “I’m up for anything, pretty much anytime,” he said quietly; meeting her eyes. God, he wanted to kiss very much right now.

“How does dinner tomorrow sound?” Allison said, pursing her lips a little bit. She had one eyebrow raised as she pondered the time, wondering whether it was too soon mostly, and perhaps should be later.

“It sounds wonderful to me,” he replied softly. Given how close they were, his voice was little more than a murmur, it was all that he really needed. “Maybe I can, um, show up a little earlier next time? Help you cook something?” He paused for a moment, and added. “Or maybe we can go out? Try out some of the local cuisine?”

Not really trying out to me, Allison thought, but kept her face a pleasant expression nonetheless. She got an extra glint in her eye as Daniel offered to take her out. “That sounds great. What time, do you suppose?”

While Daniel was, by no means, the kind of person capable of reading the fine details of body language; especially when it came to the fairer gender, even he did not miss the extra little shine that flickered in Allison’s eyes. It caused a little thrill of excitement to run down his spine. “How about the same time? I get off at five,” he said softly. Glancing past her, he looked towards the kitchen door, though he doubted Alex was still there. “I know that may be a little short notice, if you um, needed something like a babysitter,” he added thoughtfully. Daniel wasn’t opposed to Alex tagging along, but he doubted she would want him present if they had a -real- date.

“The neighbours will make sure that he stays out of trouble,” Allison replied. She’d had to have them watch him enough for them to have an arrangement by this point. She kept her eyes down a bit, not quite meeting Daniel’s eyes.

“You’re sure?” He asked softly, leaning back into the couch, one arm draped casually along the top of it. His eyes were curious as they looked at her, trying to meet her own. “We can, um, do it any other time if you don’t want to do it tomorrow. I’m not but patient,” he smiled warmly.

“I’m sure,” Allison stated firmly as she looked up at Daniel, a smile creeping back onto her lips. It was the closed-lips kind, the warm, cozy sort of smile. She batted her eyelashes, and was silent for the moment.

[Acrea]

The Imperatorial Palace
The Duchy of Haford
The Empire of Shalum

---

Contrary to popular belief, the Crown Prince of Shalum did have actual duties beyond looking good for the cameras and waiting to inherit the throne. This was especially true when the Imperator was out of country on business, or even vacation for that matter. During those times, Matthew was handed over the majority of the powers that the executive often wielded. Theoretically, he could introduce motions to declare war or alter trade deals, but he never did anything of the sort. If anything, it was more like a game of hot-potato, trying to keep the important duties and decisions out of his hands long enough for him to hand back to his father and mother.

Sighing tiredly, Matthew opened the door of his Audi, sliding out of the driver’s seat. While his father may have insisted upon taking his limousine everywhere, he was more preferential to ferrying himself to and from places. It drove his security nuts, but he couldn’t care less about them. Pulling out his phone as he walked towards the palace entrance, he smiled as he began to type out a message. Home from work, babe. Where are you? He texted Dominique, adding a heart emoji before sending it.

Dominique didn’t pick up the phone right away. No, she was seated pensively on the edge of the bed that she and Matthew shared, eyes down towards the ground a bit and her head bowed. Only after a few moments did she pick up and send a reply. Home. In the bedroom.

Be right there. Matthew replied, adding a ‘wink’ to the text before he sent it, and slid the smartphone into his pants pocket. It took him a few minutes, mostly because he stopped to use the restroom, before he found himself at the door to his shared bedroom. “Baby, I’m home,” he announced brightly as he entered. Spying her on the bed, he closed the distance quickly, though his smile faded as he perched himself on the bed next to her. “Dominique,” he said more softly. “Are you alright, baby?”

“Yeah…” Dominique’s voice trailed off, as she leaned into Matthew, fully expecting him to wrap her up in his arms. The redhead snuggled up against him lovingly, humming to herself for a moment before she was silent. “I’m pregnant.”

If there was one thing Matthew loved, it was wrapping up Dominique up in his arms. Holding her lovingly while they talked about anything, or nothing at all, usually while he gently stroked her hair or rubbed her back. It was what he had chosen to do now, smiling softly against the top of her head as she snuggled up against his chest.

All at once, however, everything seemed to scream to a halt for him. His arms tightened a little bit around her, and his hand on the small of her back froze in place. For a few long moments, he said nothing, still trying to process the information. Finally, he pulled back his head so that he could look down at her. His eyes were wide in surprise, and perhaps a little bit of awe, something that reflected in his tone as he spoke. “Y-you’re pregnant?”

“I’m pregnant,” Dominique repeated, looking up at Matthew, blinking. She was pregnant. With his child. Their child. The thought made her heart race, and her body on end with electricity. “I went to the doctor earlier, and I’m pregnant.”

Very slowly, a grin spread across the Crown Prince’s lips as he gazed down at the redhead in his arms. It felt like his heart was pounding a mile a minute, so much so that he was convinced his beloved would actually be able to hear the organ thumping away. “We’re gonna have a baby,” he murmured; sounding almost like a small child, nothing but happiness in his tone. “We’re going to be parents, Dominique,” he said louder with a broad smile; holding her tightly against his chest.

Dominique groaned as she was squished against Matthew’s chest, patting him on the arms as she exhaled deeply, letting out a small giggle even with all the thoughts racing through her mind at that second. “That would be the idea.”

Chuckling, the Shalumite prince eased his grip on the Avenian girl, if only so that he had the space to lean down and press a deep kiss to her lips; cupping her chin with one of his large hands, running the pad of his thumb along her jawline. “I’m glad you agree,” he smiled as he reached down, slipping a hand under her shirt to stroke her stomach. “How, um, long have you thought you were pregnant before you visited the doctor?” He asked curiously, gazing into her eyes as his large fingers splayed themselves over her still taut tummy.

“Maybe a day,” Dominique replied quietly, closing her eyes and resting her head against her lover. She let her mind go blank. To simply enjoy the feeling of his embrace and his ministrations.

“That was quick,” Matthew replied quietly; amused by how fast she had gone to the doctors. He was sure that many women would have waited a week, maybe two or more, before they submitted themselves for an evaluation. For a while, he was silent, content to simply rub small circles on the soft skin of her stomach. He had so many questions, such as what she wanted to do next, and when did they want to tell their respective parents. Yet, in this moment, the most he could muster was a loving kiss pressed to the side of her neck.

Dominique said nothing. She curled up into Matthew, reveling in the feeling that they shared in this moment. One of the most, if not the most, important moments in their young lives. She rolled onto her back to smile up at Matthew, head resting on his lap now.

The crown prince did not remove his hand from her stomach. Instead, he left it there, gently easing the fabric of her shirt up enough to reveal her tummy, which he continued to stroke. Reaching up with his other hand, he stroked a few tresses of red hair away from her face. “I bet she is going to be just as beautiful as her mother is,” he teased her softly; smiling down at Dominique.

“I thought you would want a son,” Dominique mused, looking down at her body. She placed a hand over Matthew’s, the feeling of his rough palms on her soft skin soothing and comforting.

“Oh, I would love to have a son.” The prince replied softly, his eyes full of love as he gazed down at her. The feeling of her hand atop his own caused a bloom of warmth in his chest, and he couldn’t help but lift his hand up a bit to interlace his fingers with her own. “But as long as he or she is happy and healthy, I am one-hundred percent happy,” he winked. “Of course, I hope that they get their mom’s looks too,” he teased.

“You flatter me too much.” Dominique giggled, closing her eyes. She had barely slept the night before, and that decision was taking a toll on her now. But she didn’t want to leave Matthew yet. She was enjoying this intimacy far too much.

Matthew chuckled, a gleam of amusement in his eyes. “If anything, I don’t flatter you enough. It’s too much fun,” he replied softly. Holding her hand, he was wholly content with things, their situation. Sure, he had been hoping to at least have a ring on her finger before they made children, but he didn’t have a single regret. “You tired, baby?” He questioned quietly, massaging her body again with his strong hands. Since they were on their bed, it would not have been hard to simply tuck in for a while.

Dominique nodded silently, moving so that she was sitting. Scooting down the bed, she rested her head back on a pillow, and patted the empty space beside her a few times as she looked down at Matthew.

There was a short pause as Matthew kicked off his dress shoes, before moving further up the bed to join his beloved. Silently, he wrapped his arm around her, snuggling against her side. He would likely ruffle his current attire to the point it would need to be pressed, but he didn’t mind in the least. “I love you, Dominique.” He said softly, nipping at her ear teasingly before his eyes fell closed. “And you too, baby,” he added with a smile as he patted her stomach.

[Azurlavai]

Konkade Isle
Tritonsberg, Kellam, URA
10:34 PM

They’d had a good haul this time, a bank whose manager had conveniently ‘forgotten’ his keycard, allowing them to slip past much of the digital security. Shooting the night watchmen was Childs’ play, and after disabling the alarms, blowing the vault was easy. After that, they just loaded up in the truck and rolled out, millions of centra bills stacked inside their bags. A damn good haul.

The truck, a Kraken 2008 Mastiff flew down the streets at just under the speed limit, the more to avoid the police as well as getting back to the hideout before they were all busted. Four of the guys sat in back, their heavy backpacks full of money and guns in front of them. The one up in the passenger seat kept a revolver in his lap, in case they –were- pulled over. They were all on edge, flush with victory but still aware of their hot cargo as sirens sounded in the distance.

Finally, however, they reached the place, an old rundown Vansen Refrigeration warehouse which had been abandoned on the docks years ago. Now, it was full of product the company couldn’t afford to move but was just rusting away here. Perfect place to lay low. The truck rolled to a stop, and two of the gang leapt out, jogging over to the tall doors and pulling them shut. The driver cut the engine, and they all started offloading.

“Damn good job,” one grunted. “How much do you think we can keep?”

“That’s not for you to decide,” another one, ostensibly the one in charge replied. “I need to run this up to the boss. Get the money stashed, we move it in the morning.”

Grumbling, the others began dispersing the bags, taking the guns out and sliding the money into a nearby refrigerator, preparing to seal it back in its crate and get it covertly shipped across town. One goon secretly grabbed a handful of bills, pocketing them when he thought his comrades wouldn’t see. Damned if he wouldn’t get something out of this.

The goon in charge stepped away, pulling out his Sigyn flip phone and dialing a number. The call connected.

”Talk to me,” said the voice on the other end.

“Job was a success, we’ve got the dough loaded up and preparing to package it.”

”Body count?”

“Three night guards. Amateurs. First one couldn’t even get his weapon off safe. But we cut the alarms before they went off.”

”Good. Stay low, I’ll see if we can get the cops-“

Abruptly, the lights cut out, bathing the warehouse in darkness. Ever the prepared criminals, the six men pulled out flashlights, casting them around the dank, gloomy building that creaked under the late night winds.

”What was that?”

“Power’s out. Jan, check the breaker!”

The appointed goon groaned at the prospect of having to do more work, but went about it with little more resistance, ducking to the back of the building, searching for the panel in question. When he reached it, Jan pulled it open, squinting as he tried to figure out which breaker had tripped. But they all looked okay, in the ‘ON’ position.

Unfortunately, he didn’t see the figure coming up behind him in the dark, shrouded in shadow as he threw a hand around the bank robber’s mouth, silencing his struggles for a second before the gleam of a blade sliced through the man’s jugular. The goon quit struggling after that, dying quickly and quietly on the floor.

“Jan? What the hell’s taking so long?”

No reply came back out of the darkness, and this time the head goon designated two with silent hand gestures. Moving cautiously, they picked up their guns and moved forward, carefully searching with their flashlights. Finally, they reached Jan’s position, and one of them gasped. Before they had the chance, however, a large machete came flying from the darkness, slamming into the forehead of the first good. The second one spun around, crying out as he sprayed his surroundings with his shotgun, emptying the mag in short order. In the middle of his barrage, a single burst cut through from above, nailing him in the chest and dropping the man like a bag of bricks before he knew what had happened.

“Dammit, open fire!”

The last three raised their own weapons and let off a long, chattering overlay of fire, filling every shadow they could see with lead and switching to fire at any movement they spotted. They emptied two, three, four magazines as their rounds traced streams of bulletholes over the boxes nearby, blowing out freezers and refrigerators in sprays of metal and plastic, until finally the gunfire stopped.

The three goons stood there, watching the dark quietly as they waited. Whoever he was, however good this guy had been, no one could survive that storm of fire.

“Okay…let’s get out there. Make sure this guy’s dead. Then we move. All that fire will have gotten someone’s attention.”

Agreeing quietly, the other two were about to step forward when a canister hit the deck, prompting them to raise their weapons again. It bounced once, twice, three times, and one of the goons who was ex-military recognized it in a split second.

“SHIT, GRENA-“

He got no further before the flashbang detonated, causing the two in front to involuntarily pull their triggers, rounds spraying wildly as they tried to figure out where in the ringing and white light the other one was. The head good stumbled backwards just in time, as a figure in black fell from the rafters, shooting his men point black in the chest with a suppressed machine pistol. The two fell, and the figure stepped forward to where the goon could see.

The man was tall, broad-shouldered. Walked like a veteran. A long black coat reached to the ground, and he wore a black beret, a Kevlar vest and tactical webbing. But his face was covered by both a set of goggles and a skull-decorated balaclava.

“Woah, shit man! Easy does it, we can figure this out!”

In reply, the figure shot the goon twice in the chest.

In the silence that reined, the man leaned down, picking up the phone that was still connected to the call and bringing it to his ear. He stayed silent for a minute.

”That was quite a display,” said the surprisingly calm voice on the other end. ”So…what do you want? Money? Guns? Favors?”

Silence answered him.

”Do I at least get a name? Who put you up to this? Who do you work for?”

Finally, the figure spoke.

“I work for justice,” replied former Major Jaeger. “Consider yourself on notice now.””

With that, he dropped the phone, crushing it under a boot.

When the police showed up twenty minutes later, it was to find six corpses piled in the middle of the room with the illegal weapons and bags of stolen money stacked right next to them. The only thing they had to identify whoever had done this was a spray-painted emblem of a haunting spectral figure.

The infamous Geist had struck.

[Azurlavai]

Cliffs of Berk
Northern Gallagher, URA
2:17 PM

The Berkian cliffs were treacherous at the best of times, absolutely impassable at the worst. As the northern coastline was so sheer in places and hit by the drastically chilling winds coming off the North Pole, the ocean and landscape made it difficult to trek into. But this time of year, in the summer months, it was almost manageable. Frieda had docked her boat down in an abandoned fishing town, making sure it was tied into a still-standing boathouse. As the place was still in decent condition on this storm-blasted coastline, she had judged the town to have been empty for only twenty years, maybe thirty, right about the time of the recession in the late 80s. A sign had said the town was named ‘Ragnaras’. Fitting designation for such a town.

From there, she had hiked through the forests into the high hills, careful of the wildlife. This far from humans, the creatures had no reason to fear people, and she had almost had a bad incident with a snow snake whose hibernation she’d disturbed. It had awoken in a bad mood, and she had no desire to be the victim of that neurotoxin, putting two rounds into its head. Then she’d hightailed it out of there, knowing for a fact there was probably at least one or two horned bears around somewhere, and she’d heard the howling of fenrir dire wolves in the distance. And the Gods help her if there was a drakon in the area.

She continued climbing, and eventually the forests had given way to mountains and sheer cliffs she hadn’t the equipment to climb, so she’d opted for this path around over the seawall. By now, however, she was a few hundred feet over the slate-grey ocean, on cliffs so sheer, it would have made a Shalumite city envious. It was the middle of summer, but the winds buffeting her were still ice-cold, and she felt the sting of the north as she cautiously shuffled over, her boots scraping with the toes poking out into the open air. Her rucksack was slung over her chest, the position awkward as her breasts were crushed against her and her chin forced back, but it was either this or tumble off the cliffside.

Finally, though, she felt her hands give, and there was more room to maneuver. Indeed, she finally had a chance to step back, and she quickly moved her rucksack to her back again, pulling her blonde hair back into its loose braid. Once she had herself organized again, she noticed the worn, faint dirt path ahead of her, leading away up a gorge before her, over rough-hewn, faded stone steps. Intrigued and encouraged, her previous fatigue forgotten, Frieda Trotsbeck (professor of Archeology out of the Lowellsburg Institute of Science) began hefting up the stairs, taking them two at a time as she pulled out a small cassette recorder.

“After clambering up the cliff face, I’ve found a set of stairs. Judging by the wear and the patterns etched into them, I imagine they were built in the late eleventh century, maybe earlier if they were repaired several times. The gully I’m climbing up would have protected this place from the windlash here, but the rain patterns will have of course washed away any foot traffic these stones suffered. Still, no one puts stairs in the middle of nowhere, so I assume I’m getting close to my goal.”

As she crested the top, she took a moment to rest her aching legs, but to her delight she saw before her exactly what she had set out to find; a Norse village, dilapidated from age but still very much recognizable. No, wait. She did a quick count, then realized there was a whole other portion on the other side. This was an entire city! The wooden buildings were organized along stone avenues, another oddity of the times, and spilled away towards the mountain at the back, at which point the roads rose up to a massive staircase and ending at an equally massive door, flanked by a pair of statues she couldn’t recognize from here.

She went giddy.

“I have it! Oh, by Odin! There are stone roads stretching at least a few kilometers in all directions! I must be seeing at least seventy, maybe eighty structures! And not all of them are homes, I see shops and granaries and stables! Oh, I have to take a closer look!”

She sprinted over to a house, gently pushing the door open and wincing as rotten wood from above showered her cap. She paused, and moved in after she was sure nothing else would break. A tapestry, faded with age, hung from the wall, and further in was a stone hearth, with a small cradle in front of it. A set of stairs at one point had extended upwards to a second story, but they were long collapsed.

“For their time, these people seem to have made quite a high standard of living. A stone floor, and a second story in an obviously well-kept house. Where other places in their own medieval age had relatively low standards of living in their common people, this family enjoyed a comfortable lifestyle. I’ll have to examine the other residences to confirm the average, but so far a promising start!”

For the next two hours, she explored the city, ducking into residences, examining shops and granaries and gradually building a picture of how these people lived based on the construction, carving patterns and care of the buildings. For a medieval city, these people were quite advanced. No glass windows, but tough hide curtains were easier to maintain and replace, even a thousand years later still anchored in place. Iron tools and weapons in the blacksmiths, stone floors in every house and if she was correct, this city even had farms to keep it fed out on the outskirts of the city. From the number of stables, there was also a large number of horses and oxen, and the excessive amount of Old Norse runes everywhere told of a fairly literate people. The houses themselves were very strong, and stone roads meant a sense of direction, construction and the use of carts.

There was no doubt about it, this was the lost city of Fornost. Hidden from the modern world for centuries, she had been the one to discover it. The thought of the paper she would write sent chills down her spine in excitement.

When she finally reached the door at the foot of the mountain, she took a moment to gaze up at the statues. A thousand years of wear and storms and rain had beaten their appearances, but she recognized them both as Thor and Loki, the Gods of Thunder and Trickery. They both appeared to be in a kneeling stance, and she glanced behind her to confirm why. The doorway was angled to be facing the rising sun, so the two brothers were bowing to their father Odin in Asgard.

“A deeply spiritual people, it seems. They’ve placed Thor and Loki in positions of submission rather than rearing overhead like most cultures of the time. Saluting to Odin, no doubt. Weapons out, Mjolnir in Thor’s hand and a spear in Loki’s. Warriors as well. I cannot make out the runes over the doors, but I’m assuming they have to do with the structure’s purpose. I’ll have to venture inside to find out.”

The massive doors were at least twenty feet high, and like the other doors were built into robust iron hinges that kept the door from collapsing from rot. She pushed on one experimentally and found, to her surprise, that it swung open with a screech.

The chamber she stepped into left her speechless. Most Norse villages had a Great Hall, a place where the king and his warriors would congregate to feast and celebrate victories and share stories, as well as house guests. Judging from the city, she should have expected a large military contingent, but the chamber was absolutely enormous, stretching away before her. Carved wooden support columns still stood, spared the ravages of weather as they propped up the cave, and she pulled out her flashlight to get a look at the runes. On all of the columns were names, likely those who had fallen in battle in the name of their king and city. Astonishingly, there were also dates beside the names. A calendar, then? That was unique among ancient cultures.

She spotted long tables and benches, enough to house a battalion of troops, all of them arranged in a wagon wheel spoke, with the centers congregated towards the center plinth, where another table made of stone resided. And here, in the middle, was the throne. It was, as suited, titanic in size. Forged from iron and intricately cast and engraved, it had whorls, spirals, animals and runes emblazoned on it, even now as it was rusting. The condition wasn’t as bad as the hinges and weapons she’d been finding practically covered in red, and she noticed more inscriptions on the back, more names. The previous kings who had sat here, where the next in the line could look up and remember their legacy? And there, seated and slumped over, was the king himself.

“This chamber appears to be a sort of great hall and throne room all at once. The king obviously held his court and great feasts here. No need for a castle, he had many warriors all the time at once, anyone who dared attack him here was asking to be killed in a gruesome way.” She glanced up, noticing the hanging iron lanterns. “More signs of advancement. These lanterns have glass, an extremely hard to find material. A trade empire, or a military one, perhaps. This king was obviously very wealthy.” She stepped up towards the throne, and her flashlight caught the backwall, making her stop and stare. A map, an ancient seafaring map. She had seen many, with inscriptions, assumptions and lots of ‘Here Be Dragons’. This far north, that wasn’t actually an assumption, either. But here, she gawked as she stared up at the painted map, emblazoned on the stone wall. Sure, it was faded with age, but it was easy to pick out Azurlavai, though the lack of its fifteen states was a bit jarring. There was the Shalumite coastline and Mirarea to the northeast, and far to the west, the islands of Ossoria. That was as far as most kingdoms usually got in distance, but she looked further and spotted Azura and Montemayor, Delkora and…was she imagining? That was Syara, just across the channel, and the whole curve of the northern continent all the way out to Castarcia and Fiore! These people had traveled further than any other ancient empire in history!

“These people were nautical explorers of…unprecedented skill! This map is damn near modern! I think…they look to have sailed around the entire northern continent, all the way to Nordkrussen! No Azurlav kingdom has any records prior to the first excursions from Acrea in the eighth century…but these people look to have been trying to find the motherland again! This is…amazing!”

For a minute, she almost couldn’t tear her eyes away from the ancient, extraordinary map. But then, a gleam caught her eye, and she looked down. For the first time, she brought the flashlight down on the king, splayed on his throne. And everything became so wrong. For one, the skeleton hadn’t lost all of its flesh yet. Spared from the elements, it had become mummified, though the eyes were gone. Secondly, though he wore an iron-cast, spiky crown his dress was decidedly more modern. At least seventies, by the look of things. And third, the bloodstains and holes in the jacket told of the cause of death; two bullets in the chest.

“You’re not what I expected…” Frieda whispered, moving closer as she turned off her tape recorder. Her gloved hands gently pulled the iron crown off the figure’s head, and she examined it briefly. This piece was authentic, the runes and casting were correct, though the iron was amazingly rust free. She looked down at the cadaver, trying to ascertain something from the evidence she had of the man. Her eyes darted down to his breast pocket, and she tucked the flashlight between her teeth as she gently patted it, then tugged out what appeared to be a thick pocketbook, a portable journal of sorts. She brought it up, flipped through it a little bit before reaching the first portion.

Property of Graham, Joshua
Institute of Archeological Science, Aragon

“Shalumite?” she uttered aloud, the flashlight tumbling out of her teeth. For a second, she was blind as she fumbled around for the light, tucking the notebook and crown into her bag as she found the light. But as she did, she paused as her eyes came over two brass shell casings, lying out in the open. She picked one up, turned it over in her gloved fingers carefully. Kalt .40 caliber. Azurlav, military.

“What happened here?” she whispered.

She was still examining the casing in her hand when the distant clatter of helicopter blades caught her ears, and she pocketed it, standing and moving to the door, peering outside. Off in the distance, she saw them coming in over the mountains like vultures; a handful of Hund transport helicopters, last generation military craft still in use with many State Guard units and even a few security companies. Highly doubtful that the Gallagher State Guard would deploy here of all places for training.

Frieda drew her WY-88N handgun. Most archaeologists didn’t run around with Teflon-coated hollow point loaded pistols, but she liked to be prepared. Looked like that would come in handy today as she racked the slide. Ten rounds, three more magazines loaded with twelve each. If she was careful, she might have enough.

The helicopters landed, and the doors rolled open as gun-wielding armored soldiers poured out. They were obviously not State Guard, their stahlhelms were evidence enough of that. They wore grey uniforms with red flags on the shoulders, and carried last-generation weapons, mostly ATR-99 and SG1A3 rifles. Both 5.56mm designs, despite being from two different nations. Someone had an eye on logistics, and that was more in mind with a military thinker than a security one. About twenty five of them, it looked.

The soldiers were followed by a woman, a dark-skinned one in her mid thirties by her look, carrying a pistol as well. She pointed up at the Great Hall as the helicopters took off, moving to encircle the city. The soldiers began moving up the lane in classic urban escort formation, advancing in bounds as they took avenues and watched corners for firelanes. They had come expecting a fight. But the woman, she simply strode up the center, her eyes fixed on the great doors at the foot of the mountain. She had come a long way to get here, and she was not going to take her eyes off that place until she had the prize in her hands.

The party continued up the lane, the Revenant soldiers watching carefully. Their leader, Loytnant Flynn, was concerned that someone might have gotten up there before them, but she wasn’t worried. This place had been lost for a thousand years, the odds of someone being there at the exact same time they had arrived were impossible, and so she simply moved with purpose.

But when one of the troopers yelled “Contact!” everything changed in an instant.

Frieda put two rounds point-blank into the soldier’s neck, and all hell broke loose as the rest of the party swiveled to target her. She broke into a dead sprint, firing as she ran, using the houses for cover as she dodged between them. The soldiers kept up with her, side-straddle hopping as fast as they could and running when they saw her flat out bolting, firing as they moved. Two moved to the mouth of the alley and dropped to their knees, drawing beads on her back, and she only just shifted before they opened up, brass casings piling up next to them as they sent a deluge of rounds to chase her. She kept going, eating up distance it had taken her hours to cover before, watching beams and doors explode into splinters as modern bullets chewed into the ancient ruins. She kept her head down, pausing to fire twice more around the building, taking another soldier down before she reloaded and moved on, ducking through a house and hopping out the window. There, the gully was just ahead!

Abruptly, one of the Hunds swooped down ahead of her, turning to open the door, and she spotted an MG3 in the open space. No time to dodge, so she kept sprinting straight at it as the gunner opened up, ducking for a split second before she clambered onto a house, making a wild leap and catching the helicopter’s landing strut, struggling to climb. The gunner, realizing he was being boarded, released the gun and reached for his sidearm. Frieda swung herself up, grabbing his ankle and yanking fiercely, bringing him down as the chopper tilted. With a rushed scream, the gunner swooped out past her, plummeting to his death in the gorge. She pulled up, grabbing onto the MG as she heard gunfire from below, and she had an instant to see the troopers rushing towards her, guns blazing as they sought cover. She triggered off a burst, gritting her teeth as she felt the recoil blast through her arms. Though two more soldiers went down, the rest had ducked away, and the helicopter was swooping away as the pilot realized she was aboard, turning with his sidearm and getting off two rounds at her before she put a bullet through his own skull.

Frieda hadn’t piloted a helicopter much, but the little bit she knew came back to her quickly as she desperately took the copilot seat, pulling the craft up as she affected her escape. Down below, the soldiers kept blazing away at her, but it was the dark-skinned woman that caught Frieda’s attention. She simply strolled down the street, firing her SMG as she went. Though she couldn’t hear her, Frieda could tell the woman was yelling at the top of her voice, and the fierceness in her eyes, even from here, told Frieda the woman was using a liberal amount of curses.

As she pulled away to return to Raganaras, Frieda settled back, breathing out in a huff as she glanced at the dead pilot’s shoulder. The red emblem of a boar’s head, its mouth open and billowing flames. What did that mean? Her thoughts settled on the iron crown, the map at the back of the hall and the journal belonging to a long-dead Shalumite explorer in her pocket.

What did any of this shit mean?

[Azurlavai]

Institute of Archeological Science
Aragon, Shalum
8:42 AM

”So how many rounds are you expecting to pick up when you come back?” asked Elrik Sorenson, the arms dealer who kept Frieda on the barely legal side of appropriating weapons. She liked him, and did business with him on a semi-regular basis, mostly for military grade parts for the weapons she had as well as full-powered ammunition, both of which were illegal for civilians in Azurlavai. Though most of the time she ran into animals instead of humans, getting up close and personal in the jungle with poachers, treasure hunters and bandits meant using weaponry a little more suited to the two-legged variant of animal. Luckily, Sorenson kept her supplied with weapons, ammunition and components that were serial number free.

“Not as many as you’d think this time. If I could get a box or two or .40 Automatisk and maybe some parts for my ATR, I’d be more than happy to ask that overnight.”

Over her kFon, Elrik laughed. Back in Azurlavai, he resided in a town outside of Lowellsburg, a place out of the way enough that he could move product through without attracting the eye of law enforcement, this no name town of Lrnao. The fact that she kept regular contact with a semi-legal arms smuggler used to bother her, but this many years into her career, Frieda had come to be okay with it, especially since he also kept her supplied with tips coming in from poachers and mercenaries about sites and objects they had no interest in.

She glanced out the window of the monorail as it pulled into the station, the doors sliding open and a voice stating, in English, “Institute of Archeological Science. All passengers departing, please do so now. Next stop; Auburn, Downtown.” Without preamble, Frieda stood, slinging her backpack over her shoulder. She wasn’t quite so hesitant to have this conversation in public in Shalum as opposed to Azurlavai. Though state surveillance was still high, she spoke in Norse, a tongue that was definitely foreign here. The long years of conflict and tension abruptly coming to an end also came with an enormous burst of tourism, people from all three counties bordering each other suddenly traveling to and from without fear of being arrested by an enemy state. Stigmas and prejudices aside, traveling to Shalum wasn’t an impossibility anymore, and she’d made a discovery of a Maldorian knight last year in the south, though she’d had to turn it over to the local authorities in the end. Fortunately, Shalumites and Azurlavs generally resembled each other enough that if she wasn’t speaking a foreign language, she might just have blended in.

”Miss Trotsbeck, it is always a delight to do business with you,” Sorenson replied, also in Norse. ”When you return to the States, I have a brand new grenade launcher shipped in from Acrea, clean number and all, fresh out of the wrapping. Still got that new gun smell. I’ll let you have first crack at buying it.”

“A little too much for my taste, I think. I prefer to be a bit less high profile,” Frieda replied as she chuckled, stepping out of the terminal. “I’ll talk later, Elrick.”

The Institute was one of those clean, sweeping away places. A short walk flanked on either side by marble columns and fountains led up a short patch of stairs and through a set of glass doors. Judging by the state of the building, she assumed they had recently renovated the exterior, as the lobby had the same sort of new age glass architecture she’d seen around Shalum the last few years, which was beginning to take root in Azurlavai too. Scattered around the room were a handful of professors moving to wherever their urgent business might be taking them, as well as students discussing relevant facts or studying their textbooks. Nearby, one had set up his tablet on a table and was scrolling through a series of photos, looked to have been taken on a dig in an ancient village. Frieda reminded herself to grab one when she could, at thirty-one she was still right on the line of the technology revolution.

The receptionist’s desk was also white marble, and the woman behind it clad in a white dress, making her seem like she was trying to blend into the structure. Regardless, she smiled at the approaching blonde.

“Hello, welcome to the Institute of Archeological Science. How may I help you?”

“Hallo, Dr. Trotsbeck, Lowellsburg University of Science, how are you?” She smiled, glancing at the desk as she took the obligatory moment to greet the other woman. Nice, neat, tidy and so unlike an actual receptionist’s desk that did work. This young lady’s nails were too long to type quickly, her notepad looked like it had just come out of the wrapper and her pens were sitting too perfectly all things considered. “I came into town because an associate of mine recommended a resident here who was an expert on ancient cultures, specialized in Maldorian and Norse communities.” That one she was simply making up, but the idea was to make the receptionist hang on the name only. “Doctor Graham, Joshua Graham.”

The receptionist immediately frowned, which Frieda took as a good sign. If the name was recognizable, they would have known he hadn’t been around since the eighties at least.

“We have a Doctor Mark Graham, but he’s a linguist. Are you sure he was a resident here?”

Frieda frowned, tilting her head down as if deep in thought. In reality, however, now that she had a reason to be looking down she spotted the directory just on the other side of the lip, where guests weren’t supposed to see. There he was. Mark Graham, Department of Linguistics, fifth floor, office E54.

“I suppose I could be mistaken…at any rate, would you mind if I use your facility’s library? Your texts might have something I can use, and I’d rather not head home empty handed.”

“Of course, ma’am.” There was the practiced smile again, as the receptionist gestured down the hall. “On your right, two doors down. Please be courteous, as we do have classes going on at this moment.”

“Of course. Thank you for your help.”

With that, Frieda was away.

But it wasn’t the library she was headed to. As soon as she was out of sight, she doubled back, skipping up the stairs two at a time until she reached the second floor. Then she went for the elevator. Difficult to tell who might be in on a mystery this old. With such a strong connection as a location, whoever had been part of what had happened thirty years ago might still have people watching and waiting for questions about Graham. Best to assume there was an informant everywhere.

The elevator opened, and she stepped in to find only one other occupant, a bored looking security guard who nodded to her mutely as she stepped in. The elevator rumbled, the doors slid open on the fourth floor and the guard got out without another word. The last stretch to the fifth floor was almost disappointingly quick, but as she stepped out, the smell of old but well-maintained carpet and the aging wooden paneling on the walls told her exactly what she’d suspected; the outside and lobby had been updated, but the bowels of the building (or in this case the upper floors) still had the old model style from the 90s. She stepped down the hallway, moving past door after door. Some of them had glass, and were clearly classrooms like her own back in Lowellsburg when her class was in term. Some were solid wood, and marked by a set of brass letters and numbers and a little plastic placard off to the side once in a while. Finally, she found her way over to E53, where the placard said Mark Graham, Dr., Linguistics. She reached out, intending to knock, but the door moved under her hand, and she paused. Now slightly ajar, she could spy into the room a little and saw two figures; one in the chair and one looming over him.

Doctor Graham the Younger had a visitor.

She pushed the door open completely now, in case she was mistaken, but the figure spun around, and she spotted the flash of black in one hand and the gleam of brass in the other. A pistol and a set of knuckledusters.

The goon was a massive bear of a man, with a thick, scraggly beard and a few tattoos rolling down his neck in what looked to be Cyrillic, but she only had a second or two to glance before the gun was coming over at her. Idly, her mind identified it as an Ares Light Fire 75, a rather cheap and easy to come by weapon. And also the perfect throwaway, not to mention the suppressor attached. Outside of her body, however, she was already sweeping the weapon to the side as the goon pulled the trigger, causing the first round (which still snapped like a whip instead of what the movies showed) to bury itself in the wall. She kicked down, knocking the thug in the knee and he, clearly not expecting a woman to possess such strength or skill on the fly, collapsed, giving her the chance to drive her knee into his chin. He fell backwards, knocking over a desk and sending papers flying. When he didn’t move, she took it as a good sign and glanced over to the second figure.

Doctor Mark Graham, by all rights, should have been a good looking man. He was pushing forty, yes, but the gentle salt-and-pepper look his roots were beginning to adopt suited him. He kept his face clean-shaven, exposing a rather chiseled jaw and high cheekbones, all of which were currently covered in cuts and bleeding, and she was sure his hazel eyes would have captivated her for a moment had one of them not been puffing up around a black bruise. Graham coughed, and a little bit of blood leaked down his chin from his injured tongue, and she was brought back to herself as she stepped forward.

“Mark Graham? I’m Frieda Trotsbeck, I’ve come to ask you some questions.”

“Well, you’ve just moved up to the front of the queue,” the good doctor quipped, showing that his spirit was still intact, at least. She pulled on the duct tape keeping him anchored to his chair. The cuts and bruises on his wrists shown he had not gone quietly either, a fighter to the end like some she knew. “How did you know I was in danger?”

“I didn’t,” she replied in a flat tone that she had wanted to be slightly joking. “Just came to talk. Damn good timing.”

“Yes indeed. You might want to see to our visitor there,” Graham said, pointing nonchalantly. Frieda turned to find the thug staggering to his feet, grunting in some Slavic language. Azuran, perhaps? Didn’t matter, she needed to deal with him now. She strode forward, grabbing him by the collar and preparing to slam him into the wall. Before she could, however, a powerful hand grabbed her ankle, and the man stood straight up, holding her high as a wrestler might…before bringing her down on his knee. Her eyes swum with stars, and she rolled over in agony, bleary eyes barely able to see the man grab a flash drive before Graham attempted to lay a punch into his chin. The thug easily blocked it before driving his own knuckles into Graham’s own jaw, knocking him back into the chair. As he was about to move in to finish them both, however, the door flew open, and an Institute security guard came in with it.

“Dr. Graham, we’ve had reports-“

The goon turned around, and the guard gawked, fumbling for the handgun on his hip. The hitman took the opportunity, bodyslamming the guard out the door. In her dazed state, Frieda’s hand found the dropped suppressed pistol, and she brought it up, trying to center on the man’s back as he brutally beat the guard in the hallway. But the muscled henchman must have realized what was about to happen, and ducked away as she fired a trio of rounds, none of them with any chance to hit.

He was gone in seconds, slipping down the hallway and into the elevator.

Frieda let out a grunt and a sigh of frustration, dropping the weapon and collapsing into a chair nearby. She looked over the trashed office before glancing at Graham, who was nursing his broken nose.

“So…was it good for you too?”

Institute security found them both laughing as they recovered from being battered, bruised and broken. Today, they would lick their wounds. Tomorrow, it was back to work once more.

[Azurlavai]

The Burning Sea
230 miles northwest of Shalum
11:49 AM

Dr. Graham the Younger had been a great help after they had extracted themselves from his ruined office, even smoothing things over with the local police. Fortunately, these civvies cops weren’t as hardline as Azurlav MPs back home, and Mark’s influence had been enough to dissuade them. Afterwards, they had sat down and examined both the iron crown and Joshua Graham’s notebook. While Frieda had examined the notes in detail, Mark was the one who made the startling discoveries of both his long-lost father’s final fate, and a tidbit of useful information from the crown itself.

“The crown is interesting,” Mark had said as he nursed his eye with a bag of ice. “Because it’s not actually associated with Fornost. See here?” He had pointed to a particular rune on the side that Frieda hadn’t understood, ancient runes not being her forte. “This one actually describes the crown belonging to Fornost’s ancient opposition in legend, Eriador. The king of Eriador supposedly wore the Iron Crown, which gave him dominion over not only the kingdom of men, but also the trolls that lived on the isle.”

“Trolls?” Frieda had raised an eyebrow, a smirk on her face. “I’ve seen snow snakes, and I’ve seen drakons. But trolls?”

“It’s a legend,” Mark had shrugged. “Probably just something they spread to terrify their enemies. Anyway, Eriador is supposedly lost to history…but with this crown, that changes things. According to his notes, my father really believed it was the key to finding the Azurlav kingdoms lost to history. See, here?”

They’d spent the next two days poring over every resource Mark had at his disposal at the Institute, barely sleeping while they kept up the research. The pots of coffee they drained came and went, and Frieda came to appreciate Syaran-made coffee grounds, much richer than the bitter strain produced by Azurlav fields. And through it all, there came the innocent looks, gestures, comments. All completely without implication, of course. They just happened to be a single thirty-something male and female together in an office endlessly working on the same project.

Until they reached a breakthrough.

They had discovered Eriador’s position. Without the Crown, it would have been impossible. Without the journal, excruciatingly hard.

And now, here they were flying out over the sea to the west. The aircraft they’d commissioned was an old ex-Shalumite Air Force Hu-16 Albatross, now configured into a cargo runner for a small private company out of a western port town. The Maldorian pilot, too, was former military, and he had a walrus moustache that seemed to absorb half of his words. Given his southern accent, it was interesting to hear him speak Norse, but apparently he was an old war vet, too.

“Okay, we’re about six minutes out from the coordinates you gave me. Whatever you paid, hope it was worth what you find down there.”

Mark dusted off his polar jacket, adjusting to the heavy gear. As a linguist, he hadn’t done many field expeditions before, and even though it was summer in the north, where they were going was just off the Arctic Circle, an island buffeted by the polar winds. It would still be close to freezing out there.

“I still can’t believe you just hired a cargo plane out of nowhere. If I had your budget, there were a few projects I had planned to complete,” he joked, still struggling to get used to his gloves.

“It’s not my budget,” Frieda replied, casually crossing her legs as she leaned back, adjusting her braid. “The University actually gives me very little funding to do these projects. I take part in private opportunities that allow me to fund these trips.”

“So you’re…what, mercenary treasure hunter? Tomb raider for hire?”

She laughed, though the thought was that the terms were pretty close to the truth. “I prefer to think of myself as a private agent. I track down rare items for people willing to grant a large sum of cash for my work.”

“And the guns?”

She glanced back at the crates she’d instructed Sorenson to send to her, and without fail the arms had shown up at the drop point. No manifest, no ceremony and no authorities to investigate. He had probably packaged up the weapons and sent them to her through his smuggler contacts in Shalum. She always knew he traded both sides of the border, but here was the stark proof.

“It’s a very…cutthroat business. Many competitors, fewer opportunities. The struggle over the product available can be…intense.”

“I’ll bet…” Mark replied, shifting uncomfortably again. He glanced down at the sidearm she’d given him, a military issue Kalt .40 cal. He hadn’t even slung the holster around his waist. It was almost as if he was afraid of even touching it. Frieda, meanwhile, had stockpiled a small handful of assault weapons, including a Grummond-12 combat shotgun and a factory-new MP80 SMG.

“You’ve got enough guns here to fight a small war.” She chuckled involuntarily there, and he frowned. She sobered up immediately, recognizing the look on his face; wariness.

“We have proof that someone else is following the same trail as us. I felt it better to be prepared. Does that…bother you?” she asked carefully, her hands abandoning her hair for the time being.

“Depends…do you actually think we’re going to need them? Or is bringing along this amount of ordnance just habit for you?”

For a few minutes, they simply sat in silence, watching each other carefully…before an alarm started blaring up in the cockpit.

“Sonuva-two bogies inbound! Hope they’re not friends of yours, they just opened fire!”

The seaplane, ungainly as it was, still had a few tricks up her veteran pilot’s sleeve, and twisted in the sky, flipping over. As she fought to keep her seat, Frieda could hear a few high-caliber rounds hammering into the outer hull, before the chopping of rotor blades soared into hearing range for an instant. Every loose item flew around the inside of the bay, and that almost included the passengers. Mark’s own Kalt flew to the other side of the cabin, but contrary to the movies, did not go off.

As she leveled out, the pilot angled away as best he could.

“We can’t pull this shit off much longer! They’ll get missile lock on us in no time!” The pilot looked back at the two gesturing wildly. “Get the fuck out! Now!”

Reacting quickly, Frieda unlatched herself, grabbing two of the nearby parachutes and tossing one to Mark quickly, before he even had time to stand up.

“Wait, what’s happening!” he shouted, eyes wide as he struggled to stand while the plane tilted again. This time, the fuselage was raked with bullets, and the pilot was hit, cursing as a bullet took him in the thigh.

“Our friends have caught us!” Frieda yelled back, though she obviously had no way to know that for sure. Regardless, she tossed Mark towards the door, roughing him into the parachute as she pulled the emergency release lever. The hatch flew open, and she pushed Mark to the open space through which icy wind whipped through.

“Woahwoahwoah wait!” he screamed as the wind tore at his hair, barely keeping his own eyeglasses on. “There’s no ground below us! We’ll freeze to death!”

“Better than being shot out of the sky!” Frieda replied. “Now remember, count to five, pull the cord! Got it?”

“Count to five, pull the cord! But wait, what about-“

Before he had a chance to say anything else, however, she heaved a kick straight into his asscheeks, pushing the linguist out the door and sending him flying away through the cold sky. After a few seconds, his parachute did indeed open, blossoming into a large, white circle over his head.

Frieda knew she only had moments. Those attack helicopters would be back around, and one of the engines had started smoking now. She pushed her way up to the cockpit, another parachute in hand as she pushed open the door. But alas, too late. The pilot’s dead eyes stared up at her from behind the stick, and she was grateful he’d leaned backwards, not forwards. Blood pooled the cabin, sticking to her boots as she tried to maneuver. She needed to get out. She sprinted back for the door, grabbing the MP80 and throwing herself out the door moments before the two EC640 attack helicopters fired their missiles, spearing the seaplane twice on her way out, sending a wave of heat and shrapnel across her back. She felt a few of them knick through her leather jacket, but didn’t have time to think about it as she yanked on the chord of her parachute.

In those valuable few seconds she had taken to go and check on the pilot, the plane had taken them that much closer to the island which had one been in the distance. Now, however, it had drifted up –much- closer. The shrapnel and fire had burned through part of her pack and shroud lines, turning her parachute into something more akin to a hanglider, albeit one that made her descend extremely quickly. Realizing her speed was still at injury point, she tried to stay above the water, but too little too late. Her legs splashed into the freezing surf on the shore, right in the shallows, and she stumbled, rolling head over heels through blisteringly cold seawater. She stood as quickly as she could, attempting to pull her way towards the beach before realizing her parachute was pulling back with the tide, trying to yank her out to sea. With a quick swipe of her bowie knife, the chords were severed, and she was now free to collapse on the white sand.

She lay there for a few seconds, trying to cough the seawater out of her lungs and warm up at the same time before she felt the strength to push up into a seated position. As she did, she spotted their attackers. One of them was hovering over the water, the passenger side open and a man dangling out and grabbing onto something in the sea, while the second helicopter circled around, searching for her among the still burning debris of their ill-fated plane.

Frieda needed to move. She forced herself to stand, hobbling up the sandy beach to shore nearby. Patches of arctic grass stuck out from the base of shrubbery here, and she used one as a windbreak, sitting down again once she was out of sight from the beach and checking on her supplies. The good news was, for her WY-88N was still on her, and she had come prepared for a fight. Six magazines, one in the chamber already. Her shotgun supply wasn’t good. Thirty shells. And the MP80 she had she had grabbed four thirty-round magazines for. Those would be gone in a single hard fight. She hoped whoever was here on this island, they used .40 cal rounds.

Still, she was armed. That was better than her supply of food and fresh water, both of which she was desperately short on. A single canteen and a few protein bars weren’t going to last. But Frieda was alive, and after a minute or two she finally had her strength back, and stood to brush herself off, take a drink and eat a bar. Then, she set out through the shrubs, out into the hills. She needed to rescue Mark, wherever they’d taken him.

But through it all, down on the beach and hidden by the rocks, eyes watched her. And they weren’t human eyes.

[Azurlavai]

Island of Eriador
The Burning Sea

Those Svelge helicopters had swept over the beach twice each. After they hadn’t found her, they split off to begin combing the island, searching as far and wide as they could, joined by a much larger Hund transport, fitted with a spotlight on its nose, as it was beginning to grow late judging by the dipping sun and darkening skies overhead. This was bad. Clearly, whoever this enemy was, they had far more resources and numbers than she had figured, assuming they were associated with the dark-skinned woman and the burly hitman. Which also meant they had an excessive amount of firepower. But there was one piece of good news associated here; she could see where the helicopters kept going over the horizon. They had to have a base here.

Frieda emerged from under the shrubs where she’d been hiding on this pass, turning towards the southwest. Before her, the pass she had been in opened up into a forest valley, full of tall, slim pines. At the end of this valley, the single Hund was searching, spotlight weaving over the landscape below. She felt the bite of the north hit, and pulled her still damp jacket a tad tighter. The valley before her looked to stretch off at least ten miles, cutting through the center of the island. Down beyond the high hills she saw before her, bright spotlights cut through the sky, and she saw a few more aircraft, either patrolling or searching for something. Maybe her, maybe not.

“Got to keep moving,” she muttered, trekking down the slope. It was rather steep and sheer, with pieces of cliff here and there, but a single path existed that she took for the first half mile or so to the treeline. Fortunately, the strain was warming her up, making up for her wet clothes. The guns were heavy on her as she clambered down, testing her footholds before continuing down the sharp, steep stretch. The dying light quickly became a hindrance, as she could no longer see problem areas and had to feel them out, one piece at a time. For two hours, she moved through the darkening valley, and when she finally got to the treeline it was pitch black. The Northern lights were already glowing overhead, dim since it was summer, but still radiant none the less. She took a moment to watch the Aurora, and when she had finally stood still for a moment, she realized how quiet it was.

As in, abnormally quiet. No latenight birdsong, no calls of deer in the distance, not even any insects.

She glanced around carefully, senses suddenly fully sharp and aware. She wasn’t alone down here. Something was stalking her. Hunting her.

She turned, slowly, her gun down. If these mercenaries already had the drop on her, she was dead unless she could give them a reason to bring her in. If it was a wild predator, she was dead if she gave herself away too soon. A pack of wolves could savage her in a heartbeat and she’d have little chance to defend herself.

But it wasn’t a band of mercenaries, a snow snake or a pack of wolves. She might have welcomed any of those in comparison to what happened. Because it was actually much, much worse.

She saw it, in the trees. Ten feet tall, and somehow it had moved quietly enough to sneak up on her, or had it simply been there the whole time? Massive, like a gorilla or a bear on its hind legs, only its smooth, natural movement implied it was never meant to run on all fours. Arms, thick as trees with fingers like massive sausages. The creature was simply –there-, stock still almost just thirty yards away.

But it realized Frieda had spotted it.

With a roar halfway between wild boar and elephant, the monster surged forward, smashing trees with ease and bearing down on the woman before it. Reflexively Frieda raised her shotgun, pulling the trigger twice. One cloud of buckshot missed, blowing out the side of a tree in a shower of splinters. The second impacted, taking the thing in the chest, and the creature stumbled, groaning as it pawed at the wound, but its step only faltered briefly. When it recovered a moment later, it seemed to move even faster, ripping trees up and tossing them to the side now as it practically screamed in rage.

Frieda ran. In her time, she had faced down men with guns and vicious creatures alike, but nothing had scared her quite like this almost invincible titan bearing down on her now, not even the time she’d been caught between two drakon males dueling over a female. Her small size worked to her advantage, sprinting through the trees without stopping while the monster still had to smash through, however quickly it was doing so. Still, her lead was only very slight, and she knew all it would take was a single trip over an errant root and it would be upon her. She turned again, SMG in hand as she sprayed rounds behind her, trying to score a hit to slow it down again. But the trees, her barest ally so far, had become her enemy as they also blocked the majority of her shots, and the rounds that did land barely had an effect on the enormous creature. She quickly gave up that avenue before she wasted her bullets, pouring on more speed as her adrenaline spiked, heart thrashing in her chest. She sprinted on, short of breath, feeling her pulse pounding in her ears, and the whole time the creature continued to tear through the trees.

And then, open air.

Well, that may not have been accurate. In hindsight, it was a small ridge after coming out of the treeline and onto an old road, but in her state it felt like she was flying the eight foot fall for an eternity. Especially considering that as she leapt out she landed right in the midst of a mercenary fireteam. She recognized them swiftly by their dark uniforms with red boar-head patches, their faces hard and their weapons gleaming in the low light. She slammed into one of them, and the others stumbled back to react, but she was already gone, sprinting across the road and back into the trees again, her knees throbbing from the impact.

One of them started yelling, two more fired at her retreating back, but she was in the trees again, saved by their trunks once more.

They were going to come after her, she knew. And then her pursuer hit the squad. Yelled orders turned to screamed swearing, and short bursts became desperate automatic fire. She paused for only a brief moment to look back, but all she could see was the flash of weapons fire, hear the snarls of the monster that had been chasing her as it tore the men apart.

And then, silence.

She didn’t stick around to find out who had won.

It was a full hour later before Frieda found somewhere to finally hole up and stop running. By that point, she was ragged. The moon was high in the sky, joining the aurora, but with the hills and thick trees down here it was like she was walking through a shadowscape. Every patch of black looked like another predator waiting for her, every snap another gunman waiting around the corner. Her nerves were frayed, her trigger finger itching, her breath ragged. But she finally found it. A shallow cave, carved into the cliffside as she climbed up out of a gorge. Judging from the lack of bones or droppings, nothing had called this place home in quite some time, and she took a moment to get some rest, cracking a glowstick now she knew she wouldn’t be spotted miles off.

How had this happened? A few days ago she was stepping off a train in Shalum to track down a thirty-year dead mystery. Now she was stuck on this island, fighting for her life against monsters and rebels, and she was no closer to figuring out what this all had to do with a lost kingdom or the fabled Iron Crown.

The Iron Crown…

Mark had had the Crown, she remembered. If he was captured, so was the Crown.

She dug in her pocket for her bag. Long practice and a few hard-learned lessons had taught her to keep her notes sealed away in a waterproofed package, and it had paid off. She glanced at her notes for a moment before pulling out Joshua Graham’s small pad. She flipped it open, turning pages repeatedly before coming to a section with the Crown illustrated. She started reading.

”September 16, 1987. Day 32. Eriador has proven to be far more hazardous than originally estimated. Lost two more security men since last entry, taken in the night, found bodies in the hills around camp. Savaged, ripped apart. Can’t be work of bears or wolves, wounds all wrong. No sign of drakons, would have seen. Peculiar thing is, wounds resemble those inflicted by great apes in the south. Troll rumor true?

Found clue about Iron Crown in old document, 1935. Originally discovered on mainland by Nordic Republic, apparently brought back to Eriador. What for? Rest of document on island? Need to dig deeper.

Found ruin earlier. Big find, ancient stone watchtower. Looks to be seventh century at least. Quite advanced for age. Two levels, narrow windows, perfect placement to watch valley. Who built it? No skeletons or artifacts around, but no signs of treasure hunters.

Strange tracks. Large, like dinner plate with toes. Shattered trees around us. Don’t like this at all.

Night time. Wanted to press on, but Montez insisted we camp. Something has him and the men spooked. Will admit, don’t like island either. Want to find Crown quickly, get the hell out.

Something out there. Don’t know, killed lights, can’t see, too dark. Took another man, he got a few shots off before it killed him. Think its eating him on the spot, hearing crunching noises. Montez wants to run, but whatever this is, apex predator. We’ll never outrun it. Best not to get its attention. Writing to distract. Other security quiet. Might be dead”

Here, the rest of the page was marked by a smear, mostly likely the ink running as something went across it. The entry was chilling, as she was reminded of the creature that had pursued her through the woods. It had been strong, determined, cared not for weapons fire and had the disturbing ability to either wait in ambush for a long period or sneak extremely well for its size. Graham and his teammate, this Montez fellow, had apparently been hunted as soon as they set foot on the island. But Graham had never considered ducking out before he found the Iron Crown. Why?

A lot of this wasn’t adding up, and while she was too tired to process that, she had to keep moving. Mark still needed her help, and she was still in extremely unfamiliar territory where she was apparently back at the bottom of the food chain. So, she stuffed Graham’s journal back in her bag, checked her shotgun and stood, checking outside the cave. Still dark under the trees, the moonlight really wasn’t helping in that regard. Still, she had a mission in mind, and moved out.

She heard it this time. In the distance, the sound of ripping underbrush. She changed direction quickly as a precaution, and nothing came after her. Whatever this thing was, it was preoccupied and either hadn’t heard her or decided it was more focused on what it was doing. There were other signs, too. Now she was watching, she realized a few of the helicopters kept going back to the same search patterns, and resupplied way too often. In the far distance, the faint sounds of gunfire. Someone was fighting a war on nature, it seemed.

She wandered a few more hours, keeping a sharp ear out, senses alert and alive. One missed snap, one second too late and she might be dead in a heartbeat. All the time, she moved towards the spotlights spearing the skies, watching their source grow closer and closer. Her ears started picking up on engines, her nose smelled sea salt again. She was nearing the ocean.

Finally, she emerged from the treeline again, standing atop a hill, looking out over a last valley, all the way down to the coastline. In the near distance, she spotted something quite extraordinary. A military complex, quite modern too, with chain-link fence, barbed wire, metal roofed buildings. No later than the Second Great Border War, though it might have been set up earlier. Rows of barracks, several supply yards, motor pools, concrete pillboxes, high watchtowers. The forest had been carved back for at least two acres in every direction, and one of the buildings had been torn down to make room for a makeshift helicopter port. Patrols moved through the buildings, spotlights searched the treelines, a loudspeaker began blaring some message, she couldn’t quite hear it. Flying in the middle of the complex she could see, even from here, was a boar’s head flag.

Frieda had found the place, alright.

But the truly extraordinary thing was the vessel anchored in the harbor. While there were a handful of gunboats and a pair of what looked to be cutters in the small dockyard, out on the water itself was an enormous vessel. At first glance, it looked like a carrier, but it was too small. There were no landing strips. As she watched, a pair of Hund transports took off from the deck, and she finally placed it from her days in the Krigsmarine. It had to be a helicopter carrier, decommissioned in the eighties when the UR had instead commissioned supercarriers. It certainly made sense for a rebel group, though where the hell these mercenaries had gotten the funding for a ship that size or kept it off satellite surveillance was a mystery to her even as she stood there watching.

At first, Frieda figured she could steal a gunboat, stay away from the base as much as she could, slip away from this murderous island before anyone figured out she was there. She didn’t have the firepower for this kind of fight. She was tired, bedraggled and had been running on adrenaline all night. If she was right, dawn was right around the corner as well.

But then she spotted two Svelge helicopters coming down towards the pad, a Hund between them. Though at least a mile or two away, for some reason her vision was thrown into sharp relief as she watched the transport settle down, the door sliding open to let its passengers exit. Aside from the dark-uniformed mercenaries (or rebels, she wasn’t sure) she spotted two more shapes; the dark-skinned woman, dressed as her men were in dark fatigues but no body armor, and the bald, bearded hitman with the tattoos on his neck, wearing a suit just like the last time she’d seen him. This time, a piece of gauze was strapped to his forehead, and he had a strip of tape over the bridge of his nose.

And suddenly, Frieda knew. Mark had to be inside that base. And so were the answers to the questions she had, all the numerous, burning questions sitting in her gut that screamed at her that this situation was about more than some lost kingdom and some archaic headgear.

So, she grit her teeth, checked her guns one last time, set her jaw, and began walking towards the old compound.

[Azurlavai]

Camp Sloan
UR Hær Combat Arms Training Center
North Gallagher
0803 military time

When a recruit enlisted in the United Republic Hær, they could all expect to be sent one place for the first step of their training to be loyal footsoldiers of Azurlavai; Camp Sloan Combat Arms Training Center. A lot of military routing went through the northern state of Gallagher, and its primary combat training facility was no exception. Certainly there were other camps to train, but those slated for actual combat duty in the Hær were sent here, where they could be called upon to react to an incursion by either Shalumite or Azuran forces.

Except those days were long gone. With the non-aggression pact in place, it seemed extremely unlikely that anything like a war in the north could occur anytime soon. In fact, the action had all shifted down south, where the policing of Aerick and the new deployments to Nalaya had taken center stage.

Of course, Drill Sersjant Rebekka Vocht didn’t let a little thing like the loss of an enemy deter her from rocking her recruits as hard as she could.

“C’mon! Get the fokk up!” she hollered, prowling along the assault course as the new recruits, now in their sixth week of training, did their best to move through the urban nightmare. There were four platoons running parallel ops, the current one being an ambush, of course. Another training kompanie had put up their troopers as the opposition, and now it was an all out war through the city as both sides attempted to wipe out the other. The individual she had the misfortune of addressing, Menig Hartmann, was clambering back up out of the mud, gasping she tried to fight off the rain that was coming down in buckets. For her trouble, three blotches of red paint smashed into her body armor, and Rebekka blew the whistle as she ignored the water pouring down off her cap.

“You’re fokking dead, Sweetheart!” she screamed in the seventeen-year-old’s face. “At least you can take solace in the fact that the Valkyries will carry you off to Valhalla because you TRIPPED IN THE FOKKING MUD!” The Menig gasped, nodding and about to respond, but Rebekka was having none of it. She grabbed Hartmann by the helmet, forcing the girl’s face back down into the mud. “Stay down, you’re dead remember?”

Up ahead, the rest of Rebekka’s platoon struggled to find a way through the deadlock, their ATR-60/99s loaded with blue paintball training rounds. Two more of their number had dropped in the street, right in the middle of a perfect killzone. The Opposition platoon had put gunners in the ground story windows on both sides and a sniper up on top of a nearby building. As she watched, another Menig took a bullet to the vest, toppling as the sniper claimed another kill. Red paint splattered on the building her platoon was holed up in, forcing the recruits to resort to blindfire to try and land a shot. Every once in a while, one of them would be brave enough to actually poke his or her head out to try and aim, but the Opposition was too good, and normally forced them back before they could get a proper line of sight.

“Godsdammit! Will one of you pull your head out of your ass and actually get on the fokking stick?!” Rebekka screamed, pulling another Menig who’d been hit down from the wall he’d been leaning against, kicking the poor sod back down into the mud. “Think you’re so fokkin’ clever, huh? Get the hell down!”

Her right arm suddenly ached, and she had to fight hard not to hold it. She knew what it was, a phantom pain. That arm had been lost on Aerick when a royal frag grenade had been shoved into her Kugar tank’s hatch. She’d been lucky, her driver had been shredded by the blast trapped inside the tank. Instead of flesh and blood, her limb had been replaced by metal and primitive servos. Her fingers were clumsy and she couldn’t feel anything through them. A small battery sat between her breasts to power the thing, and it lacked the strength her real arm had. She was medically unfit for combat, so they’d stuck her at Camp Sloan in training, too good an asset to waste on a discharge when the rest of her was still good and working.

A training round went off right next to her, and she screamed at her recruits for not fighting harder. For not killing the enemy fast. How did they expect to win the damn war, she asked, if they couldn’t handle a single firefight? But she knew that wasn’t true. She knew how bad a situation could get, and all you could do was sit there. She remembered that one, fateful drop on Aerick where almost half of her company had been wiped out. She remembered rolling into towns, seeing houses whipping past her gunsights while enemy fire hammered down and all they could do was fire and run. In all honesty, her recruits were doing fine just hold where they were under such a concentrated attack, but her job as drill-sersjant meant she had to act like that wasn’t good enough. Not to mention the stress and sleep deprivation this job entailed as well, she was basically running off coffee and adrenaline.

After the exercise, when her platoon had managed to bludgeon their way through the Opposition at the cost of eleven more recruits, she sat them down under an awning, talked them through the exercise, what they had done right and what they had done wrong. Six weeks in, they’d learned to shut up and listen, watching their drill-sersjant with rapt attention, as much as cold, muddy, tired and humiliated recruits could. All in all, they hadn’t done bad. Another regular unit in their position might have done the same things they had done, with the same mistakes made. But she couldn’t tell them that.

The march back was the same grueling sixteen kilometer haul they’d done to get here. Back to the camp proper, back to the same barracks they’d lived in these past six weeks. Time to get themselves cleaned up, their uniforms and equipment washed and themselves in bed. She and the other drill-sersjants had specifically given them only enough time to get five hours of sleep, but Rebekka’s 3rd platoon had managed to get their gear stashed in time to rack out for that exact amount of time.

Which also meant she and the other drill-sersjants would get that little amount of sleep as well. A lot of people forgot how physically taxing this role could be for them too. But despite that, she was still awake in the kompanie’s rec room, listening to the stereo as she drank a glass of milk. Her arm itched at the elbow, but she knew better than to scratch it. There’s be no relief.

“Still awake?”

She glanced at the door, seeing Drill-Sersjant Evrin step in, 1st platoon. Tall, with broad muscles and a square jaw, with that thousand yard stare on his face as well. He’d been an infantry sniper in the 1st Chemical Warfare division, supporting men on the ground as they disarmed biobombs set by terrorists, put out oil fires made by ruptured tankers and called white phosphorous and other weapons in on targets that just refused to quit. He too had been on Aerick, and been forced to level a druidic temple with a WP barrage so virulent, he could hear the screaming from his vantage point. He’d requested a transfer off combat duty after that.

She grunted. “Yeah. Can’t sleep. What’s your excuse?”

“Same as yours,” Evrin replied, stepping around the billiard table and grabbing a chair next to her, spinning it around to straddle backwards. “Except I’m not staring at a glass wishing it was beer…not yet, anyway.”

She chuckled, grabbing a nearby glass and sliding it forward, pouring the last of the bottle she had into it. Evrin accepted it with a nod, taking a pull and setting the glass down on the table nearby.

“Your troopers did okay out there. They won, and it could have gone a lot worse.”

Rebekka snorted.

“I know that. Fifteen for forty-one? Not too bad at all for six weeks in.”

“Still got twenty to go. They can only get better,” Evrin replied, glancing up at the rec-room’s panoramic photo of the infamous 13th Grenadier battalion, one of the most infamous units of the 2nd Great Border War. It had been them who held Lowellsburg at enormous cost, refusing to quit until they’d ground the Shalumite invasion thrust down to the point where the pansers had crushed the flank and forced a retreat, one which the Imps had never recovered from. The 13th were the stuff of legends, and to this day they still served as the Kapital Guard’s central lynchpin defenders. “So what’s really keeping you up?” He looked at her with understanding eyes, and she sighed, knowing that here at least if she stripped down to that soft core that soldiers refused to admit out loud was there, she was safe. They were just two soldiers, old before their age and ready to forget the past.

“You remember Aerick?” she said by way of starting it off with the right tone. Evrin nodded anyway, as if the question was anything but rhetorical, but Rebekka continued on. “I know why we took it. Strategic gains, economic leveler, that sort of thing. Sure, it put us in a standoff with the Commonality, but it got us leverage against the rest of the world…my own father told me that, but I still…have trouble thinking about it. We annexed a –country-. Just so we would have a jumping off point. Gods, we were there as invaders. Conquerors. Just like the generations that came before. We didn’t go to Aerick to stop genocide, free them from tyrants, or stop a bunch of terrorists, we did it so if we wanted to we could choke off half the world!”

She paused, realizing her tone had gotten quite bitter. If Kommissær Janacek caught wind of her words, he’d write her up for certain. The Kommissæriat was stripped of much of its former power, but most of their agents were still trained to look for dissidents and spies, and she could still be reported for being a negative influence. Fortunately, Evrin caught on quickly.

“Sounds like you’re having doubts,” he noted quietly. “Don’t worry…I had the same ones when I got here.”

“He’s not your father, though” Rebekka noted, to which Evrin could only nod. That certainly made things a bit trickier.

They sat there, listening to old music, for about another twenty minutes or so, letting their memories fill the void. They’d both seen terrible things, made questionable decisions that haunted them to this day. For Evrin, it was the end of the road. He’d made his decision, and his peace lasted with it to suitably end his career here.

For Rebekka, however, the scars ran deeper. The decisions of the nation were the decisions of her father, and she had to either live with that or cut herself off.

Her arm itched. She scratched it idly. It didn’t help. She didn’t care.

[Azurlavai]

Geist Safehouse, South Side
Tritonsberg, Kellam
6:17 AM

As criminals did a lot of their illegal operations in the dark, so too did Frank Jaeger shift his operations. He worked graveyard now, figuratively and literally. When one becomes a vigilante, one had to be removed from the grid. A difficult thing to do in an authoritarian state which had eyes everywhere and information on everything. In order to cover his tracks, he’d copied the criminals, set up a fake identity and bank account which had a large portion of the savings he’d put together from his military service. He wasn’t worried about his true identity being discovered or his actual bank account being drained, he had arranged with a friend to pick up his mail and give some life to the place. So far as the state was concerned, Frank Jaeger still lived in that two bedroom apartment paid for by his retirement and vet benefits.

The true story, however was that he had taken this small studio at the top of a grungy tenement on the South Side, where records weren’t checked all that deeply and the landlord didn’t care so long as you paid and kept the noise down. It might have been simpler to fake his death, but some last sentiment kept Frank connected to his previous life. That might come around to bite him, but for now he was making it work.

He had a way to get in from the top. The fire escape, rarely used, was his ascent, and he pulled the ladder up behind him as a precaution. From there he could move up to the top of the building without fear of discovery, and reach his studio where he would disable the tripwire, lock the window behind him and get ready for the day. As the morning light filtered in through his blinds, he tossed his beret, skull mask and goggles onto the table, sighing as he stretched, unslinging his coat and stripping out of his armor, hanging it all on the mannequin in the closet, surrounded by his impressive arsenal.

The Geist was not a customer of any arms dealer. And Frank Jaeger hadn’t purchased any firearms aside from a shotgun used for home defense (which was currently under his bed back at his apartment, in a case that kept it from drying out or being exposed to the air, but he really needed to go back soon and oil it again). That weapon was a red herring, of course. The guns he really used were lifted from criminals, taken from arms shipments and out of the hands of goons. He would bring them back here, where he would disassemble the weapon and remove any microchips and serial numbers. He pressed the ammunition he couldn’t loot, and rarely used what he knew he would have trouble replacing, such as RPGs and grenade launchers. Otherwise, everything was fair game.

Accordingly, he used these weapons that criminals had and became expert in them. His bread and butter was the Shalumite SG1A3, a surplus assault rifle that had become common as dirt years ago when Shalum had moved on to the 6.5mm Grendel. Since then, these weapons had turned up all over the underworld, supplanting most other rifles that had been scraped together. They were cheap, easy to maintain if you put the time in and parts were now commonplace. Underground gun shops were copying them quickly, and 5.56mm (or .223 depending on the country of reference) ammunition was everywhere. Accurate, rapid fire with decent punch against anything not in body armor, and Teflon-coated “cop-killer” rounds were becoming popular. Would wound primarily, but that wasn’t always a bad thing, especially against law enforcement. Jaeger had five of these, just in case he lost any of them, all racked against the wall. On top of this, he had a dozen handguns, four SMGs and three shotguns. And that was the common arsenal.

For now, the infamous Geist wanted nothing more than some sleep. In the weeks since he had stopped the bank robbers in the refrigeration warehouse, he had been busy. Four more gangs knocked out who answered to the same shadowy figure according to the books. But he had neither the technical expertise or the political pull to get that information himself. He needed to find a middleman, someone who actually knew the ones behind the operations that were insulating themselves from their street help. While a rather smart idea, it was also frustrating his efforts in the extreme. He’d started putting together a board, memorizing bank account and phone numbers while he tracked the leads from place to place. He had no name and no agenda, all he had was a series of addresses that seemed to bring him no closer to his actual target.

And one of his safehouses had been raided.

When Frank Jaeger had started this venture, he’d emptied one of his boltholes. A cache of arms and supplies he’d stashed away in case of emergency. Every black ops soldier did it, in case that day they feared came where someone was out to clear the board. It might even have been the UR government themselves. But everyone who worked in the shadows made sure they had a backup plan. One of those was another apartment Jaeger had taken out early in his career, a place he could hole up without being detected. It had contained enough dry food and bottled water to last for a year, and was hooked to an account he had made under a false identity, not linked to himself at all. Somehow, someway, whoever he was chasing had found it, and the place had been thrashed. Jaeger had immediately closed the account, cashed the remainder and slipped it into this ghost account, writing off that place as lost while the cops tried to figure out who it belonged to.

Now he had this place, and he intended to make the most of it.

He grabbed a bowl of soup, turned on the TV and watched the morning news. Gylian policy, a fire downtown, a report of a mystery assault on some professor in Shalum and…oh, there it was. They’d found his victim from last night. He smirked a bit as he watched the story. The MPs had taken the body down by now, but they’d find in the pockets of the Stormtrooper he’d hung that the woman had been taking bribes to shuttle arms to local gangs out of the decommissioning lockers. By cutting off this vital link, not only had Jaeger just preserved the South Am arsenal from being emptied, he’d also cut the gangs from their source of military grade weapons from the armed forces. Now they’d have to buy from less reliable arms dealers, and that he could more easily trace.

His soup finished, he perused through a few more channels, resolving himself to find something boring before he went to sleep, when he heard a noise. Quickly, he muted the television, now doing some commercial for Kraken Autowerks, and moved to the door, snatching up his facemask and a Kalt .40. It may be nothing, but long years in the information arm of the military had taught him that lots of things could sound like nothing.

He peered through the fish eye lens.

Six goons, wearing body armor and carrying assault weapons, were right outside on the landing. One of them had knocked over the vase filled with dead flowers the landlord had given up on, and was being reprimanded by a seventh man in a suit. Why did gang leadership have to insist on not only being extremely noticeable, but also being as little protected as possible? Regardless, the goons stacked up, and Jaeger swiftly stepped back, checking his tripwire was in place before he retreated to the closer, shutting the door behind him.

His front door flew open as buckshot tore open the hinges in a hail of splinters, the first goon kicking the door aside as the second one burst in. Good form, perfect function. They immediately began scanning around for hostiles.

Except for when the thug at the front hit the tripwire.

The claymore-type explosive set into the wall detonated, spraying a shower of metal ball bearings into the three closest goons. The first was shredded, his leg even being removed completely in a spray of red gore. The second crumpled to the floor as three balls tore through his skull, taking off half his head. The third got off the lightest, but even he was mangled as his face was shredded and two penetrated his shoulder, ricocheting off his shoulder blade and ribs, shredding his heart and lungs.

Even before the bodies had dropped, Jaeger kicked open the door, a KSJ-21 shotgun in hand. Inside of two second, he emptied the seven round magazine in a cloud of buckshot, ripping the next two apart. The last goon lucked out, and he snapped off a handful of rounds from his M4 Spectre SMG. Jaeger huffed, all the air knocked out of his lungs as two or three shots slammed into his vest. It only took him a moment to draw and aim the revolver at his hip before he pulled the trigger, blowing the man’s throat out with a .357 round.

That only left the suit, who turned and started running down the steps. He didn’t get far, of course, before Jaeger made it to the railing, leapt over and nailed the bastard on the next landing, boots coming right down on the man’s chest. The Suit gasped, all the air knocked out of him as Jaeger hauled him up, pinning him against the wall.

“Start talking.”

The man coughed, spitting out a glob of blood into Frank’s face. He didn’t have time for this. In reply, he shoved the Spectre into the man’s mouth and pulled the trigger.

In the quiet aftermath, Jaeger knew he couldn’t let this place stand. Sleep was now out of the question, he had to burn this place before they came back. So he hurried back up, threw together a duffel bag of a few weapons, some changes of clothes and a few other essentials and possessions before he strode back out again an hour later, an ordinary hooded jacket on his shoulders and a detonator in hand. He made it down to the street before he spotted the black cars coming, and slipped into the crowd.

The next mook team made it halfway up the stairs before the demo charges in the loft safe house detonated, turning the roof of the tenement building into a firework display that sent the panicked crowd on the street below running in all directions.

But the Geist didn’t run. He walked slowly, carefully. Made sure not to draw attention to himself. It was time to move on to the next safehouse.

[Syara]

The village with no name burned brighter than the sun. Orange and red entrails spilled out into the midnight sky above, smoke barely distinguishable from the onyx sky. The heat and humidity was almost unbearable, causing skin to sweat and lungs to heave with hearty breaths. Flames ate at everything, turning straw and wood into smoldering remnants of buildings that collapsed and groaned under the weight of the fires that burned. The village with no name burned, burning until it was reduced to ash and gone not just from the maps but from the very face of the earth.

Echoes of gunfire could be heard, interweaving with the crackles of the raging inferno, drowning out the screams of the damned and doomed. To Lance Corporal Buljević it was a heavenly chorus, one that had grown familiar in his mind and was now as routine as breathing, eating and sleeping. This was just one of dozens of villages, nestled away in the jungles and hills of Sabjeli. The people here thought they were safe, away from the all seeing eye of Zovahr, safe from the long arm of the law. They were wrong, terribly wrong.

With soot covered hands Buljević flicked open his lighter, his minuscule flame a fragment of the power of the inferno raging around him. It was enough though, and done out of habit, as he held the lighter close to the rag that protruded from the bottle clutched in his other hand. With a quick flick of the tool the rag was inflamed. With the motions of a man used to the action, he swung his arm back than lurched it forward, flicking his wrist and lobbing the bottle forward. It flew through the air, the glass frame reflecting the fires around it before it impacted into the wooden frame of the home, where it shattered. As it's fragments fell apart the liquid inside splattered against the wall of the house, quickly exploding into fire as the burning rag set fire to yet another home.

Buljević's eyes reflected the flames raging rapidly out of control, his gaze locked on the burning wooden frame. His ears detected the screams of those trapped inside but his mind did not register them. He watched the house burn, until the damage done by the fire was too much for the internal support and the entire structure collapsed with a outburst of flame and smoke and sparks. He watched it burn for a few more minutes before turning his attention else where.

The entire village was now on fire, not a home or building left unscathed. No stone unturned, that was the unofficial motto of this operation. This cleansing of the Commonality of the sick, the weak, the malevolent. The dissidents. Cleansed by fire and automatic weapons, cleansed until there was nothing left but ash and bone. Sundown was the official name, but for the soldiers taking part in it, that was of little note.

Something else caught Buljević's attention. Out of the corner of his vision a movement, with a turn of his head he saw more clearly. A figure, nervously glancing over her shoulder, hands interlocked with two much smaller figures, attempting to run. Run away from the village, from the flames, and the soldiers destroying everything she knew and loved. Without so much as a flicker of emotion, Buljević unshouldered his rifle, firmly planted the buttstock against his shoulder, switched off the trigger, took aim, and fired a burst. All three figures dropped to the ground, not moving. Buljević lowered his rifle after a moment, waiting for any sign of life. Nothing.

Around him there was more gunfire. Short bursts, enough to turn moving and fleeing frames into crumpled bodies that lay motionless in the dirt. Sometimes an extra round just to make sure. Cleansing, after all, needed to be thorough.

“Buljević, let's move!”

A commanding voice got Buljević's attention, whipping his head around and seeing the source of the order. His Junior Sergeant sat atop their APC, waving with his hand for the Lance Corporal to follow suit. Next to the armored vehicle, the squad's marksman fired careful, controlled shots that brought down fleeing persons. Bodies that seemed too small twisted and fell, shuddering with the impact of the high velocity rounds. The Lance Coporal ignored the gunfire as he jogged over the APC, taking his comrade's hand as he hoisted him atop the armored vehicle. After a few moments of securing himself, their marskman joined in, and with them all on top the APC got moving down the road.

“I killed four.” One Private said with a face contorted into a wild grin.

“Bah, that's it?” A Private First Class mocked. “I had at least a dozen!”

“Quit bullshitting.” A Corporal said. “I got six, and that's probably the most of all of you.”

“Not so quick.” Buljević interjected. “I got at least seven.”

More voices chimed in as the squad compared kills and magazine usage. Laughs, insults and chuckles were barely heard above the roaring engine and the crunching wheels on the dirt road.

The village with no name burned behind them. Soon it would be nothing but another stain, another cleansed village. Another causality of war.

---

The 34th Infantry Division had been tasked with the tedious task of carrying out Operation Torent, the massive sweep and clear operation meant to root out the remnants of the Sajderi Liberation Army, the last vestige of the Muslim militants that had been a thorn in the Commonality's side for too long. The Sabjeli District, known locally as the Long Coast since so much of the province bordered the Syaran Strait. Sabjeli was the heartland of the Sajderi people, the Muslim minority of the Commonality. For decades they had been oppressed, subjugated by the Troleri majority, any signs of dissidence resulting in brutalization and reprisal.

Torrent was not the first, but it was hoped that it would be the last. Four infantry regiments support by helicopters and artillery swept through the jungles and hills, obliterating entire villages, decimating populations and arresting thousands. Torrent was aptly named, for when it was finished streams of blood would run down from the hills and into the waters of the strait. The Commonality would come these jungles and forests until it was certain no threat remained, present or future.

[Schottia]

Ruination

Part One

prologue

Handon, Present Day
Karen Sillars was considering buying another coffee, but she knew that after a second one her heart would be starting to flutter. She liked the notion of herself being a coffee drinker, more than she actually liked the drink itself. She always associated the smell with hard graft, extra fuel for people who didn't have time to stop for rest. She lifted her phone from the table and lit up the screen briefly to reveal the time - nearly twenty minutes late and still no sign. She knew there was little chance Paul Arrdly would have been here early, times were just a rough parameter to him, rather than something to arrange your day around. However much it pained her to sit around and wait, she knew she couldn't chance being later herself. As much as she often resented the fact, Arrdly was still her employer, and the only thing standing between her being forced to move back in with her parents at the age of thirty-three.

The man behind the counter was far too efficient for her liking. Spotting her cup, drained to the powdery residue, he was round from the counter to clear it up in an instant. He just seemed too into his job, too happy to be real. She was the one who was meant to be the actor - meant to - being the critical part. However, right now, this ponytailed, hemp trouser wearing barista, had more of an audience in this sparsely populated cafe, than she had during her last play.

'Thank you kindly.' He said lifting the cup and saucer in a quick movement, as if it might have been followed by a pirouette and a flick of his heels.

Who was he trying to impress? A right twat he was... He had to be six, seven years younger than her? Karen should have probably taken it as a complement but she didn't, there was something deeply disingenuous about the guy. He was good looking enough, if you didn't mind the vegan, yoga-mat wielding type, but his sense of fashion seemed like an attempt at irony, and lacked any real identity. This was something that Karen could firmly identify with, although in her, it manifested itself in a very different way. Other people who found out that they were adopted moved heaven and earth to discover where they came from, to find out who they really were. For some reason she couldn't care less. Perhaps it was because her parents were so open about the whole thing; maybe that's why it had had the opposite reaction in her. Her form of rebellion as a teenager had been in rejecting their help with tracking her family down - well, that... and studying acting at university. She knew she was unlikely to get a job at the end of it, but part of her didn't mind. Even now struggling in a job to make ends meet, staring in low budget plays for free, she wouldn't have changed a thing.

'Can I get you anything else?' The Barista leaned with both elbows on the counter, trying to seem like the most relaxed person in Handon. 'Another flat white? A glass of water? The morning paper? A shoulder rub?'

'I'll pass, but thanks.' Karen said firmly, sweeping her hair away form her face as she tried not to scowl too hard. Did she look so single and desperate? She had never wanted the whole marriage and family thing, but hitting thirty a couple of years back had seemed to signal a change, at least on a hormonal level. She was probably giving out al sorts of subconscious signals, indicating her desire to procreate even if her brain had firmly made up its mind. This was probably the only reason wise guys like him seemed hell-bent on chancing their luck. Fuck him, and fuck the lot of them!

'No problem, I'm here if you need me.' The Barista wasn't going to give up so easily. 'I've got coffee in the grinder, water in the bottle by the window, a copy of the Daily Worker in the rack, just shout and I'll come running.'

'I'm just waiting for someone, but thanks again.' How about your hands in the grinder? Karen felt like adding, but there was no need, her saviour - of sorts - was here.

'Sorry I'm late, sorry I'm late.' Paul Arrdly sung as he glided into the room, removing his top hat and placing it on the table beside her. Karen stood up to welcome the aging thespian and businessman. 'Mwah... mwah.' He said as he planted a kiss on either cheek. 'And how is the most beautiful plague victim in Handon?'

Arrdly was living the Schottic dream, or so he clearly felt. He was the owner of a small museum come show ground ride, which provided a handful of jobs for Schottia's failed actors, dram students, and history graduates. The place served as a kind of refuge for those who hadn't worked out what they wanted to do with their lives yet. Ghastly Tours was a place where Arrdly's take on the more gruesome aspects of Schottia's history came to life; with witchcraft, hangings, and conversations with the devil, all played out by actors in painstakingly constructed costumes, while the paying public walked amongst the various section. Karen, as Arrdly had alluded to, played a 1600s plague victim, complete with white face paint, peeling skin, and blood dripping from open sores. She'd had the job for four years now, and could repeat her lines in her sleep.

"My name is Elspeth Calder... The world I grew up -or should have grown up in - was very different from yours... The year is 1612, and we are standing in Warren Street Handíon, the easternmost point of the Ossorian Empire..."

It went on like that really, with a little bit added about how her family were all dead. Then, she closed by curling up in the foetal position next to the supposed corpse of her dead brother, as the hopefully terrified visitors were lead to the next room. Five tours a shift, six sifts a week - to say that it had become repetitive was the understatement of a lifetime.

'I was just round at my mother's,' Arrdly added in his quick, dramatic tone. And you know what she is like - oh my god, since she stated to loose her marbles she is terrible.' He leant in close to create the pretence of discretion, but did nothing to lower his voice. 'But I said to her, I can't stay a moment longer mother, I have a gorgeous and talented young woman waiting for me in some bustling cafe, filled with wonderful people, in the heart of our nation's capital.'

Karen guessed he hadn't taken time to look around the cafe at the empty tables.

'Two cappuccinos, the house roast will suffice for us.' He changed the level and tone of his voice, making it clear he was talking to the barista, who stood just behind him. 'But make sure you don't scold the milk.' He added, before focusing on Karen. 'That young lad in the coffee bar round from my flat still thinks that it's acceptable to serve coffee so hot that it would take the skin from your lips.'

A young student, who had a pile of book lain out on front of him, began to pack up, and was now swallowing the dregs of his coffee. He was obviously a regular, and had anticipated the place being quiet at this time of day. Karen actually felt a little bad for him, but given Arrdly's propensity to talk to the entire room as if it were his audience, it was perhaps best that he got out now.

'Was your mother well?' Karen asked, as the eccentric man in his early fifties removed his tailed coat, and placed his walking cane by the side of his chair. She had never met Mrs Arddly, but give the amount her son talked about her, Karen sometimes thought of her as family. Paul Arrdly was hopelessly devoted to his mother, and her whims seemed to be able to influence his mood like nothing on this planet.

'Oh yes,' he replied, making himself comfortable on the hard wooden chair. In the background the sounds of barista at work were clearly audible. 'The old girl was on fine form. Had the sweet sherry out already, and it's not even midday. She claims it helps with her blood pressure, but I know it's just an excuse to get sozzled. Hell - the old girl hasn't got much else to do these days since my step father kicked the bucket.'

'Go on then.' Karen asked with a knowing smile. 'Why are we here?' She knew fine well her employer was planning to feign friendship, pretend that he just wanted to catch up with one old his longest serving staff members, before slipping in the real reason with an: On by the way!

'How long have you worked for me for Karen?' Arrdly said, tilting his head as he spoke, almost as if he were sizing her up.

'On and off, four and a bit years,' she replied. The "off" part was still a sore issue, and one that she didn't want to dwell on for long. There was no feeling in life worse than going back grovelling to an employer a matter of months after your farewell party. That was ancient history, however, as was the prospect of achieving more in life than perpetually portraying a corpse of a teenager.

'Four and a bit year, exactly.' Arrdly swung his arm triumphantly. 'So I firmly believe that you, madam, are in line for a promotion.' He sat back as the barista placed their coffees down in front of them. The young man had had the wind taken out of his sails somewhat by the fact that he was no longer the star of the show, but Karen still noted the fact that his eyes lingered on her a moment longer than was necessary.

'What... wait... You said promotion?' Karen shook thoughts of the barista from her mind for the time being. 'Promotion in what sense?' She had no idea what he could mean - Management, office work? - Arrdly ran everything himself.

'Karen,' he replied with a look that said he wanted be deadly serious for a minute. 'You are good at what you do. You're the right amount of scary, creepy, and with just enough seriousness about you to preserve the tour's historical integrity.' Karen very much doubted that a tour, which had a scene where a man swung through the air pretending to be a vampire could say it had historical integrity, but she allowed him to continue nonetheless. 'That's why with Susie leaving at the end of the month; I've decided to give you her job.

'Susie get paid more than the rest of us?' Karen asked sharply, utterly perplexed by the notion. Susie Gray had been there a good while longer than she had, that was fair enough, but Karen had always considered the performers on a par.

'Oh no no, you're all paid the same.' Arrdly waved frantically, desperate to get the conversation off of pay. 'However... she plays Margaret Davis, one of our flagship storylines. It's the one everyone has heard about, it's on all the posters, and it's the climax to the tour - Karen, you're going to be a star!'

She doubted there was any truth in this assertion, but she gave a smile all the same. It probably was a step up; and even if it was the most backhanded promotion she had ever received, it also happened to be the only promotion she had ever received. The chances of her getting plucked from acting obscurity on account of her role as Margaret Davis was slim to nonexistent - but all the same - the chances were better than they were playing a teenage plague victim.

'Besides.' Arrdly added, before she could open her mouth. 'You're probably the wrong side of thirty to play Elspeth, that whole thing is probably becoming less believable.' He took a sip from his coffee, concentrating hard on it, savouring it the way a wine taster would. 'Davis was in her fifties at the time the story is set, I shouldn't imagine you'll need too much in the way of make-up. Perhaps paint in a couple of grey hairs, maybe accentuate some of your crow's feet with a little eyeliner.'

'Well I must say, you certainly know how to compliment a woman Paul.' Karen replied angrily taking a drink from her own coffee, knowing straight away that the caffeine was going to be too much. She helped coach the Handon Amazons under 18's side on a Tuesday night, and her hope of getting home and relaxing before work was now disintegrating fast. At this rate she would have been pacing the room like a caged tiger.

'No not really.' Arrdly answered with a mischievous smile. 'I'm actually terrible at it. That is largely why I avoid it.' Deciding that the milk must have been to his liking, he drained the rest of his coffee down in one elongated sip, his head tilted slightly backwards. 'Anyway that was all I had to say. If you're up for the part - and you'd be crazy to turn in down in my opinion - then we'll get you in for a trial run on Saturday. In the meantime start reading up about her, Davis that is, you can find plenty on the Schottic Ghosts & Gouls website; very informative actually.'

'I think I'm going to sit here for a bit longer.' Was Karen's answer. While she hadn't said she would accept the job in so many words, both of them knew that she would. She made a show of checking the time on her phone. 'It's an hour before I have to be at work, I'll finish this coffee then join you down there. I've got football tonight strait after my shift so I wanted to have a bit of a lazy morning.' While none of this was a lie, the reality of it was that she really just wanted to walk alone.

'Oh yes! I forget you volunteered as a youth coach.' Arddly tried to seem interested. 'Well enjoy the rest of your coffee.' He pointed at her phone. 'And look up Margaret Davis, google her and see what you think.'

Karen held the phone up and smiled, indicating that she would indeed do that. As she watched her employer exit the cafe with a swish of his jacket, she immediately pulled her own jacket on, and headed for the exit, giving him just enough time to round the corner.

Out in the street it was a bitterly cold day. There was a wind howling up the Seaforth Road, bringing with it the bitter bite of all that December had to offer. With a four hours down at Ghastly Tours to look forward to, a rushed dinner on the bus, and then an hour on a badly lit football pitch, her bed had never seemed like a more distant dream. Karen turned up her jacket collar, bent her head forward, and marched into the wind and drizzle.

[Ozya]

A Foreign Disconnection

---

외국의 지구, 전성, 그레이터 전성 대도시권, 오자인 통일 공화국
Foreign Quarter, Jeonsong, Greater Jeonsong Metropolitan Area, Unified Ozyan Republic
Оегугуи Йигу, Йеонсеонг, Геулеитео Йеонсеонг Даедосигwон, Озйская Тонгил Гонгхwагуг

---

키세키도에 대한 죽음! Кисекидое Даехан Югеум! 오래 수고 살아라! Олае Суго Салала!

Reading as “Death to Kisekido; Long Live Sou-go” in English, the vast array of crimson, golden, and blued banners waving above the heads of the patriots bore such messages of vitriolic patriotism, fanaticism, and ultranationalism. These colossal flags and hoisted iconography waved effortlessly through the onyx night air, as the chilled winds from the east blew in a strong and robust force into the midst of the urban jungle's many streets and crevices. A thin sheet of snow seemed to line and blanket almost all of the normally gray and black city surfaces; of course, this did little to stop the advance of the massive assembled patriotic march, which paraded onwards in unified grace towards the epicenter of their plight: the Foreign Quarter of Jeonsong.

Running down the breadth of Zuen Boulevard was this gargantuan manifestation of Ozya's nationalistic pride, with almost all of the intersecting main streets and side roads being blocked off by local and district police forces of varying armaments and appearances. Both sides of the march were guarded by linear contingents of lightly-armed riot police, with their circular clear riot shields and manipulatable batons not revealing the true force and power of typical Ozyan riot units. Due to this innate deception of being depicted as lightly guarded and defended, the marchers themselves flaunted their constitutional rights of bearing melee weapons publicly, ranging from sheathed shortblades to tightly-gripped pepper spray and civilian batons of their own denomination.

Between the singular line of light riot police and the sidewalk laid various personnel barricades and fences, more so as a preventative measure to keep the marchers from vandalizing nearby shops rather than letting any passerby get in the middle of the march. Civilians on the sidewalks and near the main boulevard gawked at the march with many differing expressions; a few of silent sympathy and compassion, while the rest were composed of ponderance as to exactly where and why they were marching. Some individuals - both of young and middle ages - seemed to tag along with the march on the sidewalks, yet seemingly independent and having no affiliation to the movement itself.

The flashy advertisements posted on boards affixed to the sides of the monolithic skyscrapers flanking both sides of the boulevard illuminated the Ozyan-colored banners with quite a palette of different bright and neon colors, giving them morbid and distorted hues. Marchers who came to walk at the two edges of the procession wielded torches of equal height and flame color, with their orange tentacles writhing against the icy billows of the wind around them. The red and blue lights of police vehicles off in the distance were eaten away by the ambiance of the march, whose orange flames came to mix with the neons of the advertisements and the distorting fabrics of the banners and flags to cast a dreary, purpled, and browned cascade of color around them. None of the patriots looked down at their shoes, though, for they all looked onward at one specific objective.

“Achim-eun bichnala i gangsan,
eungeum-e jawondo gadeughan.
Samcheonli aleumdaun nae jogug
banmannyeon olaen lyeogsa-e,
chanlanhan munhwalo jalanan
seulgilon inmin-ui i yeong-gwang.
Momgwa mam da bachyeo i Ojeuya
gil-i baddeuse.”

Deep and rough flutters of overhead news and police helicopters were droned out by the cadence being sang by the marchers, which was in tune to that of both the now-extinct Socialist Republic and Federation's similar-yet-distinct anthems. Men and women of seemingly many ages, creeds, and even origins blended into the march with a profound unity, with specific expressions of national sentiment and pride being plastered unto most of their faces. Although most of the flags of the march were of the Ozyan Unified Republic, some flew the flags of the Federation with its iconic trigrams being present around the Ozyan samtaeguk. Others decided to wave the flag of the Socialist Republic, having the same Ozyan samtaeguk be surrounded in its circumference by wheat stalks and an iron gear - with that same flag being also flown by the Unified Ozyan Armed Forces, with only the UOAF name being written in Hangul and Ozyan Cyrillic to differentiate from the Socialists' flag.

The ancient gates of the Foreign Quarter loomed off in the distance, where the towering giants of the Jeonsong skyline ended and the expansive apartment blocks and tenements began. The Foreign Quarter was raised in the once-imperial capital since even the 1600s, where the first Acrean Orthodox ministers came to sojourn and spread the word of Christ within Ozya. Since then, the Foreign Quarter grew to encompass a vast majority of Old Jeonsong, and had peoples of nearly every race and nationality within its vast expanse of land. The juxtaposition of the modern Jeonsong cityscape with that of the Foreign Quarter was quite obvious, with the Quarter holding residential buildings that were sometimes last renovated in the 1920s, before the inevitable split of the Empire of Ozya into the Socialist Republic and the Federation. Because of this, the Foreign Quarter was severely crippled in the means of modernization, and the comforts of the rest of Jeonsong might not be omnipresent in the same way.

This evolved the Foreign Quarter to become the more reprehensible portion of the city, which in turn garnered a higher rate of crime and other nefarious activities. To the patriots, the Foreign Quarter was seen as nothing more than a leech of Jeonsong - if those in the Foreign Quarter wished to be Ozyan, it would have been sensible in the eyes of the patriots for them to discard their previous cultures, and help in the renovation of Ozya as a whole. The constant refusals and refutations brought on by the immigrants and foreign families in the Quarter agitated a large amount of Jeonsong, but these vocal patriots were some of the only to publicly voice their disapproval apart from the bureaucracies of the government.

“Haubeusan gisang-eul da ango,
geunloui jeongsin-eun gisdeul-eo,
jinlilo mungchyeojin eogsen tteus,
on segye apseo nagali.
Sosneun him nododo naemil-eo,
inmin-ui tteus-eulo seon nala.
Han-eobs-i buganghaneun i Ojeuya,
gil-i bichnaese.”

The maw of the Foreign Quarter's historic gates laid wide open, with its iron teeth of the raised gate almost invoking a higher circumstantial meaning and reference to the march into a land of resentment and lethality. Once rumbling and mighty, the singing of the anthem was now morphed into slightly-intelligble warbles from how the olden stones of the gate manipulated the sweeping and movement of the air. A pair of heavy riot police vans armed with water cannons upon their black roofs were parked adjacent to the two sides of the gate, with more heavily armored riot police carrying full-packaged riot shields and tear gas grenade launchers watching the patriots go by with wary and attentive eyes. Overhead news and police helicopters now flew over the low-reaching buildings of the Foreign Quarter, allowing them to get closer with their mounted cameras and broadcasting equipment to the phenomenon that was undergoing.

As the assembly thrusted forward under the ambient lights of Jeonsong and into the more fiery and natural hues of the Foreign Quarter, the more strengthened riot police began to merge with their lighter-armed police comrades at the aft. The bellowing sounds of the vans' ignitions shook through the gate's atmosphere, as their headlights began to bathe the rear of the march with an artificial yellow mirage. The teeth of the iron gate seemed to develop accretions of slightly chilled water droplets, which flew downward and peppered the thick winter clothing of some of the march participants, much to their bemusement. All of this culminated to what seemed to be quite a successful demonstration of their constitutional rights to assemble and "protest", so to speak... alas, this was to be also manipulated by their rivals, and the sympathetic government could do little to block such actions without giving more law enforcement presence.

---

The word that a nationalist, "racist", and "homophobic" march was coming to the Foreign Quarter - amongst other varieties of different liberal insults and terminology - spread like wildfire through much of the populace. Although they resented the government for its apathetic stance towards their constant plights, the mere thought of a conservative and reactionary procession through their streets and neighborhoods prompted many to spread the message of a counter-demonstration. From text message to email, and from social media to hushed verbal speech, it was to be certain that many residents of the Foreign Quarter were to mimic and push back the Ozyan reactionary demonstrations. Although detesting their temporary alliances, peoples of different cultures, nationalities, and religions were inevitably consenting to congregate in the Foreign Quarter's largest park - the Suwi Recreational Facility.

As teeming masses of varyingly dressed individuals of many ages came to come together within the midst of the Facility's expansive front field, it became apparent to the local police detachments of the Foreign Quarter that the residents were planning to hold quite a large counter-demonstration. From this, multiple officers soon arrived at the scene at the other side of the field's bordering road to scout the situation. Seeing no imminent threat of rioting, the on-scene officers only anticipated for the riot police accompanying the Ozyan patriots to be enough... if anything went wrong.

To an ordinary Ozyan civilian, the sights and sounds that were being experienced by the officers would be considered quite alien and foreign; possibly bordering on the inflammatory and obscene for some of the more socially conservative people. Many different banners and flags were being flown in random bouts of passion and rebellion, ranging from those sporting Arabic script from the local Muslim population to the garish and flaunting rainbow flags of the homosexual, bisexual, and transsexual populace. These peoples could be observed to be naturally separating each other and forming their own mini counter-demonstration blocks, but all seemed to be cooperating on a superficial level against the incoming patriotic march.

Disturbingly enough, there was a large lack of what was considered to be "normal" groups and cliques in the demonstration; there was no one openly expressing Christian Orthodox or Sou-go faith, nor was anyone expressing adoration for controversial Ozyan figures of the past... instead, they were flying their own icons of their cultural heritages, sexual orientations, or foreign religions. The cacophony from the assembling crowd was invoking the silent wrath of many who still lurked in their homes, peering through their windows and examining the situation in relative safety.

These assembled crowds seemed to be not only of different races, ideologies, or beliefs, but also of differing social or political outlets. Many young Ozyan youth could be seen scattered throughout the midst of the more xeno-appearing foreigners, conveying more anarchic or contrarian ideas in defiance of the usual Ozyan social conservative normality. As expected, this particular mis-mash of disgruntled young Ozyan adults and teens were not the majority population of the counter demonstration, but set a stark contrast to the other collective groups present.

This concoction of radical leftist and foreign sentiments did not spell a peaceful imminent future for the counter-demonstration, as the more raucous youngsters of the collection were already challenging the police officers residing on the other side of the street - most notably with middle fingers in the air, as their faces were swathed in black makeshift bandannas and balaclavas from discarded shirts and cloth. The best that the police could do at the moment was stay tensed behind their parked cars, spying on the crowd for anymore potentially harboring malicious intents even more violent than the mere verbal and gestural accosts that they were currently being subjected to.

“WHERE ARE THE FASCISTS? DID THEY ALREADY GET LOST IN THEIR OWN CITY!?”

A deep-yet-feminine voice rang out from the thick of the crowd, resonating above the heads of the counter-demonstrators and dripping with a harbored venom. This question brought a series of laughs from many, who still looked to the far-off intersection where the patriots would come to emerge from. Red flags came to dangle over many assembled people as well, yet the black anarchist logos and sickles suggested more of an anarcho-communist approach than that of the Socialist Republic of Ozya's now-defunct authoritarian communism warranted. Funnily enough, most of the Socialist Republic's previous politicians were now all socially and economically conservative, yet still harboring the same frothing patriotism that the ancient regime maintained for the Ozyan people and region.

Soon enough, the liberal and foreign crowd soon began to entertain themselves through various different songs and chants from a number of languages and dialects, with very few of them even being in Korean... that was when they began to hear the distant ricochets of voices echoing from afar.

---

“Ah! Ah! Hyeogmyeong-ui sunoebu
cheonman-i chongpogtandoeyeo
gyeolsaong-wihalila!

Uliga teul-eojab-eun
chong-geommada-en
jang-gunnim bowihaegal
maengsega bikkyeossda!
Bulg-eungi nallineun
hyeogmyeong-ui sunoebu
cheonman-i chongpogtandoeyeo
gyeolsaong-wihalila!

Salyeongbu jikyeossaun
geu neogs-eul ieo
pikkeulhneun uli gaseum
seongsaelo mungchyeossda!
Ojeuya-ui simjang-in
hyeogmyeong-ui sunoebu
cheonman-i chongpogtandoeyeo
gyeolsaong-wihalila!

Ah-ah-ah!
Gyeolsaong-wi Gwagji-Hun!
Gyeolsaong-wi Gwagji-Hun!

Jang-gunnim sasuhayeo
mogsumbachim-eun
jeonsaui jeilganeun
yeong-gwang-iyeola!
Baegseung-eul pyeolchineun
hyeogmyeong-ui sunoebu
cheonman-i chongpogtandoeyeo
gyeolsaong-wihalila!

Ah! Ah! Hyeogmyeong-ui sunoebu
cheonman-i chongpogtandoeyeo
gyeolsaong-wihalila...”

[Kirisaki]

Evran Segid didn't make the distinction between weekdays and weekends. Nor did she care about such trifling things as working hours.

At five past five in the morning, a good two hours before anyone else in her office was supposed to show up for work, she was pressing her palm to the biometric scanner outside the well appointed suite of rooms, contemplating the prospect of getting in a few hours of work in before breakfast. Hers was a full time job in every sense of the phrase, but Evran embraced the responsibility with pride and no little reverence; for what price the security of her country?

The door to her office swung open silently. All seemed to be as it was when Evran had left her office yesterday night; nothing seemed to be out of place. The motion-activated lights overhead switched on of their own accord as Evran padded across the spacious room, dispelling the gloom of night with a warm, soothing glow. The previous occupants of the office had favoured cold, minimalistic decor intended to be functional first and foremost; not so Evran, a true connoisseur of creature comforts, who had resolved to call in a remodeling crew as soon as she had been handed the keys. Gone were the stark lighting, white walls conspicuous only by their nakedness, and the lifeless, impersonal monstrosities that passed for furniture these days. Indeed, the room was almost endearingly old fashioned in its appearance. Bookshelves sagged under the weight of massive tomes, an electric fireplace crackled away cheerily in the middle of the room, while soft cushions of every colour were littered around the place. The only concession Evran made towards the necessities of her job was the high-end laptop that was inconspicuously concealed in a compartment just below the surface of her desk.

Evran put a kettle of water to boil before swinging her ergonomic office chair around and collapsing into it with a contented sigh. She allowed herself the small luxury of a few seconds, eyes closed, setting herself at ease. It took ten seconds, no more, no less, before Evran opened her eyes and stretched like a cat, letting out a half-yawn that she managed to stifle with one hand.

"Guess it's time to get cracking."

---

Seven in the morning found Evran staring intently at the screen of her laptop, her fingers skimming across the keyboard in a blur of activity. There were usually more than a few items that required her attention on any particular day, given the nature of her job, but today was especially demanding. There had been at least two times more inter-departmental memos than usual clogging up her inbox when she'd booted up her laptop in the morning; despite hers working furiously since then there were still over half of those needing to be cleared.

"Taking care of admin stuff is such a grind ... but I guess that's life behind a desk for you."

Evran leaned back in her chair, the cushions padding it threatening to engulf her petite frame, and took a long gulp of green tea. The heavy workload didn't bother her much; she had gotten used to it by now. Signing off on surveillance orders, drafting policies, picking through intel reports, those tasks were second nature to someone who had risen through the ranks and learned from the best at the ISS. No, there was something else weighing on Evran's mind, something that had been bothering her for the past month.

A sharp rap on her door snapped Evran out of her reverie. She took another gulp of her tea before hastily wiping her mouth with her handkerchief.

"Come in."

There was a digital beep as Evran unlocked the door; it promptly swung open to reveal the immaculately dressed figure of Tsunayoshi Takanashi, one of her vice directors, whom Evran had appointed as soon as she had been confirmed to her position. A mild-mannered, bespectacled man almost twenty years her senior, his impeccable outward demeanour belied a core of steel, honed to perfection by nearly two decades of grueling military service. Evran had often heard it said by ISS staff that Tsunayoshi was to her what peanut butter was to jelly; his unflinching determination and relentless efficiency proving to be the perfect complement to her own maverick tendencies. He was a man one could rely on, that much Evran was completely sure of.

From her vantage point across the office, Evran could see a beige envelope clamped under Tsunayoshi's arm, as always, with 'top secret' scrawled across it in garish red. She let out a sigh as her second in command rapidly strode across the office and bowed slightly in greeting.

"Haven't I told you to dispense with the formalities before, Tsuna? I know you're a military man, but really, a simple good morning will suffice."

"My apologies, Evran. I'm afraid yours trying to drum these formal greetings out of me is a completely lost cause; nineteen years of rigid military discipline tends to make one a creature of habit. Regardless, you should be appreciative of the fact that I've managed to relent to the extent of referring to you by your first name; imagine the discomfort you must experience were I to address you as Director Segid on a daily basis."

A slightly ironic smile crept across Evran's lips.

"True that; I would be squirming in my shoes were you to return to calling me that. I suppose one must be grateful for small mercies."

Tsunayoshi returned the smile with a brief one of his own, before reverting to his usual stoic, businesslike demeanour.

"I think that's quite enough pleasantries for a morning, Evran. The main reason I'm here is to - "

Evran held up a hand, cutting Tsunayoshi off in full flow.

"I know, I know, Tsuna. There's only one thing that would be of such import as to necessitate your presence here at this hour. I suppose this has to do with /that/ operation."

Tsunayoshi nodded briefly.

"Yes, that would be correct. As you've requested, I've drawn up a list of potential agents for your consideration. Given the exceedingly sensitive nature of this operation, I took the liberty of narrowing the criteria for consideration even further. The shortlist now consists of two agents, both of whom meet the conditions you've specified, and both of whom, I assure you, are fully capable of performing under the utmost duress."

"Excellent work as always, Tsuna, very nice." Evran purred in satisfaction as Tsunayoshi unsealed the envelope that he had been holding and produced two separate files, each prefaced with a datasheet and a passport-sized photograph of the agent. She skimmed through the details of the agents in quick order, muttering under her breath as she considered the merits of each agent.

"When can I interview them?"

"There's no need for interviews, Evran. I have been given to understand that you personally evaluated these agents when they were applying to join us; and they were the only two applicants at that time to receive priority recruit status."

Evran nodded, rubbing her chin in silent contemplation as she turned over the possibilities in her mind. Priority recruits, in ISS parlance, meant the best recruits, bar none. During her admittedly relatively short tenure as ISS director, Evran had only ever given out three priorities, and, just as Tsunayoshi said, two of those were to the two agents whose faces were staring at her from their files.

"Are they already ready to go out into the field? If memory serves, it hasn't been all that long since I signed off on their recruitment. Eighteen months?"

Tsunayoshi let out a silent chuckle.

"Eighteen and a half months, yes. But Evran, I must say, you are severely underestimating the ability of these agents, and at the same time doing a disservice to your own eye for talent. A recruit normally takes just over eighteen months to complete our fundamental training course, and spends a further two to three years in a specialised discipline before they are deemed fit to go out into the field."

"Yes, I know that only too well, Tsuna. Get to the point."

"The point is, Evran, these two individuals are not your usual recruits, as you yourself should be well aware. Both completed our training courses in record time; for the first agent, codenamed Saber, this was just under fifteen months. The second agent, codenamed Katana, did even better; thirteen and a half months."

Evran let out a long, low whistle; half in appreciation, half in amazement.

"Those periods cover both fundamental and specialised courses. Since completing their training, both have worked for the ISS in limited capacities; coincidentally, both were attached to our Shalumite arm during that time. Saber was involved in industrial espionage operations in Aragon's commercial district, while Katana was our agent in the Shalumite underworld, tasked with the low-level infiltration of a major triad."

"And I presume both executed their orders with distinction?"

"You would be correct. Their placements were not originally intended to yield any useful intelligence, more thought of as a way to expose them to actual operations in the field. Despite this, I am pleased to report that the head of our Shalum desk, Sasegawa, commended their work most highly. Saber was mentioned in dispatches for being instrumental in acquiring sensitive intelligence that implicates one of Shalum's largest financial institutions in fraudulent trading. Katana, meanwhile, was a drug runner for the Seven Serpents Triad. The information she managed to relay to us during the course of her duties indicated that the Seven Serpents were attempting to smuggle a shipment of cocaine into Kirisaki, and consequently the shipment was intercepted by our naval patrols."

"It would seem that both agents are eminently prepared for an undertaking of the nature we are presently contemplating, yes?"

Tsunayoshi inclined his leonine head gravely by way of response.

"I would venture to suggest that, yes, they are more than prepared, Evran. My only concern would be in terms of experience, but as I've mentioned, these two have performed to a standard that one would expect from an agent with years of experience under their belt."

"Let me just ask you this, Tsuna - if you were a betting man, would you bet against Saber or Katana failing in their execution of this particular operation?"

Tsunayoshi hesitated for a moment.

"You put me in a difficult situation, Evran, for I am not a betting man by nature. However, if you were to ask for my opinion ... having shortlisted these two supremely talented agents for your consideration, I am naturally confident in their ability to succeed in the execution of this particular operation. There is an excellent support network in place, and I believe our excellent case officers are up to the task of supporting our agents in such a sensitive operation. And in the event, however improbable, of failure ... "

Tsunayoshi let his words hang in the air for a second or two.

" ... I doubt our counterparts will want to deal with our agents too harshly. They, more than anyone else, appreciate the value of reliable intelligence, as evidenced by their covert operations in Azurlavai. Should one of our agents fall into their hands, I will take on the responsibility of securing their safe and dignified release."

"And if they refuse to cooperate? You have to understand, Tsuna, that I cannot in good conscience send our agents to their deaths in a foreign country."

"Naturally, Evran. I doubt that any of us here at ISS wish to see our agents captured by a foreign country. But you know as well as I do that there is always an element of risk to human intelligence operations. Besides, they dare not endanger the wellbeing of our agents, lest they risk similar retaliation on our part."

Evran stood up and strode across to the floor-length windows that covered one side of her office, staring out at the vista beyond.

"Surely you must know that I have my misgivings about this operation, Tsuna. I must confess that I do not see the necessity of embedding one of our agents - especially one of our more talented agents - in an operation that does not seem to return a reward commensurate with the risk involved."

"I understand your concerns, Evran. But think about it for a moment. The rewards in the short term might be insignificant, but it pales in comparison to what we stand to gain in the long term. Granted, the chances of our primary long term objective succeeding is relatively low, but if it does ... it may well change the landscape of Tyran's politics - in our favour, it must be emphasised - for good."

"Low-risk, high-reward; it doesn't come any better than this in our world, does it, Tsuna?"

"No, and this is the reason why I am advocating for this operation to proceed with all due haste. The advantages it could yield for us are incalculable; the possibility of failure, given the talent at our disposal, low; and the consequences, relatively insignificant."

Evran closed her eyes and let out a long sigh.

"Very well, Tsuna, do what you must. But I still want to meet these two agents one more time before I sign off on the order."

"Rest assured that I will see to it, Evran."

[Kirisaki]

Sometimes, I wonder why I'm doing what I'm doing now.

To all intents and purposes, I was a normal child. I was born, a normal girl, to a normal couple overjoyed at the arrival of their first child. I grew up, a normal child, in a neighbourhood so average they're probably a rin a dozen in the country. A normal schoolchild, I went to a normal elementary school, a normal secondary school, and received a perfectly normal education that was supposed to last me the rest of my normal life.

So why, then, am I so far removed from that most average of ideals, normality? Looking back on it, it doesn't seem that long ago that I was a determinedly average teenage girl who fretted over her looks, who regularly got into trouble for poaching her brother's PB&J sandwiches from the pantry, who often hung out with her girlfriends in cramped corner cafes. A girl who cared more about the latest fashion trends than her exams, an innocent child who laughed with pure joy as she skipped stones across a lake with her parents.

I ask myself - where is that girl now? Is she still living on, laughing at a silly romcom on television, fighting with her parents over the most stupid things, somewhere on this planet? If so, is she aware that there's a live doppelganger of her walking the same earth as she does, so stunningly alike that they could be twins from the same womb, and yet somehow lifeless, emotionless ... an empty, hollow cast, nothing more than a mere mannequin?

Is there even a point to the doppelganger? Why does it continue to exist? Is there a reason for its presence here, what purpose does it serve? I'm not sure I know. And yet, it continues to just ... be. Things exist because they have a reason to exist. But the doppelganger is just ... here. It has no reason to be here. By all rights it should no longer be here. And yet it is here. It is nothing more than a stunning likeness of a person who once lived. But it's here, for some reason I cannot understand, it's still here, still dragging its feet, still waiting for its life sentence of an existence to be brought to a merciful end.

I once heard an urban legend. It says that there's someone who has a pendant, a crystal pendant which grants its bearer the ability to see into other people's souls. It says that good people's souls will be a swirl of bright colours, and bad people's souls will be varying shades of black, all morphing together into a whirlpool of malice. But what about people who are neither good or bad? a friend asked. What does the bearer of the pendant see as he gazes into their souls? A confusing mixture of colours, fizzing and clashing as they cancel each other out?

I have no idea. Perhaps you're right. Perhaps that is indeed what he sees. But now I cast my mind back towards that little snippet of conversation, and it makes me think. What about those people ... who don't have a soul at all?

It doesn't seem that long ago, but at the same time, it feels like ages.

How old was I then, fifteen, sixteen, seventeen? I can't remember. I've long since stopped caring enough to remember. To be honest, I don't even remember what happened. The doctors keep telling me that I'm fine, I'm perfectly normal, that I'm just forgetting things because of shock. Transient global amnesia is what they call it. They say my brain is suppressing those memories to help me cope with emotional trauma. But I know better. It's been five, six years, and I still don't remember a thing. Maybe it's for the best that I've forgotten. Maybe it's for the best that I forgot in the first place. Let what's in the past sleep in the past.

I don't want to remember, nor do I care enough to remember.

What I do remember, though, is feeling cold. This wasn't the sort of cold that you get from getting soaked to the bone in winter, nor was it the feverish cold that comes with illness. This was a more visceral, primordial cold, a penetrating chill that froze one from the inside out. Where there once was a living, breathing human being, now there was a mesmerisingly beautiful figurine, an angel carved out of ice, in its place. It is lonely, lonely; so lonely that it wants someone, anyone, to reach out to it, to tell it it's not alone, to tell it that there's always someone there for it.

But it can't. Why?

Because it's made out of ice. She's made out of ice. She can't move. Spikes of ice run through her body. And if someone touches her, she will melt from the warmth. She will shatter from the force of her emotions.

That's why she endures the cold on her own. She knows that the cold is a sensation that will never go away. She'll get used to it.

She endures, despite knowing that her life has been irrevocably changed. She endures in the knowledge that she has lost everything that she loves. She endures, despite the fact that there is nothing for her in this world, nothing worth living for, nothing worth existing for.

And so, she continues to exist. She is an abomination of an existence because she no longer has any reason to exist. She is a stunningly beautiful angel of ice, splendid in her isolation inside a world full of snow and ice. And she continues to do what she's doing, because there's nothing left for her in this world.

[Quen Minh]

Like a Waterfall

Segment I: Cognizant

9:20 AM, Monday
Mercantile Exchange of Bãi Biển Ngao

An Châu Thuy ambled her way through the soothing warm air of the illuminated red-violet corridor with much composure like a falling leaf riding the streaks of the outside wind. With a remix of Người Tình Mai Ya Hee playing from her unspoiled pair of blue and black tangle-free earbuds branded by her company, all she could do is close her eyes and dance with gleeful fervor before reaching the door where the day’s mayhem will soon begin.

Crossing the threshold, she glanced at the entire trading floor, picking out the most common sights she has remembered observing throughout her two years working for the Luong Siblings: the colored jackets of every trader forming a malformed rainbow, the placid crowd of observers overlooking the foreboding chaos like exhausted sloths, and the huge monitors displaying the statistics of a particular commodity as brightly as that of the interior of a nightclub. She takes in a deep breath as she stared at the screens above her and fixes her collar and tie before jostling through the crowd in a gentle manner to get to her spot in the rice pit, with her headphones still on to keep her game mode on for the entire session.

As she navigates her way through, every trader near her laid their eyes on her, making it seem like a typical situation in some cliched high school film.

“Greetings, Miss An,” a trader on her left side said.

“Your Opulence,” said another trader on her right side.

“Hi,” she replied, still navigating her way through.

“Hey there. You ready to make some more,” asked another.

Châu Thuy then takes off her left earbud.

“Ready as I’ll ever be, Đức,” she replied.

Giving him a high-five, Đức greeted her good luck with an enthusiastic grin and smiled at Châu Thuy when she turned and nodded at him in confirmation before heading off. A few paces further, she found the most comfortable spot that she could find. As of now, all she can give out is patience.

9:24 AM

Silence continues to roam about the pit as everyone stood and gazed at their timepieces, if not the overhead clocks, for how many seconds left until the market opens. With her earbuds still on at half volume, Châu Thuy lifts her wrist to take a look at her watch.

“9:24:45”

After a deep inhale through the nose, she takes out her tablet from the bag, gets out her pen, puts in the pin number, and sets up the trading program. Once it was up on her screen, she lifts her head to glance at the monitor for a little while before hearing the antique bell gong as loudly as it can throughout the entire floor.

“Selling 207 March,” she heard one trader yell.

“Filled!”

A few moments later, the monitor showed the opening price.

“198!”

“175!”

“184!”

Then the current price marker showed the number 19.63. Then a few minutes later, it showed 18.23. Then 17.46. Then 17.79.

“Buying 200 May at 16.30!”

“Sold!”

“Sold! Sold!”

Then the current price hits 18.44, to which the sight of it made Châu Thuy twiddle her pen and narrow her eyes on the screen moments before turning her whole body to observe the crowd sternly.

“198!”

“204!”

“220!”

“238!

"Selling 228!"

As the current price hit 22.10, Châu Thuy took another deep breath through her nose while staring at the screen, twiddling her pen faster than ever before.

“188!”

“Got it!”

“250!”

“213!”

“Buying 240 March at 26.50!”

“281!”

“295!”

Seeing the current price hit 29.20, her heart raced and much drive and energy stacked up more and more in herself to the point where she can possibly faint. In response to this, she takes both of her earbuds off and grabs the opportunity to take a deep breath to prepare her voice.

“Selling 300 April at 29.2!”

With one command, the whole room burst into an immense wave of chaos, which would have made someone deaf in an instant, yet amidst the ear-splitting cries of traders eager to make their transactions come true, Châu Thuy was able to note virtually every single one of their proposals with intense ease. After filling out several transactions in a flash, she eyed the screen for a bit to see that the current price fell from 29.20 to 24.17 and continued to do so for the next amount of minutes.

“281!”

“277!”

“254!”

“230!”

“Sold!”

“221!”

“Take 223!”

“216!”

“228!”

“Sold! Sold!”

In the midst of tapping her tablet for a myriad of times, Châu Thuy eyed on Đức, who is currently on the same dynamic as her. Taking a bit of time off of doing the same task, Đức glanced at her with a mix of utmost enthusiasm and astonishment, to which Châu Thuy smiled with glee in reply. Still keeping that same emotion running on his face, Đức mouthed to her if she could start buying. Châu Thuy then signaled to him that now was not the time. Then the two continued on their tasks.

“215!”

“218!”

“Got it!”

“210!”

“209! 209!”

“207!”

“Buying 178!”

“Sold!”

As the current price hit 20.78, she turned to Đức with much urgency. After making eye contact, she nods quickly. Then at this point, she already knows what to do before taking another deep breath through her mouth.

“Alright, you guys, come and buy them!”

“Let’s go, guys,” Đức exclaimed in the background.

With the speed of a tiger, Châu Thuy tapped on her tablet much faster than ever before as an almost infinite amount of orders made her pick out which to accept and whatnot. Despite having to face the insurmountable frenzy of yells, hand-waving, and tracking down orders, that one smile she kept on her face after making that loud call still preserved her uplifted spirit and will to carry on.

Then the antique bell gonged after the current price hits 21.38, and the whole pit calmed down like the slow ascent of a feather.

9:45 AM

Under the enlightened ceiling of the mezzanine, Châu Thuy leaned beside a pillar positioned near the left trading floor and the door leading to the computer room with her fingers punching in letters in the contacts dossier for a future call.

“Thuy,” Đức shouted before heading towards her.

“Hey there, Đức” Châu Thuy replied.

“Great job today down there.”

“Thanks.”

“Man, where did you get a voice like that? Quite frankly, I never would have yelled those orders as loudly as you did if I had the slightest chance.”

“Oh, please,” she chuckled, “it was only the matter of having enough breath, to which it kind of annoys me sometimes.”

“I see. Calling up the boss?”

“Yeah.”

“Nice. Well, I’m gonna head off to the mess hall to get some food. See you then.”

“See you.”

As Đức sauntered off from her eyesight, she continued to punch in letters before the contact she was looking for suddenly popped up on her screen. With the tap of her finger on the call button, she puts the phone beside her ear.

“Yes," said a male voice.

“Mr. Luong, we’ve just made about 58 million.”

“We saw. Well done, the both of you. That is just about enough money to cover this company's budget for the recent month.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“Your welcome. Remember that we’ll be meeting up at the Shining Dolphin later in the afternoon for business matters, so take your time to rest up in these hours. It’ll be a long talk that you do not want to miss out on.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Alright, farewell then, miss. Once again, well done.”

“Thank you, sir. Bye.”

After pressing the end call button, she pulls out the headphone jack out of her left pocket and reconnects it to her phone before pulling up the music application to select the remix for Người Tình Mai Ya Hee once again. Putting on both of her earbuds, she walks out, tapping on her phone to go to a certain part of the track, and sings to herself as she heads to the hallway she came from earlier.

[Kirisaki]

If ever there was a place you didn't want to be at half past seven on a weekday morning, it was one of the many inter-city subway stations that were dotted around the Kirisakian capital of Kirayuki. The dense networks of subway lines, carefully threaded around the country but a decade ago, served as the primary means of transport for the majority of commuting workers who lived in the heart of the Kirisakian metropolises, and such it was perhaps no surprise that on this day, Mikoto Nikaido found herself lining up to buy a subway ticket.

On the surface, there was very little to distinguish her from the many other people who were swarming around her. A foreign observer might think she was merely a high school girl trying to make the most of a day off by going shopping. She was dressed lightly in casual wear for the day; her favourite loose fitting black T-shirt, with a chibified version of an anime character dressed in a lab coat emblazoned on it and a pair of skinny jeans that clung to her figure. Topping off her outfit for the day was a baseball cap that was perched jauntily on her head.

Despite the way she dressed, Mikoto Nikaido was not your average Kirisakian. Average Kirisakians did not, as a rule, have a security detail trailing them whenever they were out and about, even if the members of said security detail were innocuous enough in appearance to pass as members of the general public. Indeed, Mikoto could count herself as the leader of the seven members of the highest decision-making body in the land, second only to the tenshi herself, the chairperson of the Executive Committee of Kirisaki.

Mikoto let out a little sigh as she glanced at the chaotic mass of commuters thronging through the subway station. "Fine idea turning up fifteen minutes early to avoid the morning rush turned out to be," Mikoto sighed under her breath, "well, looks like everyone had the same idea today." The line she was in seemed to barely move; it was costing Mikoto a lot, emotionally, as the seconds flowed by her inexorably. At this rate, she was going to be late for her first appointment of the day. After what seemed like an eternity, Mikoto managed to get her hands on a ticket and immediately made a beeline for the platform where she was supposed to board. Her footsteps took on a slightly frantic pace as she slalomed past the many commuters between her and the ticketing gate, pausing only to offer a quick apology to an office worker she'd inadvertently bumped into.

It wasn't before she had safely gotten onto her train that Mikoto, heaving a sigh of relief, sank gratefully into an unoccupied seat. The much vaunted revitalisation of the Kirisakian subway lines had been a focal point of her administration, but even though the creaking old trains had been replaced with sleeker, higher capacity models under her watch, Mikoto still didn't enjoy taking the subway. She didn't like crowds, and being part of an undignified scramble to get on a train wasn't exactly fun, even less so when you tended to bounce off more solidly built people. On a normal day, she would be heading to her workplace on her trusty bicycle. But the nature of her job often compelled her to travel frequently both domestically and internationally, and sometimes that meant taking the subway.

And today, Mikoto had a little errand to attend to before starting her day's work. Flashing a little smile to a surprised commuter who had recognised her, she adjusted her cap and put her headphones over her ears, muffling the cacophony of noise around her with a little night music.

---

'Ding dong ...'

The sound of the doorbell echoed, Mikoto thought, with a quality that could only be described as ominous. Not that she was unused to the sound; it wasn't the first time she'd been standing before the stately, yet understated facade of the aging townhouse situated in the less affluent environs of Ichibashi-dori. Mikoto shivered as an unseasonable gust of wind blew past her, instinctively hugging herself to protect against the chill.

"Ah, I see it's the young lady come to visit again."

As the heavy wooden door, creaking with age, swung open, Mikoto glanced up to see a familiar face. A pair of warm, kindly eyes, nestled high up in a face lined by years of toil peered right back at her with a piercing clarity undimmed by age.

A smile sprang to Mikoto's face as she padded up the cracked stone steps and embraced the old man.

"Yeah, I've come to visit again, you miserable old codger."

---

Ten minutes later, Mikoto found herself comfortably installed in the living room, nestled in a cushioned chair with her hands and feet to a blazing fire. She could feel the warmth spreading through her body, burning a path through her veins like liquid fire, bringing her back to life after the chill of the early morning.

"Will green tea do for you, Mikoto? I'm afraid a miserable old codger such as myself doesn't stock up on the fancy breakfast teas you find in coffeeshops nowadays. To say nothing, of course, of the sweet nothings the girls of today seem to love so much; no, no, a thousand times no! all that will darken this house of mine are some plain rice crackers and yesterday's leftovers. One must be prudent, in a pecuniary sense, with one's meals in these days of economic hardship."

Mikoto cracked a little grin as she heard the old man shuffle up behind her, cutlery clinking on the tray he was carrying.

"Oh, you really didn't have to go to all that trouble, ojii-chan. You know I always grab a bite to eat before I head out in the mornings."

"That may well be the case, young lady, but what sort of a host would I, Shin'sanburo Nikaido, be, if I failed to offer even the most basic refreshment to anyone who crosses my doorstep?"

Laughing decorously, Shinsan'buro pulled up a short wooden stool and set the tray down upon it, where it balanced rather precariously; Mikoto quickly swooped upon the tray and found a better resting spot for it in her lap.

"I see you weren't joking when you said 'yesterday's leftovers', ojii-chan," Mikoto chuckled as she surveyed the fare that her grandfather had prepared for her. On the tray was that great staple of Kirisakian families, rice, together with a few side dishes; pan-seared salmon, braised mutton, pickled cabbage and a large, steaming bowl of egg soup. It was, by any standard, a fine traditional Kirisakian meal.

"Mikoto," Shinsan'buro remonstrated gravely with his granddaughter, "you must remember that your grandfather, useless as he is in his old age, has not the slightest inkling of how to cook. If you're looking to blame someone then it has to be your grandmother, who, unfortunately, is out for her yoga class this fine morning." The septuagenarian let out a hoarse laugh as he accepted a steaming bowlful of rice from Mikoto and started to attack the dishes with vigour; Mikoto did the same herself.

"So, how has life been, Mikoto? Same as usual for the most part, I take it?"

Mikoto paused for a moment, munching on a slice of salmon, as she contemplated how best to answer her grandfather's question.

"I guess you could say that, ojii-chan. For today, I've scheduled a couple of meetings with my colleagues at the Pavilion, lunch with the Gylian ambassador - at Soryu-tei, no less, and my secretary has arranged for me to attend a public consultation on the green cities project later today. Should be fascinating."

Shinsan'buro grinned as he brought another spoonful of soup to his mouth. "Yes, how I miss having meals at Soryu-tei. Truly one of the great custodians of traditional Kirisakian cuisine. It's a real pity that a derelict old man like myself can't afford to eat out at such a fine establishment every day of the week!"

"Oh, come off it, ojii-chan, you've had more than your fair share of meals at the Soryu while you were on the Executive Committee! It's really kind of the proprietor to keep one of his suites permanently reserved for us, though - I can't think of anyplace better for a first meeting with Ambassador Yamamoto."

"Many's the time I've had to welcome a foreign dignitary to our shores, Mikoto, and many's the time I've made Soryu my first choice. It hasn't let me down even once! I'm sure Yamamoto will be pleasantly surprised by your choice, Mikoto - that is, if she hasn't already tried Soryu's famous braised scallops for herself, hah!"

Mikoto laughed as she tucked into her bowl of soup. "I doubt the ambassador has had a chance to sample Soryu's delicacies yet, ojii-chan; you know as well as I do how exclusive Soryu is. Anyway, I've already met the ambassador in person once; she seems a very agreeable lady, the sort of person with whom it's really easy to communicate and cooperate. I'm sure we'll get on just fine over midday sake at Soryu!"

Mikoto paused for the briefest of moments before continuing.

"What I'm more worried about, ojii-chan, is the green cities public consultation. You know it's a project I - and my fellow members on the committee - are really invested in. There's nothing so far that indicates at the consultation being anything other than a success, but for some reason I'm feeling really nervous about it."

Shinsan'buro set his bowl and chopsticks aside, leaning back into his armchair as he steepled his fingers. "Nervous, you say? And why, pray tell, are you feeling nervous?"

" ... well, actually, I've heard whispers that the opposition are planning a public demonstration at the venue of the consultation. Apparently they think it's a huge white elephant of a project, with nothing in the way of a guaranteed return on the public funds we're planning to pump into it. I guess I'm nervous because I can sort of understand where they're coming from, in a way; if I were a taxpayer, I too would be sceptical about the necessity of such a project, given the huge sums involved. We're talking trillions of rins here."

Shinsan'buro applied a match to his pipe and puffed contentedly on it as Mikoto drained the last drops of soup from her bowl. "I've been following the progress of this project with much interest, Mikoto, and yes, you've taken on a monumental challenge. As you say, there's no guarantee that such a project would, in any way, represent value for money in the current economic climate. Building three separate green settlements designed to house roughly a hundred thousand each ... what's the cost estimate?"

"Costing reports from the Sentinelry of Finance indicate that the whole shebang would cost us a minimum investment of five trillion spread out over a decade. We could have the basic infrastructure set up and ready to go in under a year's time, so I'm hoping that organic economic growth will eventually allow us to recoup our investment."

"Do you have nothing else to spend the five trillion on, Mikoto? If you have that much of a surplus burning a hole in your trouser pocket, why not give the hardworking citizen a tax break? Five trillion rin ... that's almost ten percent of Kirisaki's annual tax revenue."

"True, ojii-chan, it's a huge undertaking. But according to reports the exco has commissioned prior to signing off on this project, these settlements could be paying for themselves in a decade's time. Just imagine - three sustainable hubs creating thousands of new opportunities and high-income jobs for Kirisakians, attracting tranches of foreign investment all while adhering to our environmental roadmap ... what's not to like about it? I've read enough reports, I've seen enough case studies, I've sat through enough presentations to be convinced that this project would be a resounding success in ten years' time ... if only we could garner enough support to get it off the ground."

The crow's feet lining Shinsan'buro's eyes crinkled as he smiled.

"There's no reason why you can't get it off the ground, Mikoto. If you're really that convinced of the merits of this project, then why, go to that public consultation of yours and blow all the sceptics right out of the water with your arguments. If fifteen years sitting on the exco has taught me anything, it's that when it comes to pushing through new initiatives, conviction and belief pays off."

"At first, there will always be doubters and naysayers, those who, willfully or otherwise, refuse to accept perfectly sound arguments. If you truly desire to forge ahead, it becomes your job to convince them, to bring them over to your side. Talk to them, make them see where you're coming from. My years of experience in government has taught me that Kirisakians are not, as a rule, stubbornly reactionary for the sake of it; even the most partisan activist can be convinced if only you make the effort to do so."

"Having said that, you should yourself be totally convinced of the merits of your arguments; on what grounds do you try to persuade others if your own faith is not wholly unyielding? If you are sure, absolutely sure that this project will be beneficial to the Radiant Empire, to its economy, to its peoples, to its society, then, Mikoto, you have your answer."

Mikoto closed her eyes and nodded as her grandfather rose from his seat and let his hand rest on her shoulder.

"Now, you should be getting along, my child; it won't do for a grandchild of Shinsan'buro Nikaido to be late for an appointment.

"Just remember, if you ever need someone to talk to, your ojii-chan's door is always open."

[Gylias]

PARLIAMENTARY DEBATES AND PROCEEDINGS — HOUSE OF REPRESENTATIVES
6 MARCH 2017
(extract)

DRUGS POLICY

The Speaker (Navrad Zenxus): Representative Vyrad Kelden will ask the next question.

Vyrad Kelden (PP/UFP—Adhuna 11th): Prime Minister, have you been following the developments in Quenmin since its decriminalisation of marijuana, and in light of them, will you consider similarly reforming current policy on drug distribution through the NHS?

Toni Vallas [Prime Minister] (SDP/PA—Eárxath 2nd): The question you're asking, if I'm interpreting it correctly, is a matter of economic policy, and should thus be answered by the Minister of Economy.

Sakura Kusatsu [Minister of Economy, Minister of Finance] (DL/PA—Envadra 5th): To answer the Representative's question, yes, we are up to date on the news from Quenmin. While I welcome the Quenminese government's shift towards a more rational drug policy, I have not seen anything in the last week that would make me believe our model requires any changes.

Vyrad Kelden: Minister Sakura Kusatsu, would the possibility of investments in a cannabis market not be beneficial to the economy?

Sakura Kusatsu: No, Representative Vyrad Kelden. I concede that there may be financial gains, as with any investment market, but none would be worth the adverse social effect it would have to expose drug distribution to market failure.

Vyrad Kelden: Couldn't that be addressed with regulations, as with private education and healthcare?

Sakura Kusatsu: While education, healthcare, and drug policy do have in common the fact that they are fields in which one cannot make a one-size-fits-all policy, I don't believe that comparison is very accurate beyond that aspect. Education and healthcare are public goods. Therein lies the difference. Mind-altering substances are not public goods, in the sense that one can consume as much of them as one wants without reducing the amount available for others. As well, the current model has also bequeathed us a wealth of research and literature on the effects of mind-altering substances. Medical experts are rightly placed in control of administering and evaluating doses for those who want them. It would imperil the safety of people if responsibility for this was wrestled away from medics and given to the moneyed.

A representative rises.

The Speaker (Navrad Zenxus): One of the members wishes to make an intervention.

Sakura Kusatsu: I have just finished my remark.

Vyrad Kelden: <I have no urgent remarks.>

The Speaker (Navrad Zenxus): Very well, please proceed.

Malèna Mancinelli (Pirates—Narsiad 2nd): Speaker, I have with me an excerpt from Friday's Điện Kinh, regarding Quenminese companies that have decided to invest in cannabis since the Marijuana Trade Act was passed. I believe the following quotes are relevant to the subject.

The part about the Bến Sắc Fund reads as follows:

Despite facing some opposition of the market's worth, one of the country's leading funds eventually got together and decided to give it a chance to do whatever it can to produce profit and value. Having found the future of the market a possibility for profit to come pouring out, CEO Lê Công Liễu decided to pool money into the rising industry.

<And the part about the Luong Siblings Group states:>

Last but not least, this company.

Willing to make profits whenever a huge, potential opportunity presents itself, the Luong Siblings Group would be all in with strong determination and effort to ensure that any of their aspirations would resonate without any doubt or fear at all. In the case of a surfacing industry like this, they would do anything to ensure its prosperity is secured.

"Cannabis, although possessing a reputation of being a detrimental drug, can be a great product that can be bought or sold throughout the entire country, as long as the government has imposed regulations to keep it under control. That being said, this company will do whatever it takes for the market to thrive," said Lương Tôn Thắng in his statement at a recent press conference moments after the company's announcement of wanting in on the development.

I have to wonder, does Representative Vyrad Kelden see no issue with this?

Vyrad Kelden: Of course I don't approve of that kind of attitude, Representative. But I believe we have been able to keep it under control in this country.

Toni Vallas [Prime Minister]: If only your party leader were to agree...

Some members laugh.

The Speaker (Navrad Zenxus): Order. Please do not interrupt. Continue, Representative.

Vyrad Kelden: I do not share the Progressive Alliance or the Pirates' trepidation on the subject, given how long the Progressives' 'post-war consensus' has endured and continues to do so. I believe there have been editorials in Điện Kinh, as well as other financial publications from abroad, that even disparage our Financial Monitor as a leftist publication, which any reasonable person would conclude it is clearly not. Clearly, our current system is doing as solid a job of screening out people unfit for economic careers as they do for police or political careers. Given that context, I think we can safely experiment with some mechanisms of that nature in distribution of drugs.

Two representatives rise.

Sakura Kusatsu: Oh, could I go first?

Malèna Mancinelli: Certainly, be my guest.

Sakura Kusatsu: Thank you. The problem with your proposal, Representative Vyrad Kelden, is that we cannot guarantee that it would remain safe once we begin such an experiment. That system which you have so wonderfully praised has been constructed on the basis of permanent vigilance. The process of constructing it was based on the hard-won wisdom that civilisation is a brittle thing. It is not permanent. It is not impregnable. It must be defended eternally. The members who have seen the documentary Someone Else's Country will know what I refer to. To use the terminology the UFPistes is fond of, we cannot afford to compromise that safety for the sake of an unnecessary experiment. The last thing we need is to allow those unencumbered by conscience an opening to corrupt a medical issue with profit motives, pour encourager les autres. To allow them to grow rich at the expense of society by encouraging misuse of mind-altering substances would be despicable.

---

Previous section

Next page

Index

[Azura and Montemayor]

A Legislation Conversation
Parliament, Hrabské, Azura and Montemayor

“The Prime Minister will see you now.”

Patrik Banik, the Deputy Prime Minister of Azura and Montemayor and Leader of the National Party, had been sitting in the foyer of the Prime Minister’s office for ten minutes waiting for her to finally see him. He was accompanied by the Minister of the Interior, Klement Hornik, who had been waiting even longer than he had. The two had arrived slightly ahead of time for a scheduled meeting that was of relative importance. Over two months of information gathering, analysis, and polling had culminated into the information that would be presented today.

“Thank you, Valéria,” Banik replied to the secretary sitting behind a desk across the room, a gratitude which was echoed by the Interior Minister. “Please ensure that we are not interrupted,” he instructed as the two men rose and approached the double doors leading into the Prime Minister’s office.

“Of course, sir,” she answered, not taking her eyes away from the computer screen on her desk.

Turning the door knobs and pushing the large wooden doors forward, the two men filed into the room on the other side. The Prime Minister’s office was one of the oldest rooms in the parliament building, having been built at the same time as the main chambers and halls at the center of the building. Over the years, much more had been added, and while previous Prime Ministers had had the opportunity to have another office built in a newer wing of the building, all had declined. A sense of pride was enshrined in the incumbents of the office knowing that most Prime Ministers before them had sat in the same room.

The room itself was a large, rectangular, oak paneled room. At the back of the room was a row of windows that looked out over the front exterior lawns. Off to the left there were two doors, one that entered into a bathroom and another that opened to a small closet space. Centered near the back of the room sat the Prime Minister’s oak desk, with two chairs positioned at an angle toward the center of the desk in front of it and one chair behind it.

Sitting in this chair now was the current Prime Minister, Marián Kudrna. Ascending to the office in 2006, she was one of the longest serving Prime Ministers and only the third female to ever hold the position. Along with her role as Prime Minister, she was the Leader of the Conservative Party and MP for the Modra constituency. Her popularity could not be overstated. She was the most liked politician in the country according to the approval rating polls. In the almost eleven years that she had held the office, she had a limited number of scandals, none of which ever came close to derailing her incumbency. Her opponents in parliament and beyond were constantly digging, searching for anything that could cast her in a negative light, but they could find nothing. It was almost like she was too clean. No one in her position could have as spotless of a record and past as she did. This kept her detractors vigilant for anything that could possibly derail her as Prime Minister.

“Gentlemen,” she welcomed, looking up from a scattering of papers that were lying on her desk. “I’m glad you could make it.”

Banik smiled, knowing full well that neither of the two had an option when it came to their attendance at the meeting. When the Prime Minister told you to be somewhere at a certain time, you were there, and you were there early. “Of course, Madam Prime Minister,” he said. “This is something that must be discussed. It is time sensitive, after all.”

“Yes, very much so,” she agreed. “Mister Minister,” she continued, acknowledging the Interior Minister next. “I assume you have brought the necessary information?”

“Yes, ma’am, I have,” he confirmed, pulling a thick leather portfolio out from under his left arm. “Everything is in here.”

“Wonderful,” she smiled. “Please, have a seat,” she said, gesturing towards the two chairs that sat opposite her.

The two men moved forward further into the room. The clunking of their shoes on the polished hard wood floor became muffled as they stepped onto the ornate rug that spanned the back half of the room. The two took their seats, plopping down into the wooden chairs with leather padding that the Prime Minister had gestured to. The Interior Minister pulled at a zipper along the portfolio and flipped it open, removing a number of papers. “What would you like to start with?,” the Interior Minister asked.

“Let’s start with a question, and a simple yes or no will suffice to begin with. Should we move forward with the amendment?” The Prime Minister was referring to an amendment that had been brought forth by the Leader of the Socialist Party in December. The socialists were pushing for an amendment that would change the election of Senators. Currently, Senators were appointed by provincial legislatures. After provincial elections every five years, the members of the provincial legislatures would gather and nominate twenty individuals. These individuals would then go through a process and a vote. If confirmed by a majority of the provincial legislature, those individuals would then become Senators for that province. That was how it had been done since the beginning of the Senate. Now, though, the socialists wanted Senators to be elected through popular vote. It was, of course, a power play on their part to try and gain seats in the Senate. They currently held zero, and they believed that they would be able to gain at least twenty if not more if the process was changed. It was time sensitive, though, as the next provincial elections were to take place next year.

“It is my opinion, ma’am, that we should not,” he replied. As he spoke, he flipped through the stack of papers he had pulled out of his portfolio.

Nodding, the Prime Minister clasped her hands together and placed them in front of her on the desk. “I think that is the answer we were both expecting,” she said, looking at Banik.

“It is,” he agreed. Both he and the Prime Minister held the mindset that it would be too risky to support the amendment. There were too many unknown variables.

“How did you reach that conclusion?” the Prime Minister questioned the Interior Minister.

“Well, after the group I put together crunched the numbers, there were just not enough benefits for our parties,” he said, referring to the Conservative and National Parties. “We project that we would lose some seats in provinces we have control over, but gain some seats in provinces we have no Senate representation in. The changes almost negate each other, at least in terms of our majority. The only real change would be the number of parties that have representation.”

“Yes, the Socialist Party would gain seats,” the Prime Minister interjected. “We knew this.”

“Not only them, but the Monarchist Union has a good chance to gain one or two seats. Possibly even the Freedom Party in one or two areas.” Seeming to find the paper he had been looking for, he pulled it out of the stack and handed it to the Prime Minister, who took it and began to examine it.

“At least the Liberal-Labor coalition would lose seats,” she mumbled as she looked over the paper.

“They would,” the Interior Minister agreed. “But that would be no real change. The socialists would vote against the same things that the liberal and labor members voted against. They may lose seats, but the number of opposition members would change very slightly.”

“Mhmmm….” she hummed, putting the paper down, looking back up at the Interior Minister.

“Now,” he continued, “much of the final outcome would be determined on how the Senate constituencies were drawn. As you know,” he said, pulling another paper out of the stack and handing it to the Prime Minister, “under law that would be determined by a nonpartisan committee. There is no saying how they would draw the borders. That is another reason for my negative opinion on this matter.”

“That has been one of my main concerns,” Banik said, nodding. “There are too many things that could go wrong in the process. We do not want the constituencies drawn in a way that is a hindrance to our majority.”

“What does the polling on the subject tell us?” the Prime Minister asked next.

This time the Interior Minister pulled out a stack of stapled papers. “The polling is rather inconsequential,” he said. Flipping two pages back, he handed the papers to the Prime Minister and pointed to a spot halfway down the page. “As you can see, fifty-seven percent of those polled are undecided about the amendment, while seventeen percent are against and twenty-six percent are in favor. We can only assume that a large number of those who are undecided are waiting either for more information or to see which side their party’s leadership comes out on.”

At this point, the only major party to support or oppose the amendment was the Socialist Party, who had voiced their support. The government coalition comprised of the Conservative Party, National Party, and Monarchist Union had remained silent, waiting to see if they could possibly benefit from the change. The Liberal Democratic Party and Labor Party, the main opposition coalition, had also remained silent, most likely waiting to see which side the government ended up supporting. A few of the smaller parties had also come out in support of the amendment, namely the Freedom Party and Catholic Democratic Party, both of which had received millions of votes in the last National Assembly election.

“That is understandable,” the Prime Minister said. She flipped the two pages back down and handed the papers back to the Interior Minister. “We can expect the polling to sway drastically in our favor once we come out against the amendment.”

The Interior Minister nodded and the three sat in silence for a short time. The Prime Minister broke the silence. “I’m going to need you to make two more copies of those papers so we can distribute them to the National Party and Monarchist Union. I will inform my party and the Patrik can inform his. I will speak to the Monarchist Union leadership about what we discussed here today and give them a copy. Can you get those to me today?”

The Interior Minister nodded again, beginning to pack his papers back into his portfolio. “I can definitely do that.”

“Wonderful,” she said. She addressed Banik next. “As soon as you leave here notify the Press Secretary and our surrogates about our decision to oppose the amendment. We’ll need them to get out on television to begin spreading opposition as soon as possible.”

“Of course, ma’am,” Banik said. “I will be sure to do that.”

Smiling, the Prime Minister stood, prompting the two men to stand as well. “Good, I think we’re done here for now, then,” she said. She shook the hands of both men before coming out from behind her desk to walk them to the door. “Thank you for coming, we’ll be speaking shortly.”

The Interior Minister opened the double doors and the two men exited the room, off to perform the tasks given to them by the Prime Minister. With that, the amendment was dead. The chance that the opposition could rally enough votes to bring the bill to the floor and have it pass was slim, especially now that the government’s political machine would be putting out negative coverage of the amendment. At least, that was the hope.

[Kirisaki]

'Beep beep, beep beep ...'

"Maru, maru, it's seven in the morning; time to rise and shine zura! You'll be late if you don't wake up soon zura!"

"Unhh ... so loud. Maru wants to sleep just a little longer ... please be quiet, chibi Maru ..."

Maru fidgets in her bed. Maru doesn't want to wake up just yet.

Through half-closed eyelids heavy with sleep, Maru can see the thin, grey light of the morning peek through Maru's windows.

"Maru, maru, maru; wake up zura~"

"You're so loud, chibi Maru ..."

Maru doesn't want to get up just yet. With eyes closed, Maru fumbles blindly for her pillow and covers her ears with it, trying to drown chibi Maru out. But it's futile. Chibi Maru's voice pierces through Maru's pillow like it's nothing.

"Maru, maru, you're gonna be late for school zura~"

"Boy, chibi Maru sure is persistent ... that's why Maru's sister gave chibi Maru to Maru, ehh"

Maru gives up on trying to go back to sleep, sitting on her bed while rubbing the sleep from her eyes. Chibi Maru is seated on the mantelpiece, her head nodding madly; Maru thinks she's singing a song now. Maru hides a huge yawn, before reaching up and giving chibi Maru a gentle tap on the head.

"Thanks for the hard work, chibi Maru. Maru's awake now."

"Good morning zura. Time for Maru to go to bed zura! Wake Maru up later~"

Chibi Maru settles down and goes to sleep, her voice trailing off as the nodding slows down and eventually stops.

"Now I know why Maru's family picked out this alarm clock for Maru ..."

"Maru should go prepare breakfast zura ..."

---

Maru's name is Maru. Well, that's what Maru's friends and family usually call Maru. Maru really, really likes Maru's name because it's cute, though some of Maru's friends tease Maru for it. They say Maru sounds like a name for a fat hamster! Maru says to them - a fat hamster is cute too! Just imagine a fat hamster stuffing her cheeks with sunflower seeds~ if that isn't a cute image, Maru doesn't know what is zura!

The name on Maru's identification card says that Maru's full name is Maru Amamiya. Maru likes the name Amamiya too, because it's Maru's parents' name. Sometimes though, Maru thinks Amamiya is too cool a name for Maru zura. Amamiya sounds like the name an elegant, cool idol would have zura! Anyway, Maru is used to just being called Maru zura. Only the teachers in Maru's school call Maru by the name Amamiya nowadays zura!

Today is Maru's first day living alone zura. Before this, Maru used to live with Maru's family at a temple nearby zura. Maru loves the temple, with its large, open courtyard and quiet surroundings. Maru's family always say the temple's a bit stuffy because it's old, but Maru loves the temple because it's so peaceful and serene zura. Maybe it's that way because the kami are looking after it zura. A temple is where their earthly connections are the strongest after all zura~ Maru used to sit for hours in the temple courtyard, under a cloudless night sky, watching the stars overhead. Time always passes in a flash when Maru does that zura!

Oh, Maru got distracted again zura. Anyways, Maru moved from the temple 'cause Maru's new place is closer to Maru's school and work. Maru had to take two trains to get to Maru's school before this, and had to switch to another line after that to get to Maru's work. Maru's parents always say that they're worried about Maru being exhausted after Maru's commute. But we managed to find a nice place for Maru~ Maru's new place is within walking distance of Maru's school, and Maru's work is only fifteen minutes away by train zura~ It's a nice apartment, with more than enough space for Maru. Maru's parents' aren't rolling in dough, so Maru is glad that Maru's work brought in enough money for the rent zura!

Today is a Sunday, so Maru's free for most of the day zura. Maru's family helped Maru to move in yesterday, and Maru helped out by unpacking most of the stuff that came in boxes. Maru is lucky to have Maru's parents and brothers and sisters help Maru out with the moving. We finished moving everything really quickly thanks to their help zura.

Maru is still a little tired from yesterday though. Maru had sooo much stuff Maru wanted to bring, so there were a lot of boxes Maru had to unpack. Maru's mom helped Maru to unpack and give everything a good cleaning, but there was so much to do that we only finished at midnight zura. Lucky Maru's papa had rented a lorry to help move Maru's stuff, because the trains had already stopped by then zura~

Maru hides another big, big yawn and puts the kettle on to boil in the kitchenette. Thanks to Maru's mom, everything looks spick and span zura. As expected of Maru's mom, always so good at housework~

Maru finds half a loaf of bread left over from yesterday's supper and retrieves a jar of marmalade from the refrigerator while the kettle whistles away on the stove. Normally Maru would cook something more elaborate for breakfast - it is the most important meal in the day after all zura. But today Maru wants to slack off a little bit, haha.

Maru whisks out a couple of pieces of bread and pops them in the toaster.

"Hmm, guess Maru will check Maru's phone while Maru waits for breakfast to be ready zura."

Maru dashes into Maru's bedroom and finds Maru's phone, which is hidden beneath Maru's pillow. Maru unlocks the screen to find a couple of messages from Maru's family.

"Good morning Maru-chan. Settling in well? Hope you didn't cry yourself to sleep last night, haha! Big bro will be along to cook for you in the evening, and Mom and Dad will pop in once they're done cleaning the temple too. See ya later then!"

"Morning Maru. Hope you didn't miss us too much! Your papa tells me I'm too much of a worrywart, messaging you first thing in the morning. Well, he's not wrong, but Mom's still worried about her sixteen year old daughter living on her own, you know? He should be doing more worrying, the stodgy old codger. Anyway, Mom hopes Maru enjoys living in your new place. Call us if anything happens, okay?"

Maru feels a strange feeling building up in Maru's chest as Maru reads these messages.

"Shuu-niichan, Mom, Papa ..."

Just then, a new notification pops up on Maru's phone.

"Zura?"

It's a message from Maru's big sis, Futaba. Futaba-neechan is Maru's eldest sibling, and she's a productive member of society zura. She graduated university with a first-class degree and is working for a software company as a lead programmer now zura. She also moonlights as Maru's agent whenever Maru needs her to zura! Maru's proud of Futaba-neechan, and at the same time Maru wishes Maru could become an upstanding adult like her in the future~

"Maru maru morning! You wake up yet zura?"

Just as Maru is going to reply to Futaba-neechan, the kettle starts to shake and gurgle rather ominously.

"Whoops, Maru should get the kettle off the boil first zura."

Maru quickly turns the power off and hefts the kettle up by its handle.

"Maru mug, Maru mug... hmm, what shall Maru have for her breakfast drink today zura? Let's go with instant oatmeal~"

Maru scoops up a packet of instant oats from the kitchenette counter and pours its contents into Maru's mug. Maru adds a dash of sugar and some milk powder to it before filling it up with water from the kettle. Just as soon as Maru is done with that, Maru's toast is done, and Maru quickly slathers some marmalade from the jar onto the still warm pieces of toast.

Maru claps Maru's hands together happily.

"Let's eat zura~"

As Maru tucks into Maru's breakfast, Maru finds time to reply to Futaba-neechan's message.

"Ma-ru's a-wa-ke now, Fu-ta-ba-nee-chan. What's up, zu-ra?"

"And send zura~"

Maru presses the send button and finishes her piece of toast. Just as Maru is about to take a sip of her breakfast drink, Maru's phone screen lights up.

"As expected of Futaba-neechan, always so efficient zura."

Maru puts the Maru mug down and answers the call.

"Hello, Futaba-neechan, good morning zura~"

A familiarly cheery voice comes down the other end of the line.

"Good morning to you too, Maru, you little scamp, haha."

"Hey, Maru isn't a scamp. Futaba-neechan's the scamp zura!"

"Okay, then I'm the scamp and you're a rascal."

"Uuuu ..."

Futaba-neechan laughs down the other end of the line.

"Haha, it's always so fun to tease you Maru. You haven't changed one bit since you were a child."

"That's not true zura, Maru's all grown up now zura!" Maru puffs up Maru's cheeks in indignation as Maru takes another bite of toast.

"Right, right, Maru is the pride of the Amamiya family!"

" ... why does Maru feel like Futaba-neechan is still teasing Maru?"

"Right? I told you you were easy to tease!"

" ... Futaba-neechan's such a big bully zura."

"Sorry, sorry, I was just kidding with you Maru! Don't get angry at your big sister, please~"

"Uuu ... Maru guesses Maru will let Futaba-neechan off the hook this time. So? What did Futaba-neechan need Maru for?"

"Oh, right! Teasing you was so fun I almost forgot why I called you in the first place! Teehee!"

"Don't teehee Maru, zura!" By now Maru has puffed out Maru's cheeks so much, Maru actually does look like a fat hamster.

"Haha, sorry, sorry! Actually, the agency contacted me earlier this morning. Sounds like they want you to go in for a bit. Eleven o'clock work for you?"

"Hmm? Maru doesn't have anything planned for today ... Maru's fine with that. What does the agency want with Maru though zura? Especially on a Sunday?"

"Well, all they told me was to ask you to go in today. I don't really know anything else beyond that. If you ask me, they probably want to talk to you about work. You want me to come pick you up later, or should I just go straight to the agency offices and wait for you there?"

"It's okay, Futaba-neechan. Maru can go straight to the agency and meet up with you there zura."

"Gotcha. I'll see you later then, Maru. Bye-bye!"

"Bye-bye, Futaba-neechan. Drive safely zura!"

Maru puts Maru's phone down and continues munching on Maru's toast.

"Hmm ... why is the agency calling Maru in on a Sunday? It's probably like what Futaba-neechan said, and they have some work for Maru zura~"

Maru stuffs the last bite of Maru's toast into Maru's mouth and drains the Maru mug.

"Guess Maru had better get ready for then zura!"

---

An hour or so later, Maru's cleaned up the dishes from breakfast, taken a shower, brushed Maru's teeth and changed Maru's clothes. For today, Maru's picked out a combo of a hoodie over a T-shirt, together with a pair of jeans.

"This looks more like what Maru's friends would wear zura. But Maru guesses it's not bad to try a new style out every once in a while zura~"

Maru makes sure Maru has brought everything Maru will need later on - purse, e-payment card, Maru backpack and a bottle of water. Maru doesn't seem to be missing anything.

"Maru's worrying too much ... Maru's only going in for a meeting at the agency anyway, not a camping trip zura."

Maru steps outside and turns to face the empty hallway.

"Maru is heading out now. Maru will be back later in the evening zura!"

Maru imagines the guardian kami of Maru's apartment coming out from her hiding place to send Maru off.

"Take care, Maru-chan. I'll be waiting for you to come back."

A grin lights up Maru's face as Maru nods enthusiastically in response.

"Thank you zura!"

Maru closes and locks the door of Maru's apartment with Maru's keycard, tugging on the doorknob to make sure it's locked properly, before slipping the keycard into Maru's pocket.

"Maru Amamiya is heading out now! See you later!"

[Gylias]

Ministry of Regulation / Ministère d'réglementation

Official statement by Minister Haruko Nishimura on the Haigia tragedy

In the two weeks since the horrible events that took place in Haigia, our thoughts have been with the people of Quenmin. We mourn the deaths of the victims, and wish all the best to the injured and displaced in their recover. To that end, we have provided aid and assistance to those affected, in cooperation with the authorities of Quenmin, to the best extent. Such a task is humbling, and inspires awe and deep reflection. We hope that our volunteers and our assistance will have been able to make even the smallest contribution to helping the people of Quenmin in their hour of need.

The conclusions of the Quenminese government's investigation into the explosion has been shocking and appalling. The facts have now been established that this was a human-made disaster. Violations of health and safety regulations, negligence, and crimes of official misconduct have been identified as the causes of the explosion.

It is blood-boiling to hear the evidence presented to the Committee. The previously confidential correspondence which brims with a sense of impunity is now stained with the blood of the dead and maimed. The monstrous disregard for life in these documents has been fully exposed, and has directly led to the deaths, injuries, and displacements that have horrified a nation.

I want to express our continuing solidarity with the people of Quenmin, and our support for the authorities in their efforts to identify those responsible and have them face the consequences for their actions.

The tragedy at Haigia has confronted Quenmin, and all countries, with disturbing questions about how particularly determined companies can ignore regulations established to protect people, in pursuit of greater profits. It shows the logical conclusion of irresponsible attempts to vilify rules and practices that make workplaces safer, and which are indispensable to guaranteeing the people's welfare. The best tribute we can pay to its victims is to confront these questions without fear, and apply the lessons that will emerge from the bitterly-won wisdom of the investigation to ensure that such a tragedy will not be allowed to happen again out of criminal negligence.