Grand Republican Palace - Presidential Apartments
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Republic of Jizhou - Yiyuan
April 18, 2010, 1:45 Local Time
“This is bullshit!” the old man yelled in a weak, raspy voice, beating the stack of papers with his right hand, “It's ridiculous, no one will believe this report.” The man, dressed in a traditional changshan that poorly hid his fat, particularly considering his piggishly round face. His oversized, boxy spectacles only accented the proportions of his ancient body, “This 'Hua' rabble only appeared last week. They couldn't have made contact with Vangala yet,”
“Vangala could have funded them to begin with,” argued the business-suited official, seated in the study's leather chair, “They were clearly well-armed to pull off such a daring attack.” He was a froggish man, younger, thinner and with much more fashionable eyewear. “They had a bomb.”
“It was an oil refinery, the whole thing is a fucking bomb, Dan!” The old man's raspy shouting descended into a coughing fit, he leaned on a cane to stabilize himself,
“Your Excellency!” Foreign Minister Dan Yimou jumped up to support the ailed president,
“Get away, I'm fine. It's this bullshit intelligence agency, publishing dog farts like this report, that's what's killing me, Dan.” The President hobbled over to the bookshelf and produced a silver case, pulling out a fine cigar. He offered it to the Foreign Minister, who shook his head in refusal,
“Thank you, sir. But, you see, Premier Li already praised the report.”
Striking a match, the President smugly replied, “Then Yuying can promote them all when he is president,” Dan was discomforted briefly, hearing the Premier's given name. “This is my republic, Dan. I am the head of state and head of government and supreme executive,” Zhang lit the cigar and took a drag, “I think Little Li forgets this too often.” The President coughed again.
“So you think the Agency fabricated everything, sir?” Dan sat back down.
“I think the whole thing is bullshit, a smelly dog fart,” the President took a leather armchair next to Dan. As he settled in, Zhang removed his spectacles, letting his sleepy eyes fall onto the Foreign Minister's face, “You can't blame the Vangalans for this.”
“But with the recent conflict in Sinhai-”
The President went to interrupt, but found he could only cough, so he waved away the thought with his hand, “The Sinese can handle their own problems. Hell, there's a good chance the monkeys made the whole thing up too,” he leaned over and spit some of the bile from his cigar into a crystal cup, “It's time for all this bullshit to end, Dan. 42 people dead in one day, how many thousands more before them? What will happen if Li takes this report to Vangala? Will they admit wrongdoing, apologize, turn their government over to Oikawa and dance to Kihara's tune?”
A brief silence fell. Yimou assumed the President was asking rhetorically, that he didn't want an answer, but Zhang took his time with his cigar, his head rolling back as he enjoyed the taste. Finally, the Foreign Minister said, “No, I don't think that would happen.”
“It definitely would not happen. The best that would happen, they would ignore him. The worst? A war. Cold or hot. More people dead. This report,” the President picked up the stack of papers again, “It's bullshit, Dan. Burn it, fire the man who wrote it and call Vangala in the morning.”
“Why call them, sir?” Yimou looked surprised,
“I want to talk to Cheng. I want him, in the room, with me. I want the whole Revolutionary All-China People's Government sitting in a conference room with my cabinet, and I want to end this.” The President spat again.
Dan leaned forward, concerned about Zhang's train of thought, “Forgive me, Your Excellency, what is 'this?'”
“This whole fucking conflict, Dan. I have been alive for nearly ninety-two years, Little Dan, I am too old to keep playing dogma. The First Emperor Jizhou united the nine states of China into the greatest empire in Europe, that would claim half the world as tributaries for a millennium. The western powers finally tore that down, and the eastern devil has done his damnedest to keep us divided,” the President's hand lazily drooped onto the arm of the chair, letting cigar ash stain the leather, “It is time to end that division, to reunite the Chinese people into a strong, modern state.”
“President Zhang...” the Foreign Minister tried to interrupt,
“We have entered the 21st century, Dan. One-party rule is a relic of a bygone era. We are a joke to the rest of the world. It's time to put a stop to the bullshit and the violence, bring the commies into a conference room and end this fucking war once and for all. You are going to call Vangala in the morning and you are going to get me Cheng Shikai!”
Dan stood up, concerned about the President's cigar, “But Oikawa, they won't respond well to a motion for reconciliation.”
The old man ignored the burning tobacco, which had rolled out of his hand and onto the rug, “What are they going to do, Dan? Demand more territory? Will they take Chengyuan? The riots would consume everything an Oikawan hand has ever touched. Mitsurugi would be shaking down Kihara for bus fare after his factories lie in ruin,” he laughed at the thought, which rapidly turned into another violent coughing fit. “Burn.... the report!”
Foreign Minister Dan looked down at the old man, holding his burning cigar, he watched as the President collapsed onto the floor, coughing up bile.