August 19th, 2019
Malacañang Palace
Hurried footsteps could be hard on the approach to the office of the Secretary-General. A Party-worker in olive garb bursts into the office holding a foreign newspaper.
"I am aware of the situation and I'm handling it.", spoke the Secretary-General of the Pan-Asiatic States, Chairman of the Asian Communist Party, Guanyu "Abra" Abramovich. He turned to the Party-worker, fiddling with a brand-new Kaiga Omnitool, a small personal holographic device.
Projected from the device and reflected by the walls of the office were videos of explosions, terror, and rallies in Insulindia, atrocities being carried-out by the rouge terror group which have branded themselves as the Red Band.
"The vultures are picking on us. The reporters are storming the lobby. What is the Palace's position on the attacks, Chairman?", asked the aide-de-camp, inquiring to inform the designated Press Secretary who was probably drowning in his sweat, hiding from the press, in a hole somewhere around the Palace's confines.
"Protocol. Express our condolences and condemn terrorism, yada-yada. I am yet to discuss the issue with the Executive Council. I will let them know the Palace's official position at the proper time.
One more thing, though. I want you to go to the Ministry of State and Public Security's office and relay a message to Ministress Louangrath-Lorenzana from me, personally.
Tell her to keep the clandestine backchannels open. If the leader of this 'Red Band' is serious about his work, he'll come to us personally. I don't want to waste our resources looking for this guy, definitely not with our war in Skyhooked right now. Let him visit us here."
The Bay of Neo-Manila
Qiang Galan, an attaché-slash-rapporteur of the Pan-Asiatic Economic Zone Authority (PAEZA) humbled himself here all the way from the tall ivory skyscrapers of the Laurel District to board a Nusantara-bound passenger cruise, a classy yet affordable mode of transportation for tax-payers' money to be spent on. Qiang, a thirty-year-old ethnic Batangueño raised in Hainan, was a slender, tall brown man who looked a little over fifty despite his age. The troubles of a practical career in socio-civic economics and the exhaustion which bureaucracy always took upon itself to cast on those who worked in its line of work turned Qiang into a bonafide number-cruncher.
The boarding line was an abnormally long one, as there weren't necessarily a lot of good reasons to get off work for tourists hoping to catch a break by visiting the sands of Nusantara. Most were like him, attachés for various state-run businesses, organizations, and concerns.
The booth at the line's end inquired his intent in visiting. Qiang proudly displayed his Asian Communist Party ID to the crew of the ship in confirmation of his ticket.
"Official Party business. I'm visiting the Delmonte enclave. I hear it's coming along well.", spoke Qiang.
"I see. Everything seems to be in order.", told young Korean woman in charge of the booth, handing Qiang back his ID and ticket.
"Hope you packed an umbrella, Comrade. It's rainy this time of year.", she remarked.
Qiang gave her a nod and boarded. As he settled into his personal compartment the waves began to take him Southward, to Paigino Norde.