12-05-2025, 09:39 PM
Sundinhuset, Kivonia, Davostag – 16 August 5641
The halls were clean, a minimalism with a clear elegance to it. A blend between authoritative and classicist. The lighting had been installed with a conscious understanding of presentation, as it was not lighting up the hallways, or any of the rooms, rather providing just enough light to give everything an ominous presence. In the hallway, in front of two dark wood doors, 23-year old Greta Greger sat. Clear blonde hair worn in a tight bun, adorned with a field-grey cap, paired with a military uniform of the same colour, neatly pressed on her. Her shoulder marks indicated a rank of an army sergeant.
She looked up on a painting beside the door, lit up from below to showcase the content. It was a portrait of the late rikspresident Gustav Dahler. Greta tightened her lips, gazing at the man with her unclear blue-green eyes who, not so long ago, had caused thousands of deaths not many blocks away from where she was right now. Not a single thought reached her mind at that moment, though she knew she was never going to forgive him.
The door opened, with a man coming out. He wore a light-grey uniform in the form of a suit, white shirt and black tie; the standard of the State Security Bureau. Greta rose from her seat, swiftly clicking her tall black military boots and saluting the man.
"At ease Sergeant, please come in and take a seat", the man said as his ice-blue eyes pierced through Greta.
"Yes, Sir", she responded promptly. She walked into the room, and as she suspected, the same style as the rest of the building, dimly lit, with a few meter long plants placed in the corners of the room. She took a seat in front of the main desk, built with elegant dark brown wood. Behind the desk was a portrait, similar to the one outside in the hall, but larger and portraying the current rikspresident Karl Manner.
The man took his seat, ran his fingers through his brownish blonde hair while picking up the file laid on the desk. He briefly opened it and then closed it, putting it on the desk again. "As you probably already know, I am Colonel Roger Hansson, I manage one of the main departments here at HQ. The reason for you being here is due to a... let's say report, from one of our agents." He stopped, observing her.
Greta had already heard a great deal of SSB behavior during her time in the army, she had been mentally prepared for this moment. Pulling through all her strength she refused to give any sign of nervousness, despite an ominous feeling creeping up on her. "I see. And what may this report say if I may ask?"
He kept observing her for a few more seconds. He glanced down to the table and then up again. "It's about your military service."
Greta had never felt such great relief before, not as she could remember. She knew very well that her military service was completely spotless, at least in Davostager standards. She then noticed something, in his eyes, she realized that he had seen both her dread and relief come and go. She understood that he knew exactly what she was thinking, despite her not making a single move. Was it my breathing? How fast did I blink? Or maybe I did it too slowly? She tried to calm herself as she came to the realization that he probably noticed her flood of doubts as well. "What about it Sir?" she asked.
He looked at her and continued. "I have the understanding you served in the 2nd Armoured Infantry Division on the Northern front."
"Yes, Sir. The 26th Armoured Infantry Regiment, 2nd Armoured Infantry Division, 5th Army Corps, 2nd Field Army."
He looked down at the table again. Seemingly in thought. "I read a report, Sergeant. That in the absence of the SSB agent attached to your unit, who had been killed in action, you utilized certain techniques during interrogations with a few captured Legionary commissars." He paused, looking at her. "Is this true?"
"Yes, Sir" she responded without hesitation. As soon as he had mentioned that this meeting was concerning her service, she had known this would be it. Her torture of the captured prisoners to extract vital information for the war effort.
"How do you feel about that?" He asked, closely observing her.
She knew he was testing her mental resilience, at least partially. "I did not take joy in it if that's what you want to know. But I can't say it bothers me either. It was war and someone had to do the SSB's job." She met his eyes, determined to not be undermined.
Staring at each other for a moment, he continued. "I understand. I'm not gonna take up much more of your time Sergeant, I think I've got everything I've needed." Making another one of his pauses for a few seconds, he then continued. "We've evaluated your information on the battlefield, your physical, psychological, academic and other strengths... and this department, the recruitment department..."
The recruitment department? She thought to herself.
"...seeks to have you onboard as an officer of the State Security Bureau. What do you say, Sergeant Greger?"
In the bafflement she noticed something about the way he said her last name. She grit her teeth. She glanced down, pretending to think about it. Looking up to him she responded, "I suppose I have to make my decision now?"
"Yes."
"In that case I will accept."
"Perfect. I will begin making the arrangements." He stood up.
She followed his lead, putting her arms behind her back. "What about my current station?"
"You'll continue your service in the army part-time. In the meantime, you'll enter the SSB training program. Afterwards we'll arrange for an assignment at one of the provincial HQs, where you'll begin your work.
She thought for a second. "Understood." He nodded in approval, gesturing for the door. She clicked her boots, saluting, and went to the exit. Her head was full of thoughts on what would happen next.
As she was about to exit he continued. "Sergeant."
She turned around and looked at him. "Yes, Sir?"
He stared at her for a few seconds in silence. "Family relations?"
There it was. The actual test. "None, Sir. Only an injured uncle in the countryside."
He continued to stare. This time a bit longer. "...report here on Tuesday in two weeks." He then turned around heading for his desk.
"Yes, Sir." She closed the door behind her, gritting her teeth. I'll show them. I'll show them all.
The halls were clean, a minimalism with a clear elegance to it. A blend between authoritative and classicist. The lighting had been installed with a conscious understanding of presentation, as it was not lighting up the hallways, or any of the rooms, rather providing just enough light to give everything an ominous presence. In the hallway, in front of two dark wood doors, 23-year old Greta Greger sat. Clear blonde hair worn in a tight bun, adorned with a field-grey cap, paired with a military uniform of the same colour, neatly pressed on her. Her shoulder marks indicated a rank of an army sergeant.
She looked up on a painting beside the door, lit up from below to showcase the content. It was a portrait of the late rikspresident Gustav Dahler. Greta tightened her lips, gazing at the man with her unclear blue-green eyes who, not so long ago, had caused thousands of deaths not many blocks away from where she was right now. Not a single thought reached her mind at that moment, though she knew she was never going to forgive him.
The door opened, with a man coming out. He wore a light-grey uniform in the form of a suit, white shirt and black tie; the standard of the State Security Bureau. Greta rose from her seat, swiftly clicking her tall black military boots and saluting the man.
"At ease Sergeant, please come in and take a seat", the man said as his ice-blue eyes pierced through Greta.
"Yes, Sir", she responded promptly. She walked into the room, and as she suspected, the same style as the rest of the building, dimly lit, with a few meter long plants placed in the corners of the room. She took a seat in front of the main desk, built with elegant dark brown wood. Behind the desk was a portrait, similar to the one outside in the hall, but larger and portraying the current rikspresident Karl Manner.
The man took his seat, ran his fingers through his brownish blonde hair while picking up the file laid on the desk. He briefly opened it and then closed it, putting it on the desk again. "As you probably already know, I am Colonel Roger Hansson, I manage one of the main departments here at HQ. The reason for you being here is due to a... let's say report, from one of our agents." He stopped, observing her.
Greta had already heard a great deal of SSB behavior during her time in the army, she had been mentally prepared for this moment. Pulling through all her strength she refused to give any sign of nervousness, despite an ominous feeling creeping up on her. "I see. And what may this report say if I may ask?"
He kept observing her for a few more seconds. He glanced down to the table and then up again. "It's about your military service."
Greta had never felt such great relief before, not as she could remember. She knew very well that her military service was completely spotless, at least in Davostager standards. She then noticed something, in his eyes, she realized that he had seen both her dread and relief come and go. She understood that he knew exactly what she was thinking, despite her not making a single move. Was it my breathing? How fast did I blink? Or maybe I did it too slowly? She tried to calm herself as she came to the realization that he probably noticed her flood of doubts as well. "What about it Sir?" she asked.
He looked at her and continued. "I have the understanding you served in the 2nd Armoured Infantry Division on the Northern front."
"Yes, Sir. The 26th Armoured Infantry Regiment, 2nd Armoured Infantry Division, 5th Army Corps, 2nd Field Army."
He looked down at the table again. Seemingly in thought. "I read a report, Sergeant. That in the absence of the SSB agent attached to your unit, who had been killed in action, you utilized certain techniques during interrogations with a few captured Legionary commissars." He paused, looking at her. "Is this true?"
"Yes, Sir" she responded without hesitation. As soon as he had mentioned that this meeting was concerning her service, she had known this would be it. Her torture of the captured prisoners to extract vital information for the war effort.
"How do you feel about that?" He asked, closely observing her.
She knew he was testing her mental resilience, at least partially. "I did not take joy in it if that's what you want to know. But I can't say it bothers me either. It was war and someone had to do the SSB's job." She met his eyes, determined to not be undermined.
Staring at each other for a moment, he continued. "I understand. I'm not gonna take up much more of your time Sergeant, I think I've got everything I've needed." Making another one of his pauses for a few seconds, he then continued. "We've evaluated your information on the battlefield, your physical, psychological, academic and other strengths... and this department, the recruitment department..."
The recruitment department? She thought to herself.
"...seeks to have you onboard as an officer of the State Security Bureau. What do you say, Sergeant Greger?"
In the bafflement she noticed something about the way he said her last name. She grit her teeth. She glanced down, pretending to think about it. Looking up to him she responded, "I suppose I have to make my decision now?"
"Yes."
"In that case I will accept."
"Perfect. I will begin making the arrangements." He stood up.
She followed his lead, putting her arms behind her back. "What about my current station?"
"You'll continue your service in the army part-time. In the meantime, you'll enter the SSB training program. Afterwards we'll arrange for an assignment at one of the provincial HQs, where you'll begin your work.
She thought for a second. "Understood." He nodded in approval, gesturing for the door. She clicked her boots, saluting, and went to the exit. Her head was full of thoughts on what would happen next.
As she was about to exit he continued. "Sergeant."
She turned around and looked at him. "Yes, Sir?"
He stared at her for a few seconds in silence. "Family relations?"
There it was. The actual test. "None, Sir. Only an injured uncle in the countryside."
He continued to stare. This time a bit longer. "...report here on Tuesday in two weeks." He then turned around heading for his desk.
"Yes, Sir." She closed the door behind her, gritting her teeth. I'll show them. I'll show them all.