Copperhead [Earth II]

[Pyschotika]

Copperhead

Respublikanskaya Assotsiatsiya Gornodobyvayushchikh; Astana, Kazakh Republic
July 31st, 2023 - 0700 HRS Local

The sun was breaking through the morning fog that lay low upon the capital city of the Kazakh Republic. Vladimir Kim arrived by armored limousine at the Corporate HQ for the RAG, a consortium of mining corporations that operated in both the North and the South. The early days of the Sibir Federation were driven by the enormity of the Kazakh economy, fueled by mining-rich industries and manufacturing. The Republic had found itself in a crisis in the lead-up to their admittance into the Sibir Federation, splitting into two States in the midst of a civil war. This left much of the Uranium-rich south in the hands of the Almaty Republic, but nevertheless the private industries of before seemingly maintained control and access to these sites.

The presence of Kazakh-based companies operating out of the South caused a stir, however, and due to this the Almaty Republic and the Kazakh Republic agreed to a cessation of hostilities and began pursuing dialogue, not of reunification necessarily but of cooperation. However, as cooperation dredged on into placid cynicism, the private Corporations of the North began to incorporate Southern company after Southern company into their control. This led to a revival of the old Kazakh RAG, or “Respublikanskaya Assotsiatsiya Gornodobyvayushchikh”, chief of which was led by the Southern-based Kazakhmys Holding. In the short-term, the Kazakhmys Holding company was able to hold onto its various holdings throughout the south - but as time has gone on, actual management of these holdings have proven difficult.

At the head of Kazakhmys Holding, of course, was and remains to this day Vladimir Kim. Despite the break-up of his home country, Vladimir and his immediate family were left rather unphased; Having called Astana home since birth, the Kim dynasty in Kazakhstan found itself to be the most powerful family in the region. With this power, and of course the associated wealth that granted that power, the Kims were able to retain control of their massive Karaganda-based Kazakhmys Holding. Before the Governments of the Kazakh Republic or the Almaty Republic, and before the Government of the Sibir Federation, all that is answered directly to the Kims - or to a variety of shell companies, offshore holdings, foreign investors, or bribed officials.

With this ‘understanding’, then, between the mining corporations of the North and of the South, the breakup of the Kazakh Republic into two States did very little outside of a shuffle in payroll. However, the preceding 10 years have seen a slip in control from the Kim dynasty. The Almaty Republic had begun to grow weary of Northern-based corruption running rampant in the South, and thus began to clamp down. With this, of course, a Corporate war began; PMC’s of foreign nationalities, Militias of locals who owed thanks to the Kim dynasty for their wellbeing, and even the military of the South found itself embroiled in the various holdings under the Kims’ shadow. Despite this conflict, the Kims were pushed out of control of the Uranium market in the South, drawing of course the concern of the Sibir Federation.

Despite an otherwise cordial understanding toward Almaty’s independence, the Sibir Federation concerned over the presence of an out of control conflict zone throughout a region known as being home to 33% of the world’s Uranium mining. Of course, access to raw Uranium did not infer nuclear or radiological threats outright - but the shifting nature of the Almaty Republic’s unstable Government, the presence of foreign fighters, the lingering of desperate locals, and the unpredictable forces of the South were more than enough to be considered a recipe for disaster. It’s with this that we find Vladimir Kim arriving under the watchful eyes of dozens of armed men, rooftop snipers, and FOV drones providing oversight for security on the ground.

’... and of my brother?’ Vladimir was finishing a conversation on the phone as the limousine crept to a stop. ’... good, good. Let Vyacheslav know I will follow-up this afternoon… yes… The Chancellor and I will be meeting over video call this morning. Yes. Sounds good. Goodbye.’ Vladimir ended the call on the mobile device, handing it to an assistant sitting with him. The cadre of suits emerged from the armored vehicle, and headed into the RAG HQ.

Sometime later that morning…

The office which Vladimir called his own was magnanimous, featuring a collection of gemstones and other minerals - both raw and refined. He sat before a massive television screen across one of the walls, listening intently to the face of a man on-screen.

’We have received word from the Almaty Government, they’re not giving any wiggle room on this. RAG is expected to relinquish controls over the remaining assets throughout the South.’ The voice was stern, speaking in that Turkic accent of which became a hallmark of the Chancellor.

’I see… and what if we don’t? There are legal avenues we can pursue, not to mention the strength in our investors globally. These mines can’t operate efficiently without proper oversight, something I doubt the Almaty Government will provide after they nationalize our Southern holdings.’ Vladimir’s wrinkles were beginning to wrinkle further, his aged face marked with decades of ruthless capitalism. ’Nevertheless, I will have to speak with Vyacheslav - as you kno-.. a notification had appeared on-screen. He was receiving a call from his office in Karaganda. ’Forgive me, Chancellor. I need to take this call, let's conclude this conversation over dinner - my treat? I will be flying to Tyumen to settle other business tonight, the details will be sent from my staff.’ Vladimir could see the frustration overtake the calm tone of the Chancellor, but with a nod they both said their goodbyes and ended the video call.

Kazakhmys Holding; Karaganda, Almaty Republic
July 31st, 2023 - 0900 HRS Local

Armed men, wearing the fatigues of the Almaty Republican Guard, encroached upon the RAG-owned Kazakhmys HQ. They were turning filing cabinets over, rifling through documents in any container they could find, and seizing computers from the desks of employees. The armed guards of the building were quickly overwhelmed by the raid, suffering two deaths and six other casualties. The guards hadn’t even a chance to respond, or even recognize what was going on, as the Republican Guards overtook the campus within minutes. It was an organized assault, men with obscuring balaclavas and polymer Kalashnikovs pointed at anyone or anything that dared to breathe. The employees and surviving guards were being rounded up outside, sorted and shuffled onto buses. Deep inside the campus’ main building, however, a group of guards and employees were barricading and desperately making contact with their Almaty-based parent company.

’Vla… VLAD! Vlad, are… are you listening to me? We are being raided by the Republican Guard. NO, I do not know why! There was no warning, no pretense, they arrived in BMP’s and on Helicopters and overtook the campus security. We’re holed up here in the Kopperkhed
building, we are maybe short of a dozen armed men and several dozen employees. We need assistance. the desperate, but calm, tone filled the air. The man on the phone appeared to be a businessman, wearing a suit with a tie - shiny black shoes, and immaculately ironed slacks. The armed men all wore the black fatigues of the Strelka Group PMC.

Before the man could receive any instruction from Vladimir, the device went quiet - as if jammed or cut off from the communication. He looked around him, feeling the pressure of dozens of eyes beset upon him - concerning with him over the immediacy of their situation.

Tyumen, Sibir Federation; later that evening
July 31st, 2023 - 1730 HRS Local

The private jet was touching down at Kuchum Khan International Airport, carrying onboard of course Vladimir Kim and his ever-present cadre of guards and assistants. A convoy of up-armored SUVs were ready and waiting for Kim and his staff, destined for the new HQ of Samruk-Kazyna joint fund. The Samruk-Kazyna joint fund was formerly held directly by the Kazakh Republic Government, but moved its HQ to Tyumen in the investor shake-up that followed the dissolution of the former Kazakh Republic. The old ways instituted that the Government maintained control over the Samruk-Kazyna, as it was a national fund, however in joining with the Sibir Federation the external investors managed a buy-out of the organization itself.

Now, bigger and more powerful itself, the Samruk-Kazyna joint fund inevitably found itself as an investor to more and more Kazakh-based industries both North and South. With the newly formed board in the more recent corporate election, Vladimir Kim found himself now sitting beside his younger brother Vyacheslav - he, himself, another patriarch of the Kim dynasty. Vyacheslav, or “Slava”, made his wealth in the transportation of materials and people - he found himself the owner of the Kazak Republic Temir Joly as well as a variety of smaller roads-based transport firms. Slava was renowned for his prowess in marketing and business management, and for a time even saw himself as a chief advisor to the Kazakh Republic’s Ministry of Economy.

The convoy had arrived with zero issues, the Kims both now meeting for the first time in person in almost 16 months, and a very important meeting now going underway.

[Pyschotika]

Almaty Army Base “Jılan”; South of Karaganda, Almaty Republic
July 31st, 2023 - 0630 HRS Local

The engines were already running at a collective idle, men seated neatly in the beds of trucks and compartments of BMP’s. Those who were considerably more well-armed, as they should be for being Spetsnaz forces, were neatly filing into a pair of Mi-17 helicopters. Their objective was to seize control of the Kazakhmys Holding corporate campus, by any means necessary of course.

The history of this place was heated, to say the least - an agreement had been brokered with a foreign national, looking to invest in Almaty’s nationalization of several industries. The use of force, however, was a bit extraordinary but the chess table had already been set for this decades past. The previous agreement that had otherwise existed mostly in harmony meant that the Northern Kazakh corporatist - Vladimir Kim - would retain control of his various holdings within the South. In the wake of what was a severely diminished Almaty Republic, the immediate aftermath of the ceasefire of 2001 meant Almaty retained little power to enforce their mandate.

This left much of Almaty’s economic heart outside of its control, and thus the Almaty Government worked to secure a way to ensure a future it could hold more sway over. This culminated in an unofficial alliance, one with a Chinese businessman known only as “Mr. Y”. What was known about Mr. Y was his reputation, his enjoyment of truffles, and a spattering of reports under him. Of those reports, those possessions who relied upon his payroll, was the venerable Zero Risk Security, incorporated. Based out of Conakry, Guinea, the company found itself rapidly branching beyond Corporate Security - it was also taking on combative roles in various conflict zones throughout the world.

Now, as for our little green men, they were in for an unannounced surprise.

’Damn!’ this expression burst over the comms, carried upon the Persian accent of the Section Sergeant. ’What do you mean - this was our op. We trained for months on this!’ the argumentative tone overtook that of the powering down of the helicopter engines. A concerned Corporal looked over at the Sergeant, loosening his grip over his AS Val.

’That’s it, then?’ the Corporal sighed loudly, standing now. The Sergeant nodded, and gave the order to disembark. As they did, they could hear the sound of helicopters and trucks further down the strip move off, but that made no sense to these men.

’When did the Republican Guard get involved?’ belted out a Private.

’They didn’t.’ the Sergeant was removing his helmet now, looking upon his squad. ’... the op has been handed over to our Corporate friends, Zero Risk.’ the men began to head toward their staging area to stand down.

The Green House; Almaty, Almaty Republic
July 30th - 2200 HRS Local

’I understand this isn’t what we originally had planned for, President Sultanov. My men are far more capable for this operation - I must remain absolutely certain of the results from my investment, or you will be dealing with a far more dire situation as you already know.’ the man spoke from behind a veil of smoke, reaching for another chocolate-coated truffle before him.

’Yes, I agree Mr. Y… I will instruct the Spetsnaz command to stand down their forces first thing in the morning. the President looked like he was running out of options in his life, appearing disheveled and very exhausted. He was under immense pressure by men like Mr. Y, as well as by several of Almaty’s oligarchs, to get control over Almaty’s natural resources. Besides that, there was the question of fomenting unrest that had otherwise taken a lull the past two decades.

Mr. Y took one more drag from his cigar, and left it burning out in the President’s ashtray. He had finished the last of the truffles that had been set out before him, and was beginning now to take his leave.

’... one last thing. Mr. President. They must apprehend Mr. Kim’s darling Kazakhmys under Almaty’s colors. My men have already procured what is necessary, so all that is left for you is to ensure your goons stay out of our way. Mr. Y left the room, and in the vacuum left behind, a cold uneasiness swept in. Yevgeny Iosifovich Sultanov was not a popular leader, and his days in office felt borrowed. Between Almaty’s status as “Spy Capital of the World”, the stalemated conflict with the North, and the encroaching of foreign interests in his nation’s industrial heart were leaving him with little agency over his own life.

Tomorrow would become a black-letter day.

[Layarteb]

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Sunday, July 30^th, 2023 | 22:20 hrs [UTC-5]

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Layarteb City, New York | 25 Columbus Circle
40° 46' 4" N, 73° 58' 59" W

Walter Sanchez had only just turned off the television in his massive living room when his cell phone began its annoying and irritating screaming from the other side of the coffee table. Walter looked at his watch and rolled his eyes, knowing full well that his desire for an early night to bed was too much to ask. He'd been run down a little lately, the byproduct of a lingering summer cold that took advantage of the fifty-eight-year-old's aging body. His wife, already in bed - but reading - in the room next door let out an audible groan at the sheer volume of the ringing cell phone. Walter had forgotten that he'd raised the volume earlier to watch a video online and never turned it back down. In the quiet penthouse, the noise had bounced off of everything possible to echo and amplify itself.

"Walter," he said, finally answering it and putting it to his right ear.

"Walter, we've got a situation on our hands," the man on the other end said. Walter recognized Don Samaniego's voice not because he was that familiar with the man but rather because his voice was so unique. Samaniego was the operations head of Manchurian Global's Central Asian Operations Division or "CAOD" in Manchurian parlance. Walter was the conglomerate's president and CEO, which was why he was seventy-five floors above the street in a §40 million penthouse that had just under 4,550 ft² of floor plan and afforded a stunning view of Central Park. The conglomerate owned the penthouse but the president and CEO lived there as part of his compensation. It was a nice perk, to say the least.

"All right, slow down," Walter said. Samaniego was talking a mile a minute, not because that's how he talked but rather because of the stress surrounding the nature of his call. "Let me get to my office please," Walter said nothing more as he walked out of the living room and took a left into a hallway that, at one end had his office. To the right was a spare bedroom and to the left was a door to their master suite's dressing area. Once inside his office, Walter closed the door and turned on the lamp on his desk, bathing the room in warm, yellow light. Vertical blinds and curtains had been drawn earlier so as to keep peeping eyes from seeing into the window from the outside and Walter thus felt confident that he could have a private conversation despite having floor-to-ceiling windows and being seventy-five floors in the air. "Okay what's going on Don?"

"Big issue in Almaty Republic. The government raided Kazakhmys HQ earlier today and we're being told that they intend to fully nationalize all of the mines."

"Dammit," Walter cursed. Not long ago, Manchurian Global had been forced by the Almaty government to enter into a disadvantageous agreement to continue operations at three uranium mines in southern Kazakhstan. Manchurian had owned the mines, so to speak, prior to the country's split and had invested considerable sums of capital in equipment and support facilities to extract the uranium that largely found its way back to the Empire, chiefly for nuclear power. With the Empire having over two-thirds of its electricity generated by nuclear reactors, uranium was almost always in need and when it wasn't, Manchurian found plenty of other customers, mostly governments but not always. Manchurian kicked back a fraction of the profits to the government in those days and reaped the benefits until everything went sour. Now they had only a sliver of the profits but all of the costs, which included protecting the mines. Mercenaries from Manchurian's Sinani-based PMC operated security at the mines and their services didn't come cheap. For a long while, Manchurian's executives had been trying to figure out a solution for its shrinking profits in Kazakhstan. In fact, for the past six quarters, they hadn't posted any profit from the mines and the future projections weren't looking good either. "I think we need to move on this now."

"In what way? We definitely can't start shooting at government troops."

"We can't and I'm not suggesting that we do. Place your calls. I'll place some of my own," Walter looked at his watch again and sighed. He was tired but this wasn't something he could put off until the morning and he knew it. He also didn't know what he was going to do. The board had never come to a decision on how to proceed further. Ideas had been floated but nothing had been voted on favorably, in fact nothing had been voted on period. He did have some latitude to act unilaterally though, especially in times of crisis and the notion that government forces were about to seize Manchurian property counted, at least in his mind, as a "time of crisis."

"Yeah, sure, I'll get back to you," Samaniego said though he didn't know who he was going to call either. Little did either of them know that only an hour or so earlier, Vladimir Kim had received a frantic call from his own employees as Almaty troops ransacked Kazakhmys Holding's office in Karaganda. It might have been useful information but maybe it wasn't. Vladimir Kim was someone that Manchurian Global had been dealing with for some time, ever since before the split. Manchurian Global had entered into a business relationship with the man in the 1990s when some bribe money greased the wheels to Manchurian Global's successful acquisition of three plots of land that would eventually become their mines. Yet Vladimir Kim was at odds with the new Sibir government and perhaps in a weakened state, especially now.

Vladimir Kim was someone to back though. He was corrupt, powerful, contemptable on so many levels and yet he was a "winner," so to speak. He was a winner in the sense that he had power, money, and most importantly, influence. He probably had dirt on a lot of politicians as well and it was unlikely he was going to slip off of his balcony and take a header on the pavement below anytime soon, which meant, at least in the eyes of Manchurian Global, he wasn't someone to dismiss just because of his bad habits. In fact, Vladimir Kim was, to Manchurian Global, someone better than any of his counterparts in Almaty for the simple fact was that he knew how the system worked and he wasn't some nationalist idealist that wanted to take Manchurian's hard-earned profits away. In fact, Kim just wanted his slice of the pie and nothing more. So long as Manchurian respected him, he would respect Manchurian. That was a relationship that anyone in the multinational conglomerate could get behind, though only if it was under the table. Truth be told, in doing direct business with Vladimir Kim in the fashion that they did, Manchurian Global was breaking hundreds of Layartebian laws, so many that it seemed irrelevant to keep counting. Yet, to the Ministry of Commerce, so long as Layartebian powerplants didn't want for uranium, the necessity to dig into these legal violations seemed insignificant. That was as long as all parties remained discrete about everything.

Discretion was second-nature to Manchurian Global and so there was little trouble there but this Almaty venture could expose what the conglomerate - or the Empire - didn't want exposed. It could require some "tough decisions" to be made. Thus, the matter had to be dealt with immediately. The idea came to Walter first who did some math in his head as he tried to determine what time it was in Kazakhstan. Should be late morning, he concluded and then he dialed Samaniego back. Almaty had taken too much and now they would take what was left. It wasn't prudent to remain in their alliance anymore but, at the same time, it wouldn't be prudent to let them know that either.

"Listen, Don, here's what you're going to do, are you listening? Good. Get in touch with your representatives in Almaty. Let them know that we're going to play along. Manchurian Global isn't about to stand in the way of a country's sovereign rights. Yes, all of that of course, but the key is to make them think that Manchurian will continue to operate the mines, continue to protect them, continue to do as per our contracts terms but we'll need to ensure a mutual arrangement in any future agreement. We just can't up and leave, you understand? Yes. Okay good. Find out what they want first. Remember, place this as such."

"What's your plan Walter?" Samaniego asked.

"Give Kim the means to wipe out these assholes," Walter ended the call and then dialed Kim's number. When he finally answered, Walter reminded him who he was and then said, "I think the situation in Almaty is something we can both resolve, together. For mutual benefit." He would have Samaniego meet with Kim and offer the services of not only Manchurian's PMC but also negotiate an advantageous agreement that would let Manchurian continue to operate the mines, put Almaty out of the equation, and boost profits.

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[Pyschotika]

En-route to the Samruk-Kazyna Tower; Tyumen, Sibir Federation
July 31st, 2023 - 1900 HRS Local

The cityscape was lively tonight, the streets below lined head-light to tail-light in endless rows. Tyumen had become the region’s Financial and Administrative center long before the Federation itself took form, having been the capital of the Sibir Khanate of old - and the Sibir Republic that preceded the current era. It found itself historically beset as a trading hub, sort of its own Silk Road that helped connect the Muscovites east of the Urals with the historic Asiatic and Turkic nomads of the Taiga, Central Asia, and even the Chinese and Mongols beyond the Dzungarian Gate.

To little surprise, being the important focal point as it was, Tyumen continued to then enjoy its prominence and strategic importance well into the modern era. Straddling both banks of the Tura River, which itself served as a vital component to the Ob River and Ob Basin. It was a city of importance, it was a city of glamor, it was a city of back alley dealings and a city of legitimate business all the same. It was here, in what Vladimir Kim famously regarded as “home away from home”, that many businesses ended up calling home.

'...the driver says we’ll be arriving shortly; Your agenda is fairly tight, you have blocked out time first to meet with Vyacheslav, who is expecting you in his executive suite in the Samruk-Kazyna tower. After, you have an urgent request to take a call - it’s from the Columbian company Manchurian Glo—’ Mr. Kim put a hand up, indicating toward his young assistant a strong desire for silence.

'I see then, Almaty is pressuring Manchurian Global as well. Notify Slava’s desk, let him know we have a meeting needing our utmost attention. The motorcade began turning toward a gated entrance, which hurriedly opened and ushered the vehicles in toward an underground garage. Vlad stepped out and into a Strelka Group PMC Executive Protection Team, and was escorted the rest of the way toward an elevator.

In the year 1996…
Somewhere along the Almaty-Kazakh LOC

It had just been one of the most grueling weeks in recent memory for Igor Rokitansky, a rather nondescript man in his 30’s who had for years prior served with distinction for the Kazakh Armed Forces.

’Real fucking funny… cosmic humor here.’ Igor, ‘Max’ as his colleagues liked to refer to him, found himself resting against the silver birch that lay on its side before him.

’Me, a retired soldier, and you - a dead fucking tree some sassy bitch felt like planting in the middle of the fucking dry brush.’ It wasn’t really all that funny. ‘Max’ had a penchant for finding something to be upset about, despite his otherwise remarkable service to his country. Except, these days, he wasn’t serving - no, he was working. With little prospects leftover for a man of his age, pushed into retirement from the Armed Forces, he fell into attracting the attention of a local businessman.

’Sign the papers, it’ll net you triple your Army salary. See new places, protect important people, get all the new gear that you could ever desire.’ He was now fiddling through his pockets, looking for his whittling knife.

’Look, here, I even get to participate in art projects.’ He found his stubbornly hidden knife, and now opposite the hand with the knife appeared his other hand - bearing a bit of branch from the downed silver birch.

The Strelka Group PMC, this was Igor's current employer, and if he had it his way it would only be until the end of his current contract term. He was aware that he would be sent to dangerous places, but he had never weighed in on the idea that Strelka would deploy to assist with internal conflicts - let alone that a Civil War would break out within his homeland. He figured he’d make some extra cash, put it toward a nice house in the countryside, and just tend to his hobby of fixing cars for petty cash. Instead, he felt that this would be his death perhaps - but that did not concern him. Instead, yes, instead this would be his death because he found that he actually enjoyed this.

’We’re kicking off, Max - collect your shit.’ Another man, wearing the same fatigues any other Strelka grunt would be caught alive or dead in, called over to him.

’... that fucking suit. What would my life have been without bumping into him? Fat, a fridge full of nasty cheap beer, but who knows. Maybe I’d have gotten along just fine without him.’ Igor was muttering under his own breath now. He was stuck in that moment in his head, though, when he met with that local businessman - or ‘suit’, as he affectionately recalled of the man.

’Goddamn Vlad fucking Kim. I’m going to fucking have a word with you when this is done.’ Igor stood up, returned his whittling knife to the pocket for which it lost itself in before, grabbed his AK by the sling and walked toward his Squad’s vehicle.

Samruk-Kazyna Tower; Tyumen, Sibir Federation
July 31st, 2023 - 1945 HRS Local

The meeting was not very long; The Kims - both Vlad and Slava - had concluded their business with Manchurian Global. To say that the current events were unsettling would be one thing, but the reality was much more cool and collected than that for Vlad at the least. No, what today was was a simple turn of events according to Vlad: ’A fresh new chance to expand our holdings, both for Manchurian Global and for Samruk-Kazyna.’ is what he had ended on just prior.

However, the meetings were only just now truly beginning for the Kims; What lay next for tonight was an all-hands meeting with the Board, which included a fair number of foreign nationals acting as dignitaries for their corporations - which, in many ways, meant they were also acting in lieu of their Foreign Ministries or State Departments. What Almaty had unleashed was catastrophic, and the context to the situation made little sense unless framed exactly one way: ‘Mr. Y’.

’Truffle sniffing son of a bitch…’ Slava sighed as he walked beside his older brother, catching the attention of Vlad’s Chief of Security.

’What are you saying, Slava?’ The Chief asked aloud.

’Truffles. That goddamn Mr. Y, it’s all he ever seems to truly care about outside of fucking us over.’ Slava was steamed.

Before the Chief could add anything else to the conversation, Vlad spoke up.

’Slava - go ahead and get to the boardroom ahead of me, I need to go over some information before I make an appearance.’ Vlad nodded toward Slava, as if acknowledging the palpable frustration surrounding them, to which Slava nodded back and carried forward alone. Vlad looked now to his Chief of Security, sighing aloud himself now.

’Max, you know these meetings only bore you - I think I can handle myself for now.’ Vlad smiled at Max, Vlad’s personal Chief of Security. Max nodded, thinking to add a joke but with age and experience understood that he’d be better to practice the pause in this instance. He nodded at Vlad, and turned opposite the direction Slava had gone.

Some time later…

The boardroom was akin to a morning classroom - stuffy, eerily quiet, but loud all at the same time. It held within its four walls the kind of strangely loud silence that challenges you to try and listen to your own pulse. What had occurred to require such an impromptu, and intense, gathering of investors, corpo-rats, and the Federal Ombudsman was an obscene affront to normalcy; What had been years of more-or-less peacefully co-existing with their former countrymen to the south had been rudely disturbed by military action on a civilian enterprise. It was, albeit considerably ‘bad’, an attack on the very stringent nature to both business and politics between the Kazakh and Almaty Republics.

Vlad entered the room with an air of confidence, and it showed - his jacket unbuttoned, shirt collar open and forsaking its usual Windsor knot. Yet to the contrary of Vlad’s demeanor, the room he now found himself in was that of fear and uncertainty. The room shifted from its deafening silence to the cacophony of distressed voices, anger being the unifying tone that centered around one thing:

’... We must not delay! We are practically dealing with a hostage situation in Karaganda, not to mention a total shift in diplomacy from the Almaty Republic. What are the Feds planning to do?’ the rousing question came from Daniyar Dastan, Chief Financial Officer of the Kazzinc corporation, itself an investing member of Samruk-Kazyna.

’We have already eaten the cost, much as many of you have too, incurred by the initial outbreak of war. We cannot just continue to cede properties to the illegitimate southern regime!’ Daniyar Dastan continued, his face turning into a bright shade of red. His eyes were of the sharpest daggers, coldly stabbing at the Ombudsman who stood arms-crossed and against a wall.

’Chancellor Bauyrzhan is well aware of the dangers posed by today’s action. It is to my understanding that a national security briefing is underway.’ The Ombudsman, Khiga Sokolova, spoke up in a very calm and controlled manner.

’I understand that this is going to hurt the Foundation and its investors financially, but our methodology is a measured approach - not rash action. Whether we authorize a guns blazing affair, or work to quietly and quickly subdue this situation, a great cost will have to be paid.’ She uncrossed her arms, and straightened her posture.

’Thank you, Miss Sokolova.’ Vlad spoke up, eyeing the angry Kazzinc CFO.
’I have already been in touch with the Chancellor, and I have already been in contact as well with other interested parties. The Strelka Group will be confirming with the Chancellor’s office, as well as the President’s office, prior to any action we shall take. It is my understanding that we may not be the only affected group in this, Almaty may be making a run at all foreign holdings throughout their.. territory.’ Vlad shifted his gaze over to his brother, Slava, and then to the Ombudsman.

’We appreciate your efforts in conveying what the Chancellor’s office feels with regards to the current situation.’ Vlad reached out to shake her hand, but his phone began to vibrate - his personal phone, at that. He reached into the pocket and pulled the device out, eyeing the screen for a moment.

’... Miss Sokolova, it seems your measured approach has run its course into rash action.’ He smiled, placing the device back into his pocket. The Ombudsman’s hand reached for her own phone, her eyes grew big, and she nodded.

’Sometimes, rashness is all we can rely on.' She muttered.

[Layarteb]

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Monday, July 31^st, 2023 | 20:30 hrs [UTC+5]

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Tyumen, Sibir Federation | Roshchino International Airport
57° 10' 40" N, 65° 21' 9" E

Don Samaniego climbed out of the backseat of the SUV and followed the direction of an immaculately dressed woman who ushered him off of the noisy tarmac and into what amounted to a special lounge for passengers flying in and out of Roshchino International Airport by private jet. He would not only find that his was the only jet at the Tyumen airport this evening but that he would be waiting there for at least another forty-five minutes before his flight was due to depart though, given how comfortable the lounge was, he didn't mind. In fact, this had been his choice. In the midst of traffic leaving Tyumen, Don had been given a choice to wait either in the lounge or aboard the jet while they waited for their takeoff slot. Don had chosen the former, having passed through it upon his arrival several hours earlier. Now inside, he did not regret his choice.

Not more than thirty seconds into the lounge, he was given a seat in a very comfortable chair and handed a bottle of ice-cold water, which had been his request. His two-man security detail were given waters as well and they milled about still on duty, still tasked with protecting their principal. Two additional men were onboard the jet, having remained there with the flight crew, ensuring that no one unauthorized boarded or approached the jet. It might have appeared that there was a serious risk to Don's life but there wasn't, these were simply company protocols and they had to be followed at all times, regardless of the situation.

The jet that Don was waiting to board was a Dassault Falcon 7X, which had been configured to seat twelve passengers comfortably, though in an emergency, it could take on up to nineteen. It was one of many that Manchurian Global had access to thanks to its minority ownership in not one but two airlines. Since the CAOD was based in Astana, Don had requisitioned the aircraft to take him to Tyumen to meet with Vlad and his brother Slava. The meeting had been good, much to his expectation, and now he was waiting to give a report to Sanchez though he wouldn't do that until he was in the air and able to use the satellite phone aboard the jet, a phone that he knew to be secure. Calling from anywhere in Tyumen simply wasn't in the cards.

It wasn't that Manchurian didn't trust the Sibir Federation, it was simply that Manchurian Global trusted no one. Protocols had been devised to protect the conglomerate and its employees with the expectation that no where was safe, no one could be trusted, and ruination was only one wrong move away. Paranoia had, in many ways, saved Manchurian Global through multiple scandals involving their more nefarious business dealings and if any business dealing was to be characterized as nefarious this one was certainly it.

When the time finally came for Don to board the jet, he and his security detail were escorted eighty meters across the tarmac and to the door of the Falcon 7X. The three men climbed aboard and the door was shut by the plane's stewardess, a leggy thirty-two-year-old who was picked as much for her résumé as for her lithe figure. Despite the modern era, Columbian airlines still emphasized an unwritten beauty standard for its stewards and stewardesses, which though it was archaic in the modern world, was as unlikely to change anytime soon.

The plane was airborne within another twenty minutes and finally, as the clock pass 22:10 and the Falcon 7X was on its climb, Don retreated to the aircraft's private suite and shut and locked the door behind him. He loosened his tie, put down and opened his briefcase, and picked up the satellite phone that was sitting on a small table. It went right through to Sanchez who was just finishing up his lunch, ten hours in the past, so to speak. "Just got airborne," Don answered when Sanchez questioned where he was. "They're onboard with our proposal. Everyone wants to see it in writing first, you know the usual and no one's committing until there's ink on paper but we have verbal support." Sanchez told him of his own calls with the conglomerate's PMC division, a notorious outfit stationed in Gaza that was outside of the realm of Columbian laws, specifically the laws that outlawed mercenary operations. "Good, then we'll utilize them to our benefit. We will move them in place as agreed, the CAOD will put in a request for additional personnel citing workload requirements. We'll bring them in as 'contractors' and brief them on the ground. For anyone watching, they'll be workers but help us prepare ourselves for the inevitable." Sanchez hung up the phone a few minutes later and Don took off his shoes and his jacket and relaxed on the sofa. It would be a quick flight to Astana and he was tired from the long day but more than happy to hear the positive reception from the Kims.

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