[Kerbin Only] Kerbin in Jeopardy

[Nostrapais]

The door of Field Marshal Beaufort's office slammed open. Three seemingly quite angry generals barged in. Sitting at his chair, wearing the white uniform of the highest ranking officers of the Nostrapaisian armies, the middle aged man rose his head from his papers.

"What brings you there gentlemen ?"

The first of them, General Faucher, slammed a sheet of grey paper on the wooden table.

"Please André, tell me this is a joke."

He who has the highest authority over the army after the Minister of Armies and the Prime Minister grabbed the paper and started reading it half out loud half muttering.

"Upon decision of the Party and Ministry of Armies... Mmhm... therefore be banned Nuclear, Chemical weapons from the country's soil... Mmhm... payload delivery systems also to be forbidden..."

The general starred at him, waiting for him to be finished before taking a deep breath.

"André, don't tell me you agreed to that load of bullshit. No nukes ever ? No gas, VX ? No ballistic missiles ? What the hell are we going to do if a bigger fish wants us for dinner !?"

Beaufort sighed.

"Listen, this is for the greater good."

"For the greater good ? How !?"

"How ? Haven't you noticed the increasing amount of money the country's been sinking into the army ? Did you miss the arrival of the Barkadian soldiers in the Puybeau base and Castelet airfield ? Have you ignored our recent arms deal and renewal of our arsenal, the refurbishment of our planes ? Did you turn a blind eye to the Barkadian financing and advisors arriving into our military schools ? Well, if you have, get yourself some new glasses because our neighbors definitely did not. Something had to be done to reinsure them and avoid an arms race on the continent. Otherwise, I am sure we both know how that would have ended and I am sure as hell you do not want our beautiful country war thorn and dismantled Icaria style, am I right General ?"

The emphasis was on the last word. Faucher and his two comrades immediately stood back, in the garde-à-vous stance. This wasn't the old friend with whom they made their classes with who was in front of them but their superior.

"Yes sir !"

"Good, any other questions ?"

"Yes sir actually. If I may speak freely ?"

"You did not seem to have much issues with that a minute ago my dear Maxime."

The general sighed.

"I am worried André. All that Barkadian money flowing in... All the advisors... In a decade, there won't be a bridge, a road, an airport, a dock left in this country we can't thank them for building or rebuilding. And on the other side, a non-aggression pact with Verkimlund and that joint police effort on the border... What does the Party has in mind with all that ? It feels like we are giving away our country bit by bit..."

"That's international politics for you Maxime. Whether you want it or not, we can't survive alone, we don't have the economy, the industry neither the army for that. If a bunch or dirty anarchists is giving us troubles, imagine what a fully fledged armed or economic conflict could do to us. There's no harm in taking the hand of a friend who has been trying to reach for yours for some time already, especially when you know how generous he is. And as for Verkimlund, if we can safeguard our back and show that we are not some recluse savages while we do our little business in our corner, it is for the better."

"I don't like this at all..."

"The Party knows better than just surrendering our country Maxime, I can tell you that."

"But what if they don't ? What if they've been payed out by those Bark..."

He stopped in the middle of his sentence. In front of him, in the hand of the Field Marshall, the black barrel of a Makarov was looking at him straight into his eyes.

"One more word Maxime, and I have you jailed for insubordination. What you said in this office will stay in this office, but if I ever hear this kind of things coming out of your mouth again, you can say goodbye to your uniform. And that warning is worth for everyone here, is this clear ?"

The pistol barrel swung from left to right, pointing at the two other officers. In unison, the three answered.

"Yes sir !"

"Good, I hope you will remember this or else. Dismissed."

[Corgelia]

Office of Valerie Karzensa, Prezyrev, SUNC

Valerie held her head in her hands. Christ, another tiring day. How many more of these could she take? The buzzing of her phone shook her from her lament. It was her secretary. Begrudgingly, she pulled to her face. "What do you need?"
"It's the Young Cancodian Faction, or Union of Novacodians, or whatever they're calling themselves this week. They scheduled a meeting, remember?"

"Fine, send them in. I'll be ready for them." She put down the phone, silently chastising herself for just absentmindedly agreeing to talk to whoever these idiots were. She took a moment to make herself look more presentable, and pull out a notepad. Maybe she might actually learn something from them, or at least invent some wonderful new expletives. She heard a few knocks on her door. "Come in." A few men and women walked in, with some incredibly old, and others look quite young. She wasn't sure what to make of them, from her first impressions. An older man was the first to speak.

"Thank you for time, Ms- Mrs. Karzensa. We have come to propose an end to the disunity of Cancodian Socialist Union Party. It may seem very not normal, but we tell you it is very effective." Valerie looked on in confusion. A younger woman took the initiative.

"Our apologies for our eldest. Wise as he is, he hasn't been in our Union since before the Union, so his Anderian is a little... out of practice. We, as members of our great socialist union, have been troubled by the now-common gridlock and ineffective legislating present within the Congress. We have a proposal some might consider radical, but we seek your approval." Valerie looked intrigued, but was suspicious. It'd been a long time since she'd seen any Exiles in her office, and they typically had good reason to not be around these parts.

"So, what are you proposing?"

"Well, it is obvious that your tenure has been the most prosperous time for the Union, that we have ever known. Under your guidance, we have cemented our position against the Kerthenians, made staggering advances in industry and technology, and truly come into our own as a world power. Clearly, your leadership is responsible for our Union's newfound greatness, and the congress only seeks to undermine your authority. However, splendid as your presidency has been, our nation faces a quintessential struggle: Identity. Beyond socialism, our nation lacks much to call our own and unite us. With these two important ideas in mind, we have come to a most elegant solution."

Valerie leaned forward, concerned.

"We suggest that our great Socialist Union be reformed into a grand Socialist Imperial Union, with Valerie Karzensa as our Empress. After all, could some not call the Anderian premiers of old tsars?? What limits an empress from functioning within our system? Imagine a nation, equal and united in trust of our Empress, not falling to the partisan politics of the Congress! Though the congress lacks the spine to support our ideas, with your support we could easily bypass them. What do you think, Empress?"

Valerie fell back in her chair, dumbstruck. "I... am in absolute awe at your proposal. It lacks terms to define its absolute stupidity, for no linguist has put enough thought into creating a description of something with so little sense. The idea that the people would accept the idea of a new monarchy, much less one trying to call itself socialist, is so out of touch that it may as well be a middle-aged Kerthenian obsessed with Eusonian cartoons. It would turn our Union, which we have worked so hard to build a reputation for, into a laughing stock. Asinine politicians like you are why the party is hardly existent anymore! I'm done with dealing with idiots like you lot. Go! Tell my secretary to come in here, so I may discuss with her my resignation. And do let the door hit you on the way out!"
The Young Cancodians began what seemed like a death march out of the office. Her secretary would come up long after, to the absolutely enraged, but also incredibly exhausted Valerie. "You called?"

"I think my time here in this office is done. I'm going to be announcing my resignation tomorrow."
"Are you serious? We both know you have no successor, and the congress won't be able to put forward a new one. It'll throw the party into turmoil!"
"To be entirely honest, that's not my problem anymore. I've not got many years left, and as long as I don't get them cut short by nuclear hellfire, i'll be plenty fine with it. Cancel any more appointments I have today, and take the rest of the day off. You've served me well, and I am immensely grateful for all your services over the years. Have a great afternoon."
And so were the last words Valerie Karzensa would speak in the office of the President.

[Nostrapais]

The door was open. Slowly, one step at a time, he entered the room. It was as dark inside as it was outside. It was way past midnight yet the heat of the day hadn't gone down. He had a hard time breathing under the scarf covering his face. His flashlight's ray slowly passed over the walls and furniture. On its path, it illuminated a desk covered in notebooks, pens, papers, it passed by a bookshelf filled with plushes, records, books and various souvenirs, then skimmed over a leather sit on which clothes were haphazardly thrown; black jeans, white tee, grey bra, red hoodie. Finally, the light stopped wandering around. He found what he was looking for. A bed. More precisely, the shape rolled in its sheets. He slowly walked towards it. The wooden floor tiles were creaking under his heavy boots. In front of it, he stopped. A mass of long black hairs was scattered on the pillow, almost hiding the face of their owners. For him, there was no doubt anymore, it was her. He cocked the hammer of the pistol he had been holding in his left hand and reached for her shoulder with his right one. And he stopped. Something was not right. A stream of pain engulfed his right arm. The face seemingly asleep was looking at him with wide open eyes filled with terror while, from his wrist, the handle of a short knife was emerging. His left arm violently fell, hitting her on the temple with the butt of the pistol. Her pupils turned up as she fell back into her pillow, starring at him with white eyes. He painstakingly reached for the handcuffs and tied her. Then, taking a couple step back, he went for his earpiece:

"Command, this is Alpha 3, target apprehended but unconscious. Will need help to get her down to the van though, the bitch got me right."

"Alpha 3, this is Command, roger, Alpha 4 and 5 are on their way, rest of the family is neutralized and apprehended. Is a medical team needed ?"

He let a grown of pain out while extracting the knife from his wrist. A flow of blood followed the blade, tainting his grey camouflage suit in dark red.

"Would be much appreciated Command. Got tourniquets on me but I doubt they'll do me much good..."

"Roger, Alpha 4 and 5 will bring you back."

Stars where dancing in front of his eyes. He shook his head.

"Fuck me..."

The door opened, the room was flooded by the lights of two more flashlights. Two men in the same grey uniforms as his entered. As the first went towards the bed, verifying the cuffs before putting a bag over the head of the unconscious girl and grabbing her over his shoulder, the second one walked towards him.

"You okay man ?"

"Not really, feel nauseous, like I'm drifting away."

Despite the tourniquet and the compression from his hand, the pool of blood under the floor was becoming larger and larger.

"Let's get you out of here."

His colleague put his valid arm over his shoulder while grabbing him by his side and led him towards the exit of the house where five black vans and a grey sedan were waiting. Halfway through the small garden where a team was trying to shove a tranquilized dog into a small caged box, he fell unconscious, prompting vigorous swearing from his squadmate.
In the grey car, besides the driver, one man in a suit and a lady wearing a uniform were waiting, both looking at the screens embedded in the back of the front seats displaying the bodycams of the troopers.

"Well, congratulations colonel, it looks like the first mission of your new task force went down without much troubles bare that one wound."

"Thank you comrade Martel. I would have hoped for an even better outcome but I can ensure you, we will do our best to minimize these kind of incidents."

"I hope so. Public opinion will already not be fan of nighttime raptures, we do not need blood spilled over that. Still, these anarchists have pushed it too far, cracking down is needed. Just do your best to keep it clean."

"Will do sir."

[Barkadia]

The Rada Building

Vincent sits at his desk bored, reading paperwork and staring off into the distance every few minutes. He couldn't stop thinking about the progress being made both home and abroad over the last few months. He secured Eastern Barkadia. He's slowly bringing the troops home. The instability is finally starting to recede. Domestic reforms at home show great promise at rebuilding what was lost, along with foreign competition. It's such a-"

A knock at the door breaks his train of thought.

"Come in!"

The majority leader of The Council quickly comes in and takes a seat in front of Vincent.

"I wanted to talk to you about these aid packages to Nari. Especially these military technologies. I think that-"

"No need."

"...what?"

"I was talking to both the Karan and Narian ambassadors earlier today. You know that land that Nari occupies? It's Karan. After I informed them of the military side of this aid, they got upset. I tried to get negotiations between us three going, but Nari wouldn't budge. We are no longer sending military aid to Nari for at least the time being."

"But why?

"As I said, the Narians won't budge on their occupied lands and Karans are upset at us for proposing support to them. East Kara, despite not being fully socialist in my opinion, will always be the better ally. They are more powerful, stable, and supportive of Anderia. Until Nari budges on land or the Karans don't care, we just can't. Besides, we already have Nostrapais, which I think would be a far better base in the future for influence within Cancodia."

"Well, I guess I'm done here then. Good talk."

He gets up and leaves the room.

[Barkadia]

Cuda, formally Stolska, Barkadia

The stage in the middle of the urban park was set up with numerous green, red, and white ribbons. A banner with "City Renaming Party" hangs over the podium in colored letters. A crowd in the tens of thousands talks loudly as they drink and walk around. Vincent Čiernik waits behind the curtain for his time to shine. He's confident. He's ready for this.

He slowly walks out into the public eye to the cheers and yelling of everyone who spots him. He parks himself in front of the podium.

"September 6th, 2018. A date the people of Sverna will remember for centuries to come. The Barkadian military, righteous in its endeavors against what was once our greatest enemy, liberated the great peoples trapped under Kolonian oppression for nearly 50 years. Many were born and died, many started families and graduated from school. But everyone then and everyone now never forgot their struggles to free themselves from occupation and return themselves to the country struggling for their self determination. It was only the strength of the new socialist government and the pure incompetence of the occupiers that brought you finally back. Even during the recent war against the Kolonians, you people showed the world your epic resolve as you fought Kolonian forces in their offensive war against our comrades to the south. It is safe to say that without your participation, the war would've went drastically different. Today, I think that the name Stolska no longer represents you. You need a name that shows your revolutionary ferocity, your struggle, and your determination. From today forwards, the city of Stolska will now be known as Cuda! Cuda, as in Jakub Cuda, proud libertarian revolutionary and fighter! Without him, none of us would be here. Without him, true freedom would not be possible. Thank you for having me, proud Barkadians."

He walks off the stage as the thunderous cheering nearly deafens him.

[Nostrapais]

It was safe to say this mountainside never saw that many people in its millennia of existence. For the little people surrounding it, it was seemingly a big occasion. Heavy but classy coats, stylish costums mingled with the uniforms of the Party officials and the more utilitarian clothes of the journalists and work crews around. White, yellow and orange construction helmet would have given the impression of a spilled pack of sweets to an aeronaut passing above the scene. If the mountain was capable of thoughts, she would have wondered why they were all hiding behind thick glasses panels. A red carpet running from the crowd all the way to her side would have been likely to further trigger its curiosity. The small yellow cable snaking onto it would have surely stirred her interest even more. If the gigantic pile of rock was sentient, she would have felt the stings of the pickaxes chewing at her sides just a few hours ago, she would have seen the small red cylinders placed into the cuts opened by Man's tools. But she was a mountain, unaware of the cataclysm about to wreck her entrails in the name of friendship. In a few seconds, Adriana Vajanská, representative of Barkadia in Nostrapais would push a black and yellow stripped latch, open a small transparent lid surrounded by warning signs and alarmist texts and push a red, stiff button. In an apocalyptic thunder, a cloud of dust would surround the small people and the glass panels would resonate from the impacts of hundreds of small rocks launched by the explosives. If the mountain had a voice, she would have roared in grief, covering the cheers, stopping the hands about to shake and the joy at the first chirp of a new tunnel to link the two sides of the nation. If the mountain could feel, she would have endured the pain of a caesarean operation, nursed by Barkadia and Nostrapais. Surely, she would have refused such a trauma had she known. But how could she ? In the end, it was just a mountain.

[Almedian Malabar]

https://i.imgur.com/pr7G7Wh.jpg

[Barkadia]

June 27th, 2021

A camera crew encircles the softwood desk of the True Pine. They are finalizing the set up with which Vincent will broadcast the annual "Revolutionary Message" across Barkadian airwaves. The True Pine streams through the open door into his office and everyone glances at him walking by.

"I'm glad that on what was supposed to be your day off, you still volunteer to come in and do this for me. It truly means a lot." He says.

The director looks up. "This is our role, our small sacrifice from us to you. We would never not do it, sir."

"That makes me happy," he says.

After a few minutes, the crew finishes setting up. Vincent takes a seat at his desk and stares down the large television camera in front of him.

"You ready?" The director says. "You don't get another take for this."

"Ready as I will ever be." He smirks.

The clock clicks to 5:59. He sighs as the camera operator gives him a silent thumbs up.

The big hand hits the 11. And then in the middle of 11 and 12. The hand next to the camera in front of him silently counts down from 5. At 1, he opens his mouth.

"Good evening, my fellow Barkadians. Tonight is what is now the 16th anniversary of the 2005 Revolution. When the exploited and downtrodden broke their chains and threw out the capitalists and monarchists for good. A testament to the world about the power of the people. People across the world, and some even within Barkadia itself question the successfulness of the revolution. They bring up the wars, the government corruption and secrecy, and many other real issues, and use them to accuse us of failing. They could not be more wrong. Our resolve has been tested, yes. We have struggled and bled for vague and unnecessary causes, yes. But now, Barkadian socialism has prevailed stunningly in a way most would find unbelievable. The economy has exploded into a mighty force of production and capability. Despite the mobilization and domestic hiccups, we maintain the second largest economy on the continent, and the growth is almost unparalleled. Our population continues to grow while those around us become older and more desperate. In 2005, we were the only country on the continent that was socialist. Just 13 years later, both a Stractan city and those in Faulksnia liberated themselves, and just a few years after that, real talks of a union between Barkadia and Faulksnia are now occurring. We have proud allies across the world, from the Anderians, to the proud peoples of Nostrapais and Nari, and those within Icaria. It is therefore foolish to say that we have failed. Thanks to the workers and the workers alone, we have carved out such an amazing presence in a world of instability and war. As our socialist republic marches on into the future, I can say that between now and next year that we will continue to fight and work for what is right, regardless of who sits in this seat. Truly, it is not up to who is in this office. It is up to you. And I think it is unquestionable that we will succeed in our endeavors to bring socialism and freedom to the world. Thank you all for joining me on this amazing night. I hope to see you again next year."

The camera operator gives a thumbs up again. The crew around Vincent claps loudly as he sighs in relief.

Across the nation, TV sets and phone screens streaming the event flip to an image of the Barkadian flag waving. A man announces, "All rise," as instruments and singing starts in the background.

Ej, hor sa sveta proletári,
Ej, hor sa hladom mučení!
Už nášho hnevu sopka žiari,
To bude výbuch posledný.
Rozboríme sveta starý základ,
Otroci hor sa k vít’azstvám!
Zabráňme minulosti návrat,
L’ud bude vládnut’ navždy sám.

Posledná borba vplála,
Dajme sa na pochod!
Internacionála
Je l’udstva nový zrod.
Posledná borba vplála,
Dajme sa na pochod!
Internacionála
Je l’udstva nový zrod.

Nik spásu nečakaj od pánov
Zbor zákony ich stáročné!
Preč trónmi tyranov a král’ov
A blaho vzíde spoločné.
Prelomíme žalár ducha dávny
V slobodnej práci spása tkvie,
A náš svet postavíme si slávny
Železo kujme žeravé.

Posledná borba vplála,
Dajme sa na pochod!
Internacionála
Je l’udstva nový zrod.
Posledná borba vplála,
Dajme sa na pochod!
Internacionála
Je l’udstva nový zrod.

Už vstáva robotník i rol’ník,
Uz’ vstáva strana veliká.
Nový raz príde sveta život vol’ný,
Zem všetkým l’ud’om slúžit má.
Dlho nám krv pili supi čierne,
Havrnov kŕdle zbesilé.
Rozptýli nové ráno tiene
A slnce svitne žiarivé.

Posledná borba vplála,
Dajme sa na pochod!
Internacionála
Je l’udstva nový zrod.
Posledná borba vplála,
Dajme sa na pochod!
Internacionála
Je l’udstva nový zrod.

Posledná borba vplála,
Dajme sa na pochod!
Internacionála
Je l’udstva nový zrod.
Posledná borba vplála,
Dajme sa na pochod!
Internacionála
Je l’udstva nový zrod.

[Omniabstracta]

[Nostrapais]

"Are they kidding me !?"

General Faucher sent the folder flying through the room.

"A space program with Anderia and Barkadia, a bloody launchpad here but no military payload fired from it ? What in the name of God are they thinking !?"

He violently swiped his desk with his left arm, sending several piles of papers, pens, a phone and a computer screen flying across the room.

"Enough of this bullshit ! Enough !"

He grabbed one of the few remaining paper sheets on his desk, grabbed a ballpen and started writing, putting all his anger into his letters, carving the desk's wood through the paper.
He thought his brain was focused on the terms of his resignation but this was not exactly right. In the haze of his rage, a small light was shining, becoming clearer and clearer, closer and closer. His hand steadily slowed down until he rose it from the paper. The idea was here, its brightness illuminating his mind, kicking away the anger that clouded it. He tore up the paper and threw it into hus bin.

"Resign ? To hell with that ! I didn't fail to protect my country ! It's them, bloody traitors !"

His fist fell on his desk.

"Oh if they think I will allow them to sell my country to these foreigners…"

Faucher retrieved his phone from the ground.

"They'll get what they deserve, these bastards."

He quickly flipped through a massive phone book before putting his finger on the number he was looking for.

"The enemy of my enemy's my friend. Oh these Judas will get it. We can be two to play this game !"

He started tipping the number on the keys of the phone. Meanwhile, at the tip of his finger was a name and an office.

Marin Segal - Inner Party, Anarchist Formation

[Barkadia]

Formation of the ABN Aerospace Group

The governments of Anderia, Barkadia, and Nostrapais are pleased to announce the formation of the ABN Aerospace group, a coalition of the three nations dedicated to the development of an independent socialist air and space program utilizing the involvement of the resources and knowledge in the alliance. The goal of the group is to eventually lead to a self sustaining joint Barkadian-Nostrapaian program with its own operations and launch site based on the east or south coast of Nostrapais. Initially, the Barkadian and Nostrapaian programs will utilize Anderian facilities and science to gain further know how in order to understand the mechanics of space flight and its operations. Funding will be contributed equally to ensure fairness and equal contribution. A joint holding company will be set up between enterprises in each of the partner nations to aid in investing Prior Anderian experience over the last 70 years will be crucial in ensuring steady and continuous success in the program. Further aiding initial efforts are the Barkadian missions into space already, like with on the Serrian shuttle funded by the Barkadian government. The group also hopes that other socialist nations become willing to contribute or join, so that the speed and reliability of the program can increase massively and aid efforts in other parts of the world to enter the field in a big way. Further news will be announced as progress continues and launch dates become public knowledge. This is all for now.

[Nostrapais]

Walking in the arsenal with his staff, General Faucher was observing the new line established just a few days ago. A couple dozen workers where conscientiously scrubbing off the markings of Nostrapaisian assault rifles returned after the units to which they belonged received their new Barkadian made weapons. The question of what to do with the old rifles quickly arose and a compromise was soon found. Officially, a great majority of them would be taken back to the factory and modified to be sold onto the civilian export market. Much less officially, several thousands would be kept, have their Nostrapaisian markings removed to ensure plausible deniability and be sent as aid to communist insurgencies across the world. A first batch was already being prepared for Baydorian rebels and several hundred rifles would be smuggled across the borders in a matter of weeks.
Faucher had been put in charge of this project despite his violent objections against it. A few months ago, he would have accomplished his task flawlessly for he was a patriotic man and he prized loyalty in duty above all qualities, but times had changed. Ridiculed by his superiors, feeling betrayed by the Party opening up the country more and more to outsiders, he decided to rise, to save his country. Not all the rifles would go to Baydor. The Anarchist would get more than a few, alongside some of the newer Barkadian weapons.
Merely arming them wasn't his goal though. He hated them for threatening his land and all he stood for. They would solely be a tool in his hands. People would get shot, these rifles would inevitably be found, be it in caches or in the cold hands of terrorists killed by the special forces. These weapons would turn what is really a group of rag-tag rebellious students into a seemingly deeply infiltrated and dangerous menace. The Barkadian rifles would be the cherry atop the cake. How could such new weaponry have ended in the hands of these lowlifes ? Traitors within the rearmed regiments ? He, General Faucher, would plead the integrity of his soldiers and their ideological orthodoxy, he had enough prestige to be trusted on the matter so how would it be possible ? Foreign aid ? Everything would point at Barkadia supporting them, isn't this country the Mecca of Anarchism after all ? Accusing Barkadia in public would be political suicide for any Party Member but a few information leak here and there and the newspaper would take care of it for them and the distrust of the people for the outsiders would skyrocket. After that, everything would snowball without him having to touch anything more. Perhaps a few declarations here and there to throw more oil on the fire or reinvigorate it would be needed from time to time but that would be about it. The strength of public opinion and the will of politics to keep their comfy chairs under their asses would do the job for him.
A large smile was enlightening the face of Faucher. The workers cheered for him, thinking he was proud of their work when, in reality, his thoughts were miles away from them, mere pawns on his checker.

[Faulksnia]

Hall of the People, Foksberg

The Special Council sat around a semi-circular table, littered with flipped-through briefings and electronic tablets. Another official stood by the large screen the others faced, wrapping up a presentation.

"The inquiries found all relevant parties are on board, do we have verbal confirmation?" A chorus of "Aye" rang out around the table.

"Good, my team will begin drafting the formal press release after this meeting. Welcome to the space age, comrades, I am so glad that Faulksnia will finally get the chance to participate in the final frontier. And now to Education Councilmember Jorgensen."

"Greetings, special council. All sub-councils have reported that we have the full support of the teachers' unions to start implementing mandatory Barkadian language learning. Proper resources have been partitioned to acquire the necessary classroom support, textbooks are being given priority at the national printing houses and the last headcount was 70% of the needed language teachers have been hired for the coming year." There was a spattering of applause. "Additionally, work has begun on dual-language signs in all schools. Additional considerations for deaf and blind students and faculty are being developed, raised bumps in both languages are the present solution and samples are being tested to ensure clarity."

"Thank you, Councilmembers Jorgensen and Hildas. The major topics of today's meeting have been addressed, are there any more concerns that need to be heard? No, well then, the meeting is dismissed, I'll see you all next week." Most of the councilmembers collected their various papers and briefcases and filed out of the room. Three that had stayed behind quickly swept the room, emptied the trash, and turned off the lights before the door clicked shut one last time.

[Barkadia]

This is Pine Station, bringing you all news Barkadian since 2005.

"Good evening, and welcome to the show. We are your hosts, Dominik Biskup, and Katarína Urbanová. We begin tonight with news in relation to the newly established ABN Aerospace Group, which came into public knowledge just a few days ago. Faulksnia, our socialist ally to the immediate south, was not made aware of the initiative initially. After knowledge of the program became fully public knowledge, their government asked for entrance into the program. After a quick vote within the ABN, they were unanimously accepted in, and last night, their government confirmed their admission. All four governments are now steadily progressing forwards into the advancement of aerospace."

"Hey, Dominik. Do you think we should be focusing more on space? As flashy and science as it is I don't see the point when those Kolonians are outpacing us here on the ground."

"Space programs always have a massive return, Katarina. A lot of the so called "flashy" things we use today come from spaceflight one way or another. Our own separate technologies in this field will also help us beat the Kolonians as well. Innovation is just as important as anything."

"Continuing forwards in relation to Faulksnia, the negotiations and progress towards a full union state are moving full steam ahead. Just a few weeks ago, Barkadian and Faulksnian leaders met within Foksberg's Capitol to discuss linguistic barriers and solutions to said issues. The Special Council, while also approving ABN membership, also approved a joint bill beginning a mandatory Barkadian language program in schools across their nation to help spur bilingualism and increase progress towards unification. The True Pine appeared live this morning to announce the Barkadian side of the agreement, prioritizing funding for Faulksnian language programs, sign replacements, and reprinting of classroom materials. Language teachers will also be trained over school breaks to understand and teach the Faulksnian language. Signage for those who are impaired and disabled will also be made and distributed across the country. This comes at the cost for what was deemed "less necessary" languages, like Serrian, Kolonian, and Karan. Vincent assured viewers that programs for Anderian, Dolfik, and Stractan will remain mostly unchanged and funded unless difficulties arose in the future."

"Have you been learning much Faulksnian, lately? I've been trying to get proficient, I want to vacation in the south soon. I heard their trees turn orange in the fall, which is between winter and summer I think."

"I'm retiring soon, and I don't plan on leaving the country. Being older puts a damper on things."

"When those Anderians decide to come up with some age reversing thing, maybe you should try it! Being old is no excuse to be lazy!"

"When you're my age, see if you say the same thing."

"Anyways, the civil war within the defunct state of Baydor continues to intensify, with casualties mounting across the country as the irregular front lines shift and change almost hourly. Although the government forces, mainly consisting of pro liberal western democracy fighters, control most of the country, including the capital, the communist and fascist factions are currently gaining steam as government forces defect and fail to counterattack. Even though the conflict only started in April, just three months ago, the government has lost control of much of the country. The Barkadian government has hesitated on declaring the communist government legitimate, not wanting to jeopardize the remaining relations with Dolfikland, the main supporter of the Baydor government, just months after tensions in Icaria were stoked. However, there have been suspicious that the government is masking neutrality to ship armaments to leftist forces, despite the lack of evidence. Several Council members and prominent politicians have called for Barkadia to support Baydor communists, and to push Anderia to do the same. There has been no official action at this time."

"This is all for now. Up next, are you prepared for the warm, dry weather heading our way? Meteorologist Zdenko Slavik will brief you on what to expect this next coming week."

"Isn't it supposed to be almost 27 in some places? Warmest it's been in years it feels like"

"Then I don't need a jacket."

[Nostrapais]

Faucher woke up in a strange mood. His mind still clouded by his agitated night, the images of his nightmare were still carved in his memory.
Through his closed eyelids, he could perceive no light. He always slept with his shutter opened to get out of bed alongside the sun. He grunted. His biological clock had failed him. The rare days he woke up before sunrise were always poor ones he spent in a muddy mood, generally ending with headaches. Today was bound to be exceptionally bad as he could already feel the pain hammering his temple.
Knowing himself, he wouldn't be able to go back to sleep. The best course of action was to get himself a coffee, a couple aspirin pills, do his morning exercises, and relax in the couch, in front of his TV, for a couple hours before service called him at his office.
Eyes still closed, he stretched, waited a couple minute to make the most of of the warm sheets before pushing them away and jumping out of his bed. His bare feet encountered a cold, hard surface. For a second, his hazy mind hesitated.
Wasn't there supposed to be a fluffy carpet there ? He shivered. The pieces started to assemble in his mind. Slowly, Faucher raised his hand towards the side of his head. Here, he found a large hematoma. His heart started racing.
He fell back on his bed, refusing to open his eyes, nearly hyperventilating. It took him minutes, minutes that resembled hours to calm down, get his breath on check. Then only, one after another, he opened his eyes.
With the nervous chuckle, the delirious irony of one's whom sanity is challenged by an horrid shock, he remarked how much his bedroom changed. No more plaster walls covered in contemporary paintings, gone the rough but familiar wooden floorboard, exit the large windows, washed away the fine marquetry furniture. All of that was replaced by a concrete walls, a steel tubing bed, a ceramic toilet sit and an armored door. For an hour, perhaps two, he sat, often giggling, sometimes muttering. Gone, gone, gone, everything gone !
For an hour, maybe two, his reason brawled with madness in a fight to death. For long, uncertain the issue was but, at last, light prevailed. And what light. A single blinding, burning lightning.

His nightmare... His nightmare wasn't a nightmare !


Five hours earlier...


General Faucher pushed back his phone, a smile on his face and a tear in his left eye. On the screen, the picture of a lady embracing two little boys. His wife, or rather, ex-wife.
Their story was the one of millions other couple. At first, blind, mad love, then, children, and at last, boredom. This was ten years ago.
Then, Faucher was 43 and energetic like he was 30. He knew it wasn't long before he'd cheat on her. Only, if he was an impulsive person, he was far from egoist and, if his love, their love was dead, he still had a strong respect for she who shared his life for two decades. So he told he all he had on his heart and in her, she found a likeminded individual. They both signed the paper the attorney gave them without a scream or a tear, simply kissed each other goodbye on the cheeks like when they were friends, a long time ago, and they went their ways. She kept the boys and the house they built together. Faucher was an officer, the army would house him well but not somewhere where two children could stay and live like they should. He consoled himself with regular visits. Extraordinarily, no grief ever rose between the two. From husbands they turned friends like one turns 20 on his birthday.
Lately though, things changed for Faucher. Successful, he was a confident and even daring man, willing to push his luck to its limits. Defeated, he was vengeful and tenuous as we saw. Only uncertainty could attain this strong nature and strike it at its heart. Uncertain, his mind tortured him with imaginary plots against him, invisible enemies rising from shadowy corner to strike him down. Lately, he was uncertain. Could he trust his contact ? Would he be able to take him down quickly enough after the first part of his plan succeeded ?
Faucher had rarely been uncertain. In fact, one could count those moments on the fingers of a single hand. The first time was at the military recruitment bureau. The second was the Officer's Academy entry examination. The third and fourth times where his ex-wife's pregnancies. And each time, he had her by his side to comfort him, to tell him that everything would go his way with a few, well chosen words. If he took his phone this evening, it was because once more, he needed those words. In veiled words, easily deniable words he told her everything and he saw the light in her eyes. He knew she understood what he meant, in which titanic struggle he engaged for his country and, above all, what he wanted to hear. And so, just like before, just like thirteen, fifteen, sixteen, twenty years ago, she encouraged him with the same words.
When he pushed back the mobile phone, he felt like he could have taken over the country if he wanted to. So, at peace with himself, a strange warmth in his hear, he went to bed.

In a half sleep, he heard the engines of several heavy vehicles in the street. Suddenly, a strong light was in his face, blinding him.

"It's him !" shouted a voice muffled by a scarf or a balaclava.

Faucher tried to reach for the gun under his pillow. Everything turned red. Tinnitus tore his ears and a sharp pain ran through his head. In his last moment of consciousness, he felt rough canvas running over his head.

"Bagged and tagged." calmly said a far away voice with an ironic accent.

[Nostrapais]

Cold. Cold was the light. Cold was the room. Cold he was. He had been sitting there for hours, silent in front of the questions, quietly facing the screams, mute before the menaces. If there was one thing he took away from the Nostrapaisian army training, it was to never ever talk. So he stayed on this steel and plastic chair, his face as inexpressive as a stone. Inside though, he was smiling. He knew they would not have the guts to torture him or to attack its relatives. Nostrapaisian investigators had one big weakness: they followed their laws. No waterboarding, no shocks, no famishing. They could growl, bark but, like chihuahuas, never get beyond that. They would never break him.
During the first few days, he listened closely to their hailstorm of empty words in the hope of understanding how they got him. The following ones, he gave up. It was always the same banter teaching him nothing he didn't already knew, just declined in various synonyms depending on the flavor of the day. His own interrogations thus stayed as unanswered as theirs. Who did him in ? Did they have a bug on his phone ? Was he denounced or did it all start with a lucky guess ?
One day, his questions were answered. The investigators, lead by the sir Caron, had enough. They tried everything the law allowed them to do only to face a mute statue. So, they decided to slam down their last two cards. Two aces up their sleeve. They took him in his cell, put a bag over his face, shoved him at the back of an armored truck and drove him to the suburbs of Monchastel. When they took the bag away, he was standing into the ceiling of a small but clean house, between two soldiers, facing the head inspector assigned to his affair. In front of him, rows of rifles. The ones he had smuggled out. They asked him if he recognized these, he did not say anything, so the first blow fell. Two men where introduced into the room, wearing the Party uniform. Despite his apparent calm, his heart jumped a beat and his mouth twisted. Martin Segal stood in front of him.

"Mister Segal, do you recognize this man as the one who contacted you to offer you weapons ?" asked the inspector.

"I cannot tell sir, I only ever had dealing with him over phone, the recordings of which I have handed you. My assistant, Mister Olivier here beside me is the one who personally received the weapons."

"I do recognize him." simply said the man.

"Thanks you sirs. you can be assured the Party will be pleased by the Anarchist formation's cooperation in this affair. You can dispose."

The two men headed out. The inspector turned back towards Faucher. He was pale but his mouth was still sealed. After nearly fifty years of police work, Caron knew what kind of man he had in front of him. He called them the reeds, like their vegetal namesakes, they bend but don't break under blows. What was needed was a deep, deep cut to make the head fall and spill all it had. So he called in his second ace.

"Welcome Mrs. Faucher." he simply said.

This had the effect he counted on. Already white as a sheet, Faucher paled even more if it was possible at all. So Caron decided to turn the knife in the wound.

"Thank you for contacting us so quickly after your ex-husband, if you recognize this man as such, unveiled his sinister plot to you."

The lady barely looked at the prisoner.

"I do recognize him as my ex-husband and I reaffirm what I told to your inspector."

Then only she turned towards Faucher. The words Caron had hoped for came out of her mouth in a cold, harsh tone.

"I am not sorry. My children will not be marked by the infamy of being the sons of a traitor to the nation, I don't want to have anything to do with your doomed plots."

And what the head inspector expected happened.

"You worthless bitch ! You had my trust ! I'll have your fucking head !" screamed Faucher, his eyes lit with a murderous flame, the two soldiers restraining him.

She walked out of the room after a short gaze filled with disgust towards him. Caron walked towards his prisoner, ignoring the flow of blasphemies and insults now coming from his mouth distorted by anger, hatred.

"You see ? It wasn't that hard. Now tell me, do you still refuse to see that lawyer ?"

[Faulksnia]

An abandoned napkin darted along the edge of the platform as the wedge-nosed train pulled into the station, rails singing. Red and white paint still had that factory shine as the doors opened and a stream of people disembarked. A woman in a studded denim jacket pushed her bike onboard, doors closing behind her. She collapsed into an empty seat and popped in a pair of earbuds. An elderly man across the aisle glared over the top of his magazine as the abrasive music reached him but the punk continued to stare out the window as the city began to blur into itself.

The city suddenly dropped behind them and the train picked up speed as it screamed through fields of wheat interspersed with sheep pastures. Crows took off from the catenary's poles, landing once the disturbance had passed. Wind turbines spun lazily in the afternoon sun. Patches of trees, like bursts of static, blocked the sight of the fields, and as suddenly as they had left the city, the forest enveloped them. A silent herd of deer paused and watched the train thunder by.

A freight train headed the other direction flashed by in a moment, unnoticed by the woman who had long since fallen asleep. Woods flattened out again and the bump of a switch jolted her awake. The town was much older than the city, and streets much older than cars showed very little to anyone moving between. A platform came into view and the town outside slowed to a halt.

"Doors open on the left, Doors open on the left... Dvere sa otvárajú vľavo, Dvere sa otvárajú vľavo"

The punk grabbed her bike from the rack and hopped off the carriage. A parent with a stroller shouted at her as she flew past, already out of sight. A trolleybus groaned against the pavement next to her for a while before she turned off the main road. She smiled when she recognized the lights of the pub and leaned the bike against the facade.

Distorted electric guitar briefly spilled out onto the street while the door swung open and shut. The band didn't appear to know what they were doing but the whole establishment was vibrating from the sound and the dancing. Someone passed her a beer and she popped the cap off with the edge of a table and downed it before wading into the pit with the friends she'd yet to meet.

[Barkadia]

The Council Assembly Room, Kora

The "Ayes" were counted. The "Nays" were counted. The abstentions were counted. It was finally over. All of the 305 Left Coalition members, all 17 Tungists, and 215 2 August Movement members. The super majority has now decided the future of relations with the rest of Andolia.The Barkadian government will immediately cut off relations with the current liberal Baydorian government, and fully recognize the Baydorian socialist state. Civilian and military aid will be negotiated with the communists to support their revolution and to push back Dolfik influence on the continent. Anderia will be pressured to also openly and directly support the communists. Additional materials will be sent to Nostrapais to aid the shipping of resources to Baydor. Vincent always knew that the bill would pass, it was natural for fellow socialists to express solidarity and to ensure survival of revolutionary governments. What struck him as strange is that a large minority of anarchist members voted no or abstained entirely. The party never came off as disunited or splitting. So what changed?

After signing the bill and retreating back to his office, the True Pine rung up his assistant.

"Can you let Mr. Kocur know that I would like to see him in my office the first chance he gets? Thanks."

"Sure thing Vincent."

An hour and a half later, the majority leader of The Council enters his office and plops into the chair in front of his desk.

"Hey man, what's up?"

"What is the deal with our party? Literally an entire third refused to support recognizing the Baydorian communists! Is this something petty or did I do something wrong?"

"A lot of the talk recently has been that you are not actually an anarchist, apparently. You have been utilizing a lot of state power, and supporting so called authoritarian state socialists over actual anarchist struggles."

"What a load of shit. This is what happens when you grow too fast I guess. You bloat and become too ideological for your own good. Barkadia itself is a socialist state. What happens when we dissolve the state right now? Kolonians, Slavians, CDN, Dolfiks, all swoop in and take advantage. We lose everything we have ever gained these last 16 years. For all intents and purposes, even the Faulksnians still have a state, though to be fair it is rapidly dissolving. We have a completely different situation and we must stagger our decentralization to ensure our freedoms and the success of the project."

"That's pretty Marxist of you, honestly."

"What the fuck is a Marx? Anyways, the point is is that this is pretty lame, and we need to find a way to rally, unless we want to split and fail entirely. Let's get some dialogue going soon, near future. This is all for now, thanks for coming."

Mr. Kocur walks out of the office as Vincent lets out a huge sigh and stares off into the distance.

[Barkadia]

Airfield in Pristav

The relative quietness of the airfield after the end of the 2nd Barko-Kolonian War was rudely interrupted a few days ago by the sudden arrival of cargo aircraft and personnel moving shipments up the ramps and into the noses of massive planes. Containers and boxes full of large cartridges and their machine guns, rockets and their warheads, relatively complex guided missile systems, both for air and land, and most importantly, a hundred volunteers scraped together from divisions and reserves ready to be shipped to the battlefields of Andolia. Everything was hurriedly being gathered and shipped across the country to fulfill the offers given to the Baydorian communists. For the men and women, all bets were off. They were being flown across the entire world to devote their lives and knowledge to fellow comrades on an unstable continent. They will be smuggled across the Aprezye border or land in a hot zone just kilometers away from the action. They will reform a largely irregular force into a new socialist army, like their fellow soldiers have been doing in Nostrapais and Icaria for a while now. Most have a silent understanding that some will probably not return. They know that fact like the back of their hands. 2019 was such a devastating year. The 400 more behind them will go through the same things, mentally. The pilots and ground crews are aware that they are aiding in transporting their fellow soldiers into another hell. This time, at least, it's warm, like everyone says it is. It doesn't matter. Socialism is always inevitable in a capitalist world. It is the natural progression. There's nothing wrong with aiding its creation and fighting off the forces of reaction and capital. That's why they signed up for this, isn't it?

Isn't it?

We will (not) be okay.

This will (not) all be in vain.

[The United Kolonia Republic]

Presidential Offices, Kortica, Eastern Kolonia

July 31st, 12:01

Another war was brewing. President Petrov had seen it before. Three months ago, just before his election, the Navy had sent the Orion southbound towards a conflict in the making. As fate would have it, thankfully, Icaria did not erupt into war. The Orion was still stationed in the region, making its rounds of the peninsula, and briefly darting south into the Etanamic to get a taste of the frozen air by the southern ice cap. Edessa's emergency war footing had been removed in June, when it became apparent that war was nowhere closer than it had been for many years before.

Baydor was a different story. The Baydorian government, an ally of Kolonia, had voted in an incredibly conservative government, which has since made the erosion of Baydorian democracy become apparent. In response, socialist forces amassed and a medium intensity civil war has begun, which has caused all sorts of political issues in the region. Those political issues reached Sverna earlier in the week when Barkadia revoked all recognition of the Baydorian government, and transport aircraft began flying en masse towards Andolia, with the obvious intention of supplying the communist forces.

After a few days of deliberation between different members of parliament and military officials, with varying suggestions from shooting down the transports over Baydor to pulling out of Lowerfield Air Force base altogether, a solution had been reached. The Kolonian military is to boost its presence at the base, and continue its rules of non-engagement with the communist rebels.

To assist the 8th Strike Group already at the base, two new strike groups and a fighter group will be ordered to deploy some of their aircraft to the base. The 22nd Training Group, originally positioned to help train new Baydorian pilots, will be sent home on the transports bringing the new jets in. Once all jets have assembled at Lowerfield, there will be 24 Harriers, 36 Su-34s, and 12 MiG-23s on station. AH-1 and UH-1 helicopters have similarly been deployed. The Army and Marines will also be bringing multiple battalions to assist with the securing of the base.

This show of force, in the eyes of the military, will commit Kolonian support to its interests in Andolia.

Petrov just hoped it wouldn't turn into a far more deadly commitment.

NOTE OF DEPLOYMENT
ADDRESSED TO: 4TH FIGHTER GROUP, 19TH STRIKE GROUP, 31ST STRIKE GROUP
Deployment orders will be issued to all applicable personal. Barkadian movements towards Baydor have caused incredible concern - Lowerfield Air Force base remains top priority. Marine and Army detachments are being deployed. Airlift begins on the 4th at 08:00.
Good luck.
SIGNED: GENERAL OF THE AIR FORCE, TOBIAS KORTIS

[Nostrapais]

"I accept."

These words sealed his fate like they did once, so many years ago. Though the circumstances were quite different. Twenty years ago, it was a marriage, today, it was war. So, Faucher got out of his cell. A month had changed the man. No matter how strong his nature had been, the double shock of his jailing and the betrayal of his ex-wife had blown away the walls of his mental stronghold. And then came his judgement, and his sentence. A useless formality. Everyone knew what was the cost of betraying the country and the Party. The three salvos of the firing squad would be his requiem. Depression did not wait to carve its way through this new field ripe for taking. What some inmates fight against for years, decades, Faucher failed to hold away for more than a week. So, when the cell doors opened wide, what the three officers saw was not the energetic man with long, black hairs, with an impeccably shaved chin, standing upright, firmer than a century old oak. What they saw was a beardy, grey haired lump of humanity lying on a mess of a prison bed. Had the guardian not ensured them this was the man, had Faucher himself not risen his head when they said his name, they would have closed back the door and gone on looking elsewhere for him.
Looking for him they were for it was the great day. The one upon which three times nine bullets would pierce his skin and put an end to the traitor's life. But instead of taking him away to the courtyard, they spoke.

"Faucher, they said, you are at a crossroad. We offer you life, we offer your services for your country once again, we offer you an uniform, we offer you forgiveness. You can pick this path, or you can follow us down the last corridor you'll ever walk."

Half awake, he thought it was another of those dreams which haunted his nights, or rather, his moments of sleep for, as we saw, there was no night in his cell. He didn't answer.

"Faucher, they said, we need a man who severed his ties with our country yet who loves it. We need a man who can lead other men and who has experience in doing so outside of an office. We need you Faucher and, should you want to live, you need us."

Still, no word came from the man lying on the bed.

"Faucher, they said, this is your chance to walk away from all of this. The Baydor reds are in need of help. We have volunteers, many volunteers, they have weapons, uniforms, training, they need a commander. We offer you a war Faucher in which you can regain the honor you threw away. We offer you an exile far away from the place which holds so many painful memories for you. We offer you to wipe your life clean, start anew. And who knows, should you lead these men and women to victory there, you will be a hero, perhaps even a founding father. You will serve the interests of an oppressed people there and you will serve the interest of the free people here. You will contribute in carving a new country out of an imperialist block and you will contribute in righting the wrongs you did to your own country when you thought you were serving it. This is your chance, your one and only chance. What do you say Faucher, or should I say, commander Faucher ?"

And this time Faucher got up on his feet, standing straight has he stood a month ago and the two words came out of his mouth.

"I accept."

[Tungusta]

Smirnov was sitting down at a mahogany desk laden with papers that meant absolutely nothing to him. He was reading a copy of the local newspaper Peace in Oserov. A newspaper typically discussing the marine life and agriculture of the local area which he read every so often to take his mind off things.
The front page headline: ESCALATION IN THE SOUTH
He put the newspaper down and let out a sigh. Just as he went to make some coffee, a civil servant came in.

"Just more papers to sign I assume?"

"Not quite"

The civil servant put the paper at the center of his desk.

"The initial flight of two cargo aircraft are ready. You just need to sign them off."

Smirnov grabbed his fountain pen from its pot and scribbled down his initials.

"Expect a speech in a few days. "

[Barkadia]

Left Coalition Office, August 1st

The loss of the election was a massive blow to Barkadian socialism. That bitch Justina almost single-handedly destroyed the entire party. She failed to win a war almost completed. She failed to put an economic recovery plan into motion. And worst of all, she covered up that nuclear disaster. Not only has she caused unnecessary suffering, she has failed to solidify our country's position in the world. And now this party are a joke. Still a large party, but no longer dominant, and losing support fast. And now those anarchists are in charge. Who ever heard of anarchists getting elected? That Kora Treaty they made with everyone else has enabled the survival of liberalism and capitalism in Sverna. Their decentralized economic planning will lead to a society that is unequal and unnecessarily competitive. At a time where we play a substantial role in a world divided by ideology, they want to disarm our soldiers and retract from socialist projects. Icaria, Nostrapais, Baydor, all temporary. We just can't do that. This purge will finally remove her and her moronic supporters. She can be personally dealt with later. A substantial amount of party members will be formally removed with just my signature.

Pen to paper, gliding like a bird in the air
The bottom of the final letter, marked clearly at the end of the line
A revolution in the party quietly initiated

This is just the beginning. 16 years will not be wasted. We will never surrender to the capitalists and anarchists.

A knock at the door.

"Mr. Sonderson, that guy is here waiting for you."

"Send him in, this is a private matter."

[Faulksnia]

A cyclist wearing a white shirt and slacks darted down a grass-lined path, electric motor humming softly. Their phone rang and a tap on the right headphone answered the call.

"Hey, how's it going in Ragnorsted?" The phone crackled a bit, most of the FFL didn't even have cell service five years ago, and there were more important projects than new com towers.

"Going pretty good. Everything's in Barkadian too now, still struggling to learn how to speak it though. Lots of Barkadians, or I guess Free Landers now, coming through. And a lot of Fokser on their way out." Summer was slowly fading into fall, but the sun was still enough to keep the breeze from getting to the cyclists as they zipped past each other. Most narrow streets had been entirely closed to car traffic and the wider streets had lanes removed to install wider sidewalks and cycle tracks. A tram clacked along tracks that had been paved over for the larger part of a century.

"Huh, must be looking for glowing green yetis or three-eyed salmon or something."

"You forget that many of us weren't a part of the revolution. Some people think the New Government is coming for their toothbrushes. And it's not like Kerthenian billionaires are lining up to build shopping malls out here."

"Yeah. I don't understand it though. They'll swarm back once everything's restructured though. I feel bad for the communes that will get flooded with applications."

"Not everyone shares your concern about inconveniencing others. This morning I saw some guy just screaming at this server about a cup of coffee. It'll take a long time for people to unlearn that shit."

The voice on the other side of the line adopted a heavy air of sarcasm, "Oh right, I forgot to consider the all-powerful and objective 'human nature.'"

"That's not what I'm saying, you didn't go all throwing bricks at cops overnight either."

"Oh well, good riddance in the meantime, I'd rather have neighbors who want to be here anyway. A really wonderful lesbian couple moved into the apartment next to me, they moved here to get married. I talked to them a bit after the housewarming and they're looking to adopt as well, apparently."

"I'd love to meet them next time I visit you. How's the movie going?"

"We're wrapping up filming I think. Everyone's pretty green so there's been a bit of chaos but we're having fun. Just glad we don't have to tiptoe around pissing anyone off anymore, some Jarl or general would always find some slanderous line in the script somewhere and we'd have to rewrite the whole thing until it was just propaganda piece."

"It's still a propaganda piece."

"Ok fair, but you know it's different. We wanted to tell a story and the story ended up being anarchist, no one screamed at us until we made something pro-empire."

"Just remember to look in the mirror, right? Anyways I'm coming up to work now, I'll talk to you later, bye."

"Goodbye." The phone made a tone as it disconnected then the person coasted to the bike rack behind the several-story brick building they worked at and walked to the door, disappearing inside.

[Nostrapais]

Anyone who would have wandered to the Monchastel airport very early on the morning of the 30th of August, four or five hours before the sunrise, would have been in for quite a spectacle.
Before being arrested for trespassing on the runway, that person would have seen four large transport aircrafts sitting there, warming their engines. Giving a closer look to them would have revealed hastily scratched Nostrapaisian air force roundels replaced by the freshly painted logos of a brand new airline and fret company based on the other side of the world, in some PO box housing building. Looking closer, that individual would have also noticed black exhaust marks along the fuselage and fairings of the engines, denoting that, perhaps, this wasn't their first flight on this night.
The intruder turning his head towards the airport's buildings would have seen rows and rows of men and women in camouflage uniforms, armed with a variety of Kalashnikov rifles and machineguns. Had he been interested in military matters and gear, the trespasser would have known those were very different from the regular Nostrapaisian equipment. The usual shades of green the people were used to weren't to be seen there, instead, the jumpsuits were a mix of light brown, black and green while their webbing were a mismatch of aftermarket gear which only commonality was the magazine pouches for their AK rifles. Around them also stood piles of crates covered in danger signs and explosive warning labels. Had one took a pick inside them, he would have noticed an assortment of rifle ammunition cans, rocket launchers and anti-aircraft missile launchers with their respective warheads packed within protective foam.
Further down the runway, tightly parked, one could have noticed several lines of pickup trucks waiting to be loaded. A car enthusiast would have noticed how the brand and the state of maintenance varied and could have easily concluded the aftermarket nature of all those. That idea would have been confirmed by the fact Nostrapaisian car dealer rarely sold their brand new products with anti-aircraft cannons, mortars, rocket batteries or anti-tank missiles attached to them like those parked beside the runway featured.
Overall, an astute visitor, before seeing his blue jeans ripped apart by the police dogs circling the area, would have counted a regiment worth of men and equipment waiting their turn to board the planes heading west.