Bullet Dialectics

[Touzen]

"Not to sound rude or anything, but I hope that we can wrap this up sooner rather than later..I feel like I haven't slept for two days, and I don't think I will get much more sleep anytime soon."

"Of course, I can understand that, and I promise to make this short. Yeah, you definitely won't be getting much sleep, I am sure. We all won't."

But you especially.

Kaneko gently caressed the traditional ceramic tea cup in front of him and warmly smiled at his host.

"I'm sorry that I intruded on you like this, Ikeda; I know that you value your privacy, especially this late at night and everything, but I felt that we simply had to talk over some issues before the assembly tomorrow."

"Ah, it's quite alright, but as said, don't make it too long."

"Of course, of course", Kaneko nodded while slightly raising the tea cup as if to offer a toast to Ikeda.

"I will get straight to the point. When the Popular Revolutionary Assembly will convene tomorrow, we both know that you will play a key role, if not the key role in assuring that it will actually lead to results for the Revolution and that the government of the Constitutional State quickly becomes operable again. There is no point denying that. But, as I have been trying to tell you again and again, with that influence you are wielding out there on the streets..."

Kaneko stopped and looked outside the Victorian-style window behind Ikeda, with its large frame and oval shape an interesting specimen, a style that had been popular in the Oikawan Empire since the tides of Germanophilia had swept over the country first in the early and then again in the late parts of the last century. The renewed interregnum of the Shogunate after the 1820s did not stop the insatiable lust of the people of what was now also popularily known in the West as Touzen. This was one of the few fields where the Westerners had, in fact, not won, since if Kaneko's trust in his own historical knowledge was justified, it had been the only case where an exonym had ultimately been replaced by the foreign world by embracing an endonym to name a state and people. The Oikawan, or more appropriately, Touzen, Empire, for all the comparative might it had possessed, had not managed to muster the strength to force the usage of a name in the West. This was a feat that had been solely reserved for the Revolution and the until recently blossoming construct that was the Constitutional State.

Blossoming until people like Ikeda came about.

"You are wasting your time. Not only that, but worse, you are also wasting my time", Ikeda interfered.

Silence.

Ikeda firmly shook his head.

"My terms are not negotiable. They are the terms of the people. We cannot possibly save the Revolution through a few cosmetic changes here and there, no, there has been a cancerous deficit creeping up on the entire state ever since Tarō's untimely demise cast the Revolution into uncertainty."

"I have not come to negotiate."

"Then why did you bother coming at all? Your kind has never been the one to just come over for some idle chatting, it has always been about money, money and more money for you."

Kaneko sighed. Leaning back, but not too far as to actually lean against the traditional paper wall behind his cushion, he mustered Ikeda.

If anything, he was an ordinary balding, aging 50-somewhat man, though he had retained some youthful features; the relative lack of wrinkles on his face and his juvenile, large and attentive eyes graced him with a dynamic aura, which was also no doubt what made him popular with the multitude of young female admires that regularly entered and left the estate.

Besides his considerable financial assets, of course.

Ikeda had, as far as Kaneko knew, never been married, nor ever indicated any interest in doing so. Neither had he fathered any children. Of course it was perfectly possible he had one or the other illegal offspring, but that was not of concern when it came to the inheritance of his estate. Nor was he a person to keep many close acquaintances around him: the Ikeda family estate was run and inhabited by a single man. A lone wolf, in short. Yet perhaps it had been this seemingly unassailable aura of impartial independence that had granted him the role he now had in the byzantine network of the political landscape suffocating the revolutionary archipelago.

Ignoring Ikeda's piercing glaze, Kaneko noted a man-sized shadow first appearing on the paper wall to his right, then disappearing, most certainly to continue its journey behind his back and again into the dark of the night. Being a man of the people was a dangerous notion, especially now as the Popular Revolutionary Assembly, this body by the people for the people, was about to congregate. These guardsmen were nothing but young fellows with barely a baseball bat though, as Kaneko had attentively noted when he had first entered the estate that evening. They were probably here for the sake of idealistic enthusiasm, not payment or professional security services. A service to the popular revolution.

A shame, really.

"I want to show you something, if you permit."

Without waiting for an answer, he set to work. Kaneko, without even hinting at urgency, reached inside his gray suit, let his hand remain inside his left pocket for a few moments which he used to stare down at the low Touzen-style table in front of him, sighed, and pulled out the long and shiny chrome barrel of a silenced Type 44 pistol. It was a beautiful model, and the stainless gun reflected the gentle light coming from a simple, yet stylized lamp hanging above the heads of the two men.

"You.."

"But I didn't. You did. It all makes sense, if you think about it, really."

"You.."

Ikeda choked, his eyes widening, his left hand frantically searching for something - anything - on the floor around him. But to no avail: the room was an example of classic simplicity, tidy, comfortable, and devoid of redundancies.

"What do you...want?", he tried to bellow, but ultimately whispered as Kaneko pointed the piece of Touzen engineering at the other man, putting his left index finger onto his lips while playfully winking at Ikeda.

"I want to kill you, simply put."

Ikeda fell silent, unable to avoid staring at his executioner. Tears began to form in his eyes as he began to contemplate his impending demise. The man, now weeping uncontrollably, folded his hands in front of his face.

"Please, you can't!"

"Unfortunately, I must."

"You...", Ikeda hissed, now having backed off again in a gesture of deviance, angry wrinkles dotting his red and swollen face. "You won't get away with this. The people will not allow your charade to continue. History is on our side - your kind has had long enough to ruin everything we fought and died for, Tarō died for. The death of a single man won't mean a thing in the world. You can't kill the inevitability of history. The people will change history for the better, and there is nothing you will ever be able to do about it!"

"Poetic. But you see, I disagree. At the end of the day, men do not change history. Bullets do."

 

[Touzen]

Golden Flower Golf Club
Jurchen Republic

Republican Marshal Dorgon didn't only play golf. He played well. Standing on the esmeral plains of rugged continental Touyou grass opening up in front of him, his blue vest and beige sunday cap stood in stark contrast to the natural colors all around him; strong even as the occasional cloud temporarily blocked out the sun. Dorgon was not his actual name; that misnomer had fallen prey to the unassailable depths that were the archives of the Bureau of Revolutionary Intelligence, locked away far outside, somewhere in the vast nothingness outside the Jurchen capital of Fengtian. But it was a good enough name for the people to remember - after all, his power did not come from any name, but from hard facts in the form of boots on the ground and arms in the hands; courtesy of Nokanawa.

It was a windless day, and the sun was still shining strong in the sky of the Eastern summer, as if to testify to its own strength before the bitter coldness that was the relentless assault of the arctic autumn winds that would blow across the rugged waves of the frosty oceans up north and over the lowlands of the continental plains soon enough.

The ball flew straight and soon was twenty, forty, many meters away. Too easy, he thought as he set forth on a slow stroll towards his destination, inhaling the fresh air and rejoicing in the serene beauty of the empty landscape around him. He had opted to play alone. Of course, the course had promptly been closed down for any and all other potential players, which had been easily justified by the presence of the de facto ruler of the Republic. Nokanawa was far away, and even though Fengtian pledged ideological allegiance to the Citizens Council far across the Ocean, no Nok plots the course here. Only I do.

This part of the course offered a grand view, but not much in terms of a game challenge. And even though Dorgon was mildly bored by this part (and he had already, as a private side project, been planning an own course at home, drawing sketches and even building a small model of his visions in his living room), he appreciated it for its mind-clearing qualities, for offering an emptiness that was hard to get by between the smoking chimneys and noisy roads of the republican capital, where, for better or for worse, he had to spend most of his time. An emotional side within him yearned for those times of tribal destitute, when the Jurchen tribes would trod across the more often than not barren lands, seeking their destiny in the vast expanses before them. But his rational side knew that this modern time left no room for crude nostalgia. The vastness of the modern man is the limitless potential for achievement of his machines, not his own ability. He sighed and continued on.

It was when he was about to reach for the ball he had sent flying only a few minutes ago and was in the process of lowering his gloved hand into the mud before him when he heard the faint sound of an approaching man; running towards his location. Despite all the years, his hearing was still good, and he turned around to notice one of the young lads working at the golf club quickly approaching and eventually catching up with him.

"Sir," the runner panted, stemming his hands against his short trousers, "a message, brought to you immediately in the event of its arrival, as you requested," he continued after inhaling another big breath.

"Thank you," the Republican Marshal replied in his warmest voice, receiving a small envelope from the messenger. "Tell the receptionist to give you an additional day's wage. He will know what to do."

As he spoke the words, he was already turning around again, not paying further attention to the boy or leaving him a chance to express his gratitude. With a sudden movement, he turned around once more.

"Oh, did you hear? Stalworth defeated Carnegie, a real surprise there."

"You listen to the radio?"

The boy, puzzled, shook his head.

"Ah, but you should. You always should. Keeping yourself informed about what is going on in the world is important. Knowledge is the only thing we Jurchen people have. No resources. Just that thing we have on our shoulders."

"Yes, Sir."

"Thank you. You can leave."

As he saw the boy disappearing on the horizon, he remembered the other reason he liked this part of the course. The absolute solitude.

He opened the envelope he had been handed, opening up the paper that had been neatly folded within. He smiled, then he reached for the gulf ball.

Thank you, Kaneko.

He looked at the scenery in front of him. His swing had been precise, it was a mere 5 meters to the small, unmarked hole in the ground - another specialty for him, as he preferred to increase the difficulty of the course by playing without any flags, instead relying on his memory to determine his strategy. He only had to gently touch the ball, which was rolling slightly upwards, over the green and into the hole.

It was all too simple. Wasn't it ironic that a staunch Touzen nationalist like Kaneko had been such a willing part of an opportunity the Jurchen people had been waiting for since as long as he could remember? He thought of the messenger boy again, and his mind drifted off, thinking about the better future his generation was about to seize - by force.

 

[Touzen]

Inoue Residence
Nokanawa
Constitutional State of Touzen

It had been a week since revolutionary hero Ikeda Kōichi had been murdered. The Popular Revolutionary Assembly had been poised to articulate the desires of the street, but now found itself in a dreaded state of paralysis. Two days ago, the revolutionary representatives had met for the first time after Ikeda's death in the old opera house at Imperial Square, agreeing to pursue the reform agenda in a new meeting scheduled for Friday. It was as much the desire to produce a working government as the desire to not let the popular movement for change run out of steam that had necessitated a speedy response to the status quo before the assassination. In the meantime, a formal investigation into the murder had been launched, but with the political situation as it was, hopes of finding the culprit, short of him or her revealing himself, would proof to be a daunting task.

It was not without satisfaction that Kaneko had noted the anger of the street at the postponement of the meeting of the PRA, and he had high hopes for Friday. Without Ikeda, the Assembly had lost one of its main driving forces. Of course, there were others that were prepared to step up, but it would take days, if not weeks, to produce results. He was not prepared to let the time go to waste, however. It was more than enough time for a riot or two.

June. Strange how so many things can change in not even three months. That strike in Hakata, that was a local issue. Of course, local authorities did not react correctly, but they were held accountable. We promised them the ability to institute new government, and we gave them the means to do so, but we didn't expect them to ever make use of it. And now, Inoue seeks to simply rewind the clock, as if nothing happened. Idiot.

"Of course we will strive to find a political solution at the Assembly...we don't...but we are prepared to take back the streets from chaotic elements if need be."

"I want to end the political deadlock, remember that, not a confrontation with the colleagues out there, rightfully angry at the events of the past few months, hell, the bast few years. Popular trust into the Revolution must be restored, the Revolution itself must be restored. We must work together to restore our statehood. To restore public trust. To restore the Constitutional State.""The mood for a compromise is ripe. Ikeda's untimely demise has opened up a window of opportunity for a grand national compromise as long as the radicals do not constitute themselves as an united force, and they will not with not even even three days left. The public wants a restoration of constitutional government, not a social experiment. And as we are approaching the thirtieth anniversary of our revolution, its cause will endure. Taketori's will not. And the gods willing, you will once more rise to be the Lord Protector the people want and need."

"Fucking Taketori."

 

[Touzen]

Nokanawa
Constitutional State of Touzen

Masaru put his hand against the smeary window that opened up to the small side alley to his house, somewhere in the Industrial quarters of eastern Nokanawa. It was raining outside, and a chilly wind was occasionally pressing itself through that one small hole in the glass that had been there even since before he had moved into the room two years earlier. It was no luxury apartment by any means, but at least it was a private room, barely affordable for an unskilled worker like him that had lost his job two months ago when his former boss at the wood factory. He had kicked out a significant portion of his workers that were not needed anymore after the new conveyor belts had been installed in the factory hall. Until then, Masaru had worked in logistics, which was a fancy term for moving around logs and other wooden items all day from inside the hall to boxes outside in the yard. Now, displaced by a machine, he was without work, except for the odd day jobs he occasionally managed to get a hold of. Usually he would hang around the train station, and see if he would be called upon - it was the traditional spot for prospective day workers to meet potential temporary employers. If there was no work - well, there was nothing to do, really. No work meant no money however, and no money was never good.

He stepped away from the window and threw himself onto his dirty futon. All things considered, he had been really luck today, however. Waiting at the train station as usual, he had been approached by one of the typical recruiters - somewhat bulky, grim-looking. The man had pointed at him and various other workers and ordered them to tag along. In a backyard a few streets away, the recruiter had promised the men the monetary equivalent of three days of work for a simple task the next day - something about moving a bunch of crates from one spot to another halfway across the city. To proof his point, several Ryō notes were given to each and every man, with the rest of the money to be handed out later on. All they had to do was to come to the backyard again next morning to receive further instructions.

 

[Touzen]

Nokanawa
Constitutional State of Touzen

Kaneko was skimming through the records of the day again. On the desk before him, dozends of pages, transcripts, letters, motions, were piling up, documents that had been traded, proposed and rejected during the day at the Popular Revolutionary Assembly.

The entire session of the PRA had been dominated by an aura of solemn commemoration which was even further emphasized by the one minute of silence that was observed in respect towards Kaneko's murder victim, Ikeda. During the entire proceedings, he had felt nothing. This realization had scared him at first, but it dawned to him that ultimately, Ikeda had been only the first of many victims that were likely to still have to die if his and Dorgon's plan was to succeed. It was a mission for personal glory and influence, and it was only fair that such an ambition would require him to impure his own hands. In a way, the slaying of Ikeda had been a perfect example of consequentially applied Post-Delegationist ethics. After all, was shooting a man not work, and was it not the most direct, primitive experience of labor put into a task resulting in a finished product that one could touch, taste and smell? The working man enjoying the fruits of his labor, instead of being an anonymous cogwheel in the machineries of the industrialized economy?

It was already beginning to get dark outside and the old gas lamps coruscated into activity, embracing the main boulevard of 1927 Street in their warm, orange luminosity. Tomorrow, the PRA would assemble again. Today the body had mostly decided on the proceedings, as afterwards the latest news from the Jurchen Republic had sparked a heated debate about whether or not Nokanawa was in the process of losing its revolutionary leadership. This Nokanawa certainly was, and Kaneko was determined to speed up its conclusion to the best of his abilities. The schemer had to be careful, however. The mood on the streets was explosive, and even though he hadn't admitted it towards Dorgon, he was not entirely sure that their ploy would work out as they had imagined it. For all its shortcomings when it came to enacting the policies of Post-Delegationism as it had originally been theorized by Yamagata, the Constitutional State had never wavered in its commitment to the issue of popular armament, a policy that was supposed to prevent tyranny from manifesting itself. Now however, Kaneko noted grimly, it actually looked like it was assisting tyranny in manifesting itself. The tyranny of the streets was a terrible prospect, and he didn't even dare to think what potential forces could capitalize on a prolonged deadlock in Nokanawa. No, an insurrection was not in his interest, and he also assumed that it was not in Dorgon's. Kaneko suspected that the Republican Marshall would not be overly horrified by the prospect of a prolonged slump in Touzen industrial capacity due to gun violence and strike action, but neither would he be keen on being forced to commit to pacification. Stability was needed, in short.

As he shifted documents from one corner of the table to the other, paying little attention to preserving a resemblance of order amongst the brochures, the door to his office burst open, a young militiaman with a rifle strapped around his shoulders bursting into his office. Instinctively, Kaneko reached for the revolver that was prominently placed on top of a pile of papers within arm's reach, but the intruder quickly lifted his right palm towards him to indicate that he had no intentions that warranted a countermeasure of gun appliance.

"Colleague Kaneko? There is no time, we have to evacuate you immediately. 10 minutes ago, bombs exploded at West Revolution Street and Blue Square. We have to evacuate the district right now."

Kaneko lost no time.

 

[Touzen]

Fengtian
Jurchen Republic

The bombs had exploded, just as planned. Early reports suggested that none of the charges had failed to detonate. It was far too early to tell whether all the targets had been hit (such issues of security would probably only be revealed by the Touzen authorities in the upcoming days) , but it was not too import to the overall success of the operation. Of course it would be nice if one or the other had succumbed to his little presents, but Marshall Dorgon did not concern himself with the trivialities of a dying breed that he was actively moving to make obsolete. For a moment, and only a moment, he had considered utilizing his contacts to ensure that the packet delivered to Kaneko would also detonate, but he had ultimately decided against it. It was not the moment to turn on Kaneko, not now, quite apart from the possibility that Kaneko could have maintained documents that implicated him in the bomb plot, just for the eventuality of the Jurchen man's betrayal. Far from having a natural sympathy towards his Touzen 'partner', Dorgon nevertheless considered him the key for the grand scheme. As much as the arrogant archetype of the stale and uncreative Touzen establishment was a nuisance on a personal level and repulsive on the intellectual, he would continue to provide much gain for the Jurchen Republic and Dorgon on a political level.

All he had to do now was to wait. The political process that had been rekindled yesterday would without a doubt turn into a bonfire of political accusations paralyzing Nokanawa, or at least he anticipated events to transpire that way. An orchestrated spiral of domestic violence, distrust and intimidation - who could consider themselves safe these days? The populist movement on the streets, their red bandwagons and the exiled veterans? Ikeda had been murdered, no machination was too unlikely to be expected of what remained of the Citizens Congress power base in the country. The bureaucratic establishment, keen on preserving the status quo? Unlikely. After all, they had just been attacked, no doubt, and as investigations surely would reveal (this, Dorgon had made painfully sure to orchestrate), by radical elements from the streets. How could those two sides, prepared for and yearning to kill, possibly find consent in the Popular Revolutionary Assembly?

Dorgon sighed. As the old man of Fengtian removed his reading glasses and caressed the sides of his head, his mind wandered towards the Near West, over the rough extends of the northern ocean that penetrated the bay disjoining this revolution from another in Boliatur. Yesterday's statement had resonated in Europe's capitals. He didn't care one bit for the content of the -amusingly angry- responses he had received nor for the fate of the crippled regime spilling blood in a fashion reminiscent of older days, but the fact that the delegationist world had reacted to the Republic's commitment to Boliatur would surely also be noted in Touzen. When the time came, it would all fall into place - a grand pacificator, a neutral, staunch and committed hero of the revolution, the perfect arbitrator in a divided country, ready to be ignited in a fiery catharsis. And then he would offer simple solutions.

 

[Touzen]

Yellow Crane Palace
Jurchen Republic

"There is no doubt about it, Colleague Marshall. The reports from our sources indicate that a counter-revolutionary coup is in progress in Boliatur."

Silence filled the situation room at the Yellow Crane Palace, the traditional seat of power for the last few hundred years in what was now the Jurchen Republic. The Jurchen Emperors had resided here, and during times of Han dominance, the governors established their courts in the once-yellow building complex situated in the middle of old Fengtian. These days, the yellow color had been all but purged from the walls of the complex, the elements having had hundreds of years to bend this human construct to their will. The West Wall especially had in fact also begun to slowly adopt the black and red pigments of the sands from the Western Deserts, blowing over the vast expanses of the Jurchen flatland. Black was an adequate color comparison for the mood currently permeating the situation room in the Palace, staffed by Republican Marshall Dorgon and his cabinet.

"Then...", the old man heading the congregation resolved, "it is imperative for us to act."

His voice indicated not haste nor anger, but a matter-of-fact willingness to address the situation he had been confronted with.

"Colleague Minister of Defense, your input?"

"Revolutionary intervention is generally feasible, Colleague Marshall. The counter-revolutionary elements leading the charge against the Republican government are comparatively strong and enjoy the support of the delegationist sections of the population, but within the capacities expected of the Boliaturan statehood."

"And with that you mean of neglectable significance."

"Precisely, Colleague Marshall."

"Begin preparations for airborne intervention in Mrysini and prepare for seaborne reinforcements to cross the channel as soon as possible. And for heaven's sake..."

Dorgon turned towards a big-glassed individual sitting on the other side of the large conference table whom had until now shyly stared at the desk in front of him.

"...find me someone competent. Anyone. After all this is over, we will need someone who is bloody competent to run matters in Mrysini, not this bunch of anarchic wackos."

The man nodded a subservient nod.

It seemed all very unfortunate, but for Dorgon, this affair could not have come at a better time, and he vowed to lit a candle at the Grand Altar of the central Jōdo Shinshū temple next to the Yellow Crane Palace, testament to the ancient interconnection of religious and worldly dictate that had only found its terminal conclusion with the arrival of Nokanawa's revolutionary creed. As the members of his cabinet began discussing the details of the Republic's moves to come in the next hours and days, the Republican Marshall faded out, retreating his consciousness to another time and place. No matter how he looked at it, this affair presented him with the ideal chance to forward his visions for the Constitutional State and assert Jurchen statesmanship as the responsible guardian of the Post-Delegationist dogma that Nokanawa always had claimed to be, but never once since Yamagata's demise had lived up to. Perhaps it was in the weak Touzen soul, though, not steeled and shaped in the eternal struggle that was nomadic life in the Antung plains, a lifestyle the Jurchen tribes had brought to perfection in centuries upon centuries of struggle with the elements themselves.

 

[Touzen]

Kanagawa Steel Works Factory Premises, Under administration of the Revolutionary Citizen Corps
Nokanawa
Constitutional State of Touzen

"And it is precisely for this reason that we can no longer tolerate the suffocating conditions imposed upon us by jesters claiming to articulate the vox populi, while all they do is ensure the profit of the industrial barons and their financial backers. Systematically, they have altered the deal, they rolled back the revolutionary achievements we fought for! They made the free market but a hollow phrase to suit their interests, while the democratic aspirations of the working class are suffocated in the talemantine mazes of the ever-extending bureaucracy. And now that for the first time in almost thirty years, the people are articulating their aspirations and dreams for a more egalitarian, equal and genuinely free society, the Citizens' Council finds no other response but to frame us with a bombing we didn't even commit! If you ask me, it's obvious: they are looking for a reason to clean the streets, to end the movement. But we will stay vigilant! We..."

The small man standing on top of the box raged on, his right hand, clenched into a fist, cutting through the air as if it was holding a sword, eagerly slashing away at an invisible enemy. Behind him, a red cloth banner was tattering in the chilly breeze that rushed through the open factory hall. He didn't look any different from the crowd in front of him, dressed in work clothes and equipped with various helmets and caps, but his articulation gave away a certain sense of basic refinement - perhaps he had been to senior high school, or even technical college.

"The Revolutionary Citizens Corps is the only force that stands between us and the state. We are the vanguard of the common man. No, not a vanguard. We are the common man!"

The man stopped as the crowd around him, until moments ago eager to listen to his every hatred-seeping phrase, turned around to the entrance, where the two guards at the entrance gate of the work hall moved aside to let an aggravated young man in. The eyes of the two-hundred or so men, most of them regular employees in the factory before it had been seized by its workforce after a lockout sometime after the beginning of the June Demonstrations, now rested on the figure that had just barked into the gathering in the industrial quarters of Eastern Nokanawa, curious to get to know as to what would agitate the new arrival so much.

"The police. It's the police. They have issued an ultimatum!"

 

[Northern Cooperative Unions]

(originally posted in another thread, keeping it in here to keep things organized.)​

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BALGAA, SÜRGŐSSÉGI BUNKER OF THE CITIZEN'S COUNCIL - BALGAA DETACHMENT
​

Councilman Szabo scanned the dark underground barracks, the relaxed hum of a combustion engine filling the tight, corridor-like room. He slid a hand into his blanket, itching furiously at the skin under his hairy, hastily made cotton jumpsuit. The combustion generator's hum sputtered, the purr of the machine stopping. Abruptly, emergency lighting lit the entire complex. Without the purr, a massive klaxon alarm sounded. The wrinkly man groaned, slowly clambering away from his bed in unison with thirty three other councilmen. The curious men were suddenly rocked about by a huge tremor.

"RUN!"

The raspy voice of a guard filled the room with a single, blood-curdling scream. Szabo's heart quailed as he stumbled back into his bed, slapping his head down onto the metal bar with a grunt. Behind a blast door nearby, a hail of gunfire erupted in a crackle. Following the emission of fire, the noise of bullets piercing metal cast through the blast door, several tracers on bullets filling the red room. Szabo was caught in a crowd of furious and afraid councilmen, guards whom entered the room gurgling and choking on their own blood as machine-gun bullets filled the room with lead.

Szabo's head was bleeding profusely, his vision flashing as he was dragged along with a frantic crowd of guards and councilmen. A trail of crimson fluids left his motionless body as he was dragged. The howls of soldiers filled his ears. His eyes refused to open as he drifted in and out of consciousness.

A man dressed in a jet black uniform approached Szabo, lifting a flashlight aloft in the dark hallway. The noise of a truck droned in the background. The man spoke in broken Hungarian.

"Kicsoda? Kicsoda?"

Szabo's eyes were lit up by the blinding flare of the flashlight. He hocked a bout of spit in the direction of light, smiling with a broad, toothy grin. The barrel of a gun pressed against his temple. A bullet entered his skull, killing him immediately.

 

[Northern Cooperative Unions]

(somewhat hastily written due to school work.)


"You all understand that if we are caught we will be drawn, quartered, and then burnt at some sort of cultural barbecue?"

The pale Mongolian scanned the table of five men all adorned in jet black Boliaturian Army uniform, each with rank cauldrons denoting Vezérezredes, Regimental Commanders. The men nodded almost in unison, continuing their oath of treason. The Mongolian himself was in traditional Khanate dress uniform - a nomadic jacket with a leather cap, a massive robe comprised of animal skins from cattle and ibex.

"There is no turning back, and within our oath it is likely that two out of the five of us will be caught and killed. Going beyond that, your regiments may crumble under the weight of our former brothers. Anarchists aside, this ordeal will place our families, our friends, and our soldiers in danger. Do you all acknowledge and pledge to support the cause?" The pale Mongolian slowly rolled his shoulders, his eyes darting around the room at each man. Each man nodded, one after the other, as his eyes fell upon them.

"Today our opportunity has come to avail. Ability is nothing without opportunity, comrades. All regiments shall converge upon Mrysini through Balgaa, for the Khan's name and his people. I will not watch my country be destroyed by anarchists." The group of Vezérezredes simply nodded as puppets, lifting themselves from their chairs and leaving in unison. A man dressed in similar uniform to the Mongolian quickly rushed over to the Mongolian's seat, pulling it backwards and assisting the frail man up.

"Khan Dorjsurenkhoroljav, your automobile awaits."

 

[Touzen]

St. Peter's Cathedral
Nokanawa

St. Peter's Cathedral was really only a cathedral in name. It was one of the older houses of worship of the Tiburan Catholic rite in the realm however, which had given it the distinction of a name grander than its ambition. Located on a small hill near a lake outside of the capital, the Cathedral was a small building, stretching across the entire length of the elevation it was situated upon, its Neo-Gothic style oddly contrasting with the surrounding landscape's classical Touzen aesthetics. Two lines of cherry trees ran up to its entrance, guiding the prospective visitor up until the main porta and inside the complex. That is, when a visitor actually happened to come to the cathedral which had been deconsecrated sometime in the 20s, nobody sure whether that had been before or after the revolution, but the fact remained that the building had been abandoned for religious usage. This however had not happened without drawing the attention of the Citizens' Bureau of Culture, which had deemed it worthy of restoration and preservation as an important cultural landmark of the Constitutional State. It was by no means easy to reach the church, as doing so required traveling down a small muddy way branching from the main road for a good few miles, passing through a small, but serene wood and a swamp that eventually faded into the lake near the church, but it was this relatively remote location that made the church an ideal place for a political gathering that was to happen in relative confidentiality.

"I take it we have come to an agreement, then?", Kaneko inquired with the two men that set on the opposite side of the table that had been carried over from the long disused quarters of the parish priest. The group of four men was now sitting gathered around a small wooden table that stood in the place where once upon a time, Eucharists and other rites of the Christian religion had been performed. It was not a last supper by any means however, as the men that had joined in communion here today were anything but followers of the same lord. Kaneko, who had quickly asserted himself as the main spokesman for the Constitutional State and the forces in the All Citizens' Council loyal to the resigned Inoue administration, had been joined by Hoshino Ayumu, senior analyst at the Ministry of Industry, Finance and Commerce, who even now as the Constitutional State found itself without a government continued to run his ministry with remarkable efficiency. As administration after administration had been cast out over the last 10 years, it were bureaucrats like him that ensured consistency and continuity in the everyday handling of matters. The weakness of the political establishment inside the revolutionary state had given rise to an interpretation of statehood rooted in the bureaucratic layers, and it was this arrangement that had now exploded into an open dispute, but it could not be denied that no matter what the public concerns right now were, the bureaucracy not only had a significant say in the Constitutional State as of now, but was also keen to ensure that this would be the case in any future arrangements, and indeed it seemed impossible to completely cast aside the bureaucracy's influence if Nokanawa was to continue running a modern state.

"Dissolution of the All Citizens' Council and new elections by the end of the year. The creation of a national unity government in the meantime... Integration of the Popular Revolutionary Assembly in a bicameral structure, details pending. Review of the Constitution once these steps have been taken", Kobayashi summarized the agreement the four men had reached this morning. Ito next to him said nothing, but simply nodded to the words of his comrade.

"And the cessation of armed activity on the streets, a petition for the workers to return to their factories and a demobilizations of the Revolutionary Citizens Corps", Kaneko responded, citing the part of the deal Ito's Revolutionary Citizens Corps and their political allies around Kobayashi's fraction were expected to uphold.

"And of course the power share agreement", he added after a theatrical pause. And this was for him the most important breakthrough this day, for it cemented Kaneko's ascension to the position of the next Lord Protector of the Constitutional State. Kaneko and Hoshino had been moved to agree to allow the Popular Revolutionary Assembly to create its own position that would be on equal terms with the Lord Protector, a position that would be filled by Kobayashi, but Kaneko counted on the elder nature of the institution of the Lord Protector to give him the necessary sway and influence in the time ahead. Once he would get Dorgon to do his part, the Popular Revolutionary Assembly would be history anyway, Kobayashi and Ito would be dead and the Constitutional State secure. There was the problem with the war in Boliatur that was now beginning to materialize, but the designated Lord Protector saw big potential in relieving domestic pressure through an external conflict. It would give him a good way to sharpen his profile as Lord Protector and avoid the failures of Inoue, too. Inoue - explaining this deal to him would likely take some effort, but the old man still trusted Kaneko to return power to him after the storm had settled. Kaneko had respect for Inoue on a personal level, but considered him a political failure. Eventually he would certainly be made to agree to retirement and live a comfortable life in one of the Nokanawa suburbs, that he would make sure.

Particles of dust brightened up and a beam of light paved its way through the room as the main door of the cathedral opened. Through the dance of the dust and the brightness of the sun it was difficult to disclose the shape of the figure entering the building, but it became clearer as the figure approached the unlikely communion.

Inoue.

"What the hell would he be doing here?", Ito hissed, and Kobayashi carefully eyed Kaneko, expecting betrayal, but Kaneko was not paying any attention to the two men, never releasing his eyes' lock on Inoue's face as he came towards them.

"Something has happened", he resolved, and he was not at all happy with that.

 

[Touzen]

Charleroi
United Republic of Sylvania

"Fukuda Declares Himself Provisional Head of Government" "Insurrection Spreads Across the Country" "Kaneko Enacts Emergency Measures" "Dorgon Warns Of Unforseeable Consequences As Airborne Elements Land In the Bay of Transbalgaa"

Taketori skimmed over the headlines of various Touzen newspapers once more, then folded them into a neat pile on the left side of his table. He rose up, once more taking a quick glimpse at the latest copy of the Revolutionary Asserter and his front page article. Even though it was but a paper, he was proud of having maintained his presence, even from thousands of miles away, even if only in print. The Asserter took a long and illustrious journey, too. The paper was printed in a private print shop far up in Duquesne and then brought into Touzen by clandestine means, usually Marcher freighters stopping on the way to the East in Charleroi. Printing the Taketoriite journal far from Charleroi was another precautionary measure he had opted to take against any would-be assailants sent by the Constitutionalists, and thus far Nokanawa seemingly had not been successful in tracing back his location in Sylvania. They probably had a general idea where he might have gone after moving from place to place in the first phase of his exile, but he wasn't so sure if they had traced his steps to Occidentia, and these days their main attention was probably elsewhere anyway. It was not like he had not survived one or the other assassination attempts over the years, but people like Inoue hadn't really cared about him anymore anyway, even though his conviction for terrorism against the revolution were still upheld across the post-delegationist world, as was his death sentence.

"Tea?"

Bruno was entering the room. A tall man, his square face framed firmly by his dark blond hair, his Franken-born bodyguard had to duck his head inside the frame of the door leading to Taketori's study.

"Ah, no thanks Bruno, I'll be quite alright. I was just about to head out into the garden anyway."

"Have you checked the news yet? There is this guy...what was his name...recently exiled? He's coming to town, giving some talks and such."

"Hideyoshi", Taketori answered as he pushed his chair back against the table after taking his overcoat from it, "I heard about it. Never heard about him before, however. If it's true what they say, that he has connections to Nokanawa, then he is without a doubt on Nokanawa's payroll, so hardly worth our time."

"Should I go to see what he has to say, anyway?"

Bruno moved aside as the Nokanawan man began moving towards the door, entering the corridor towards the stairs leading to the first floor.

"If you have time and feel bored, why not? But don't do anything suspicious."

"Says the man discussing his latest writings outside in the garden, where everybody standing on the other side of the wall could just as well keep protocol of everything being said on the other side. And next thing we know, some Yujiner son of a gun comes leaping over the wall to apply some of that ninja stuff you people are so fond of."

"That's what I have you for, don't I?"

"Except I shoot at people instead of throwing spiked discs at them."

 

[Touzen]

Jurchen Revolutionary Assembly
Fengtian, Jurchen Republic

Dorgon checked the buttons on his uniform for the last time. His trademark cap was in place. Under his right arm he firmly clenched the manuscript for the speech he was about to give, even though he had memorized it numerous times since the final draft had been approved by both him and Norovyn Batbold, the Minister of Defense. Dorgon was a competent orator, but including others in his everyday decision making, even if through such small gestures, served him in a multitude of ways, from gaining new insights into the issues he addressed to simply making the members of his cabinet feel more important than they probably ultimately were. Besides, as a former teacher, Batbold excelled as a lector, even if he didn't excel at much anything else.

War has come. What a joyful occasion of my bloodthirsty kin. In all openness, the Republican Marshall was starting to wonder whether Kaneko would be able to execute what they had agreed upon in a proper fashion. The state of unrest on the Constitutional State had been intense, and 'unrest' was a genuine understatement, helpfully disseminated by the Touzen Times. That morning he had also received reports about the affair in Hakata and the Taketoriite subterfuge there. Taketori - his departure from the Constitutional State had also been Dorgon's victory, at least in parts. Behind closed doors, Dorgon had always argued to put a definite end to the threat posed by him, but the inner circle of the Revolution had ultimately overruled them. He had not exactly been a protégé of Yamagata, but his popularity had been strong enough. He had represented the young ranks of the Revolution, after all, and his death would have caused a riot. Ultimately he had been removed from the equation in a quite amicable fashion. The charges against him were raised only after he had long left the confines of the Revolution, and the threat of a Taketoriite resurgence had justified the extraordinary measures taken afterwards.

No, a resurgence of his ideas had to be prevented. But could it be? By all accounts, Hakata at this moment experienced exactly that, the resurgence of a dogma condemned as heterodox and prosecuted across the East. And somewhere, somehow, the man behind it all was sitting, biding his time, no doubt watching with keen interest.

The Jurchen Marshall risked a peak through the door crack into the main assembly room of the Jurchen Revolutionary Assembly. Soon enough, he would step through it, and give his speech, but the ranks of rubber stamping yes-men before him would not be whom he would be solely addressing, this he had made sure to arrange. Such importance had he attributed to making sure that his speech would resonate in the right ears that it would be broadcasted live, across the ocean, into the Constitutional State. A Hero of the Revolution, speaking to the people. A down to earth character. An honest man.

"Are you ready?", a voice from somewhere behind him in the corridor interrupted Dorgon's musings. Batbold. Trailing behind him was a line of Aresuran smoke from a cigar from the same island. Dorgon strongly disapproved of the habit and had clashed more than once with his minister over the issue, going so far as to outright banning smoking in sittings of the cabinet and the entire Yellow Crane Palace. His intense insistence on making education a priority of his government, coming right after matters of state defense, had not been limited to scholastic education, but also found articulation in a desire to raise health awareness amongst the general population. A proposed anti-smoking campaign had failed faced with the resistance of his ministers, citing concerns for the economic wellbeing of the tobacco importers. But how could a man possibly be free as long as he was a slave to a little burning stick? It seemed incomprehensible to a man that went to the green every other day and in his youth had run marathons.

Dorgon simply nodded.

"This is not the Palace", Batbold excused himself as he followed the gaze of the Marshall towards the cigar. He tapped his index finger against the tip, and ash flakes fell to the ground. Dorgon opened his mouth, but then sighed, turned around and continued towards the door.

 

[Touzen]

Sea of Touzen

The machine was soaring through the sky. It was not one of those new and fancy, some would say visionary, jet types yet, those monsters of steel that were said to revolutionize transcontinental civilian traffic like never before in the upcoming years. The Marshall was flying in what was very much a beast of his era: old, rugged, but yet comfortable and with the experience of thousands of days and nights under its belt.

Reclining in his seat in the back of the machine, courteously separated from the rest of the passenger cabin occupied by his most immediate staff by a thick red curtain, Dorgon risked a look from the window. The black in black that was ocean contrasted by night sky. Somewhere down there. The main landing operation in the Bay of Transbalgaa was now being conducted. The post-delegationist press had earlier reported a landing in Western Boliatur - a decoy. In a country so remote, so thrown into chaos by the confusion of civil war, such information stood as real or unreal as any other. In this case, it had served twofold to emphasize Jurchen commitment to the defense of Boliatur, but also to serve as a wrong message for the Khan, to wrongfully emphasize a hasty defense in a wrong area. Dorgon had ordered an operation that was to be headed under the label of an invasion of the Bay of Transalgaa, yes - but this landing was actually taking place considerably further south, near the border to Karakhstan. For now, the earlier paratrooper detachment of barely a few dozen men would serve as a relay post in the actual area of Balgaa, but stay silent - that was his plan, anyway.

It was a daring operation, no doubt. The 15th Revolutionary Infantry Division would take to the beaches at the break of dawn, supported by the guns of the two Destroyers Admiral Gon and Northern Revolution. In the skies, a CAS detachment stationed across the strait would be sure to take out gun positions and armored vehicles that the puny and limited capabilities of the Destroyers missed to engage. Dorgon had consulted only a few hours ago with his Carentanian connections, and had gained the go-ahead for the socialist support of the attack on the right flank. The Carentanian and Median forces, that he had gathered, would be reinforced by heavy equipment in the upcoming days, which predestined them for an expansive assault across the Bay. The Peninsula taken, Dorgon reasoned, second tier elements could move up to force the island off the coast into submission, should it transpire that Khanist elements would emerge victorious there. With the beachhead established in the south, the 16th Revolutionary Infantry would reinforce the 15th's beachhead, while the 3rd Motorized would land further to the north east, to assist rapid elements of the socialist detachment. The Eastern Push, as he had labeled the offensive, would then bring the coalition forces into a position to march onto Balgaa itself, which Dorgon grimly noted had fallen to the Khanist forces, if his information was correct. He reckoned, however, that the multitude of the Khan's forces would by now be stationed in the capital - in general, the motorized nature of the Jurchen intervention would greatly assist in asserting the coalition's mobile advantage in the conflict. Pacification of gained territory would be another issue entirely. There will be a lot of people with a lot to answer to a lot of angry Councilmen...or what is left of them anyway.

The Marshall diverted his thoughts from war, a nuisance, a bothersome side effect of grander schemes. Would Batbold smoke up the Yellow Crane Palace in his absence?

The plane began to shake a little - the Marshall clenched his fingers deeper into his seat. It would be a lie to say that he was a flier, he hated flying. And this was an old model powered by engines, he could barely imagine how insane the feeling of being on a jet ride to hell must be, and deep inside he hoped that he would not witness the day anymore on which the jet would entirely displace the propeller.

The red curtain separating him from the rest of the passengers moved aside.

"Something to drink, to eat, Sir?", the flight attendant asked, bowing in her silver uniform.

"No, thank you. I intend to sleep for the rest of the flight. Please relay this to the rest of the crew", the Marshall finally replied after lustful seconds of depraved fantasy. The curtain closed, and so did Dorgon's eyes. Before his inner eye, a thousand Jurchen soldiers were marching, shooting, dying for his vision.

 

[Touzen]

Hakata
Constitutional State of Touzen

No Government by Nobody!
Smash the Bureaucratic Class, Establish the Industrialist Future!
1927-1952: One Vision, One Revolution!

The banners with revolutionary slogans hang at the walls of the Hakata Hall of Industrialists, or rather the East Hakata Main Police Station as it had been known before Fukuda and the others had appropriated it for its new, revolutionary use. Inside the old interrogative office, a small group of men and women had assembled in a circle around a radio set, papers scattered all over the table around it. The only sound in the room apart from the faint sound of eager steps in the corridor outside was the bellowing of the machine.

"News come from the capital of Nokanawa where the Touzen Times reports that designated Lord Protector Kaneko has announced what he said was a Grand Peace of the Costitutional State, aimed at firmly reforging what was torn asunder in violent struggle. Taking into account the arrival of the Jurchen Marshall in the Constitutional State tomorrow, Kaneko has announced a full and immediate program for a lasting return to social peace within the Touzen confines, which is printed as following in the daily newspaper mentioned:

- Citizen Police forces engaged in struggle across the Constitutional State with the forces of the Revolutionary Citizens Corps shall withdraw from offensive positions and occupied private assets, provided that the opposing forces will not engage in acts of violent retribution during these withdrawals

- The Constitutional State's government is willing to reenter into unconditional negotiations with the opposition, armed or unarmed, to bring about lasting stability in the Constitutional State and pave the way for Marshall Dorgon to bring about a national compromise

- The Constitutional State's government is willing to temporarily grant revolutionary groups under the control of the Republican Marshall policing powers on the streets, while retaining the ultimate authority of the national police forces in matters of domestic security and crime prevention. Such a move must then be accompanied by a full commitment of the armed opposition to equally demobilize its aggressive potential.

The..."

Fukuda silenced the radio.

"So this is it, then", the revolutionary hissed. Nobody else in the room dared to speak a word. "This is how he intends to trick us into submission."

"What are you going to do? Just close down our operations here?", a woman to Fukuda's right, sitting on a pile of books, inquired.

"Of course not, Colleague Egami. We, all of us here today, are as good as dead, sooner or later. Dead, or away and constantly pursued, like Colleague Taketori. The moment we decided to defy Nokanawa, we burned all bridges that we potentially had, all options we had to go back."

"Then we are going to fight?", Egami inquired in response.

"Not we. They. They want to come get us, fine. But we won't give Nokanawa what it wants, a reason to justify its crackdown across the entire country. No, we will just continue operating as usual. Let them come. Colleague Ariwa?"

Ariwa straightened up. "Colleague Fukuda?"

"Double the patrols. And the guards. Make sure that we are prepared for approaches, day and night. Double rations if need be, dispose of some of our special guests if need be to make ends meet. Make the chief inspector go first then. Make it very certain to everyone that we are not to be touched, and that we won't be."

"Will be done, Colleague."

"Oh, and Ariwa?"

"Colleague?"

"Don't do that. That straightening, I mean", Fukuda added after Ariwa didn't give away any indication he was aware of what Fukuda was referring to. "This isn't the military. You can stand straight once Nokanawa's boys line you up against a wall."

"Now that we have that settled, the issue of rice shortages in.."