A Battle Unseen

[vesica]

Scarlet exhaled a slow stream of smoke from her cigarette, the dim glow barely illuminating her sharp, knowing smile. The alley reeked of damp concrete and desperation—perfectly fitting for a clandestine meeting in Kundrati's underworld. Across from her, slouched on a crate, was a man she only knew as Nikos, a mid-level operator in the black-market arms trade. He stank of sweat and stale alcohol, his nervous gaze darting over her shoulder as if the Kundrati secret police might materialize from the shadows at any moment.

“Relax, darling,” Scarlet purred, adjusting the blood-red peacoat draped over her shoulders. Her beauty was undeniable, the kind that turned heads in any room—elegant, refined, almost hypnotic. But those who knew of her legend also knew the truth: beneath the charm, she was ice and steel, a woman who could slit a throat with the same grace she applied to lighting a cigarette.

Nikos swallowed hard, rubbing his hands together as if friction alone could keep his courage from slipping through his fingers. “They’re cracking down,” he muttered. “This trade action from Hutori has them panicked. More patrols, more raids. They’re rounding up anyone they suspect of leaking intel.”

Scarlet tilted her head, an amused glint in her eye. “Then you should be very, very careful, Nikos. Because you wouldn’t be here if you didn’t have something worth selling.”

He hesitated, his fingers twitching against the worn wood of the crate. “They’re moving something big—military convoys, but no one knows what’s inside. Orders come from the top, straight from the Commissionariat.”

Scarlet arched an eyebrow. “Comrade Lazar himself? My, my. That is interesting.”

“They’re paranoid about the blockade. If they’re willing to put this much muscle into securing whatever it is, they must be planning to strike back.”

Scarlet sighed, flicking the cigarette to the ground and crushing it under her high heeled boot. “And yet, Nikos, you bring me half a story. You’re better than that.”

His voice wavered. “Scarlet, I—”

Her hand darted forward, gripping his chin between gloved fingers, her tone and grip deceptively gentle. “No, no sweetheart. You listen. I keep you safe. I pay you well. And in return, you bring me everything.” She leaned in, her lips brushing against his ear. “If you hold back, I will know. And I will be… disappointed.”

He shuddered, nodding frantically. “Okay, okay. They’re moving high-priority assets to the air bases along the northern seaboard. My contact says they’re preparing for a confrontation, maybe even a strike against the Hutorian fleet itself.”

Scarlet released him with a satisfied hum. “See? That wasn’t so hard.”

He wiped his brow, exhaling shakily. “You’re playing a dangerous game.”

Scarlet smiled, stepping back into the mist-laden night. “Oh, darling, I do love a good game. And this one is just beginning.”

As she disappeared into the darkness, the air behind her hung heavy with tension. The secret police were closing in, the Kundrati regime was getting desperate, and Scarlet? She was exactly where she wanted to be.

Moments later, she stepped into the dim glow of a streetlamp, approaching a checkpoint manned by the Kundrati secret police. A pair of officers in dark uniforms observed her approach, their eyes flicking toward the crisp documents she had already pulled from her designer purse. “Papers,” one of them demanded.

Scarlet handed them over with a charming smile. "Of course officer." Her Kundrati without accent as though she had lived there her entire life. The name on the identification read Marie Prikrylova. Her identifaction papers were as near perfect as money could buy, though if the secret police were cracking down on general principle.. 

The officer scrutinized the paperwork, then her, his gaze lingering a beat too long. She knew what he saw—beauty with an edge, like a knife honed to perfection. Her face wasn't likely unknown to the Commissionarit, she had a reputation throughout Artania too infamous to likely not be known.

He handed the papers back without another word and stepped aside. They either didn't know, or if they did, accepted her as a necessary part of keeping the world going. She thanked them, tucking her papers away. As Scarlet vanished into the neon-lit sprawl of the city, she smirked to herself. The game was indeed just beginning.

[vesica]

January 5629 | Kaliburg | Kalistan

Crown Prince Albert of Hutori and Lady Anya Waltrip, the Foreign Minister of Kalistan, sat across from each other in the grand hall of the Imperial Palace in Kaliburg. The high-vaulted ceilings and intricate Anantonese designs set a regal atmosphere, a fitting backdrop for a meeting that sought to revive the long-standing alliance between their two nations.

"My lady, a pleasure to meet you. My son has told me I have you to thank for helping arrange this meeting," Prince Albert began, offering a polite nod.

Lady Anya returned the gesture with a warm smile. "His Imperial Majesty has commanded it. He has long sought the opportunity to re-establish the close fraternity between our two nations. It is long past time since we lost contact with our northern friends, long before the previous Fredrick and the war. At any rate, we certainly welcome you back to Kaliburg. You are always welcomed here. I trust the accommodations are to your liking?"

Albert smiled, glancing around the lavish chamber. "They are quite lovely, thank you. I was told stories by my now-passed great-grandmother, Queen Victoria II, who fondly remembered her visits to Kalistan. The stories did not do it justice. It is my understanding that His Majesty has never seen the manor in Icehaven that was set aside for him?"

"You are correct. His Imperial Majesty has never been to Icehaven, but he has expressed his intention to visit the manor soon," Lady Anya confirmed. "While we are on the subject, His Majesty wishes to make a gift to your family—a Baronetcy in Green County, near the village of Hendrix. The land comprises 250 acres of mostly forested terrain, well-watered, and ideal for hunting and recreation. It is also well-connected by modern infrastructure. I personally selected the property, considering its natural beauty, security, and convenience. The Baronetcy would remain with your family as a hereditary title."

Albert inclined his head in gratitude. "We look forward to welcoming His Majesty when he arrives. I know the Kalistani community in Axminister will give him a truly warm welcome. As for the Baronetcy, we accept it with the deepest appreciation. I have received confirmation from our Foreign Minister that my son, Prince James, who served as the Charge d'Affaires at the Embassy, will be appointed as the Hutorian Ambassador to the Empire. This ensures that the residence will not be wasted."

"Well, it goes without saying that the Ambassador will also be provided a townhouse for his personal use in Kaliburg," Lady Anya added with a playful smirk. "A three-hour commute to and from work should be illegal under any circumstance."

Albert chuckled. "To say nothing of being impractical. But we thank you in advance. I’d like to offer assurances that the Kalistani Embassy in Bekenial and the Consulate in Axminister are still operational; they need only a Foreign Service officer to man them."

"The same here," Anya agreed. "When I referred to reopening the embassy, I meant receiving a new ambassador. The Hutori Embassy has long served as our main point of contact for consular services to all of Makon, as we do not maintain embassies in your neighboring nations."

Albert's expression grew more serious as they pivoted topics. "I'd like to apologize on behalf of my family. We let the world pass us by while looking selfishly within ourselves. I am confident that, under new political leadership, we can rectify our insular outlook on Terra."

"That is appreciated," Lady Anya said, nodding. "To be honest, the lack of a unified, trustworthy authority in the north was both a curse and a blessing. It allowed the horrors of the Illegitimate Kundrati Legion to destroy the once-prosperous Kundrati nation. But it also allowed the Empire to step onto the world stage and establish its role in the Anantonese Ocean. This regional positioning allows us to work with our allies for a more secure northern hemisphere."

"We share your concerns," Albert agreed. "That is why we are enforcing the sanctions regime against the Legionary state. We hope our direct involvement does not provoke Artania. We understand their mentality well: they believe only they can solve their problems, and any external involvement is an imposition on their sovereignty, though I have little doubt most continents think that way."

"We have successfully ejected Artanian influence from Northern Seleya," Anya noted. "But Dorvik continues its eastward encroachment, establishing bases in Keris. His Imperial Majesty remains silent on this, as long as Dorvik stays away from the Anantonese Ocean. Still, it would have been nice if they were as enthusiastic about cleaning up their own backyard as they are about influencing others."

Albert sighed. "Mercifully, we are here today to discuss the future of our fraternal relationship, not Artanian dereliction of duty as fleeting as it may be. A formal announcement will be made soon, and my son will likely meet the Emperor before I do, as protocol dictates that the Head of State must personally accept all new Ambassadors. Ah, the trappings of tradition."

"Indeed," Anya chuckled. "But there will be a reception after the formal audience, where you will receive your invitation as well."

Albert hesitated before speaking. "I fear my time as heir is coming to a close. This is not public knowledge, but my father is not well and has not been for several years."

Anya softened. "His Imperial Majesty greatly values a closer relationship with Hutori. We will keep your father in our prayers. There are several issues that require deeper discussion, but our priority is ensuring that our Navy remains strong. We need to upgrade our anti-air and anti-submarine capabilities. We know Hutori remains at the forefront of naval development, and we hope to work together to cover these strategic gaps."

Albert nodded. "We are well placed to assist. Our Bekenial-II class Frigate is among the best in the world at hunting submarines, and our Liberty-class Destroyers are designed for air defense. We could arrange for a Carrier Battle Group to make a port call in Kalistan and allow your Navy to examine the technology. Additionally, we can host joint military exercises to test both of our armed forces. Hutori and Kalistan have done well in the past, especially with our Newport class Cruisers in jointly developing naval technology."

"His Imperial Majesty would agree to such a visit," Anya replied. "We are not in the market for carrier technology, but we are interested in replacing our lost Amphibious Assault Ship. If Hutori has vessels of similar capacity, we would be keen to discuss procurement. We also want to establish a tripartite trade agreement with a partner in Keris—perhaps Dolgava or Egelion—to integrate Hutori into a larger customs union, ensuring trade flow between our regions."

Albert considered the proposition. "That would certainly be worth exploring. Our government will analyze the feasibility of such an arrangement. The old world order is dead, and Hutori does not wish to be bound by outdated power struggles. We seek stability, cooperation, and lasting friendships. Kalistan has always been such a friend."

Lady Anya smiled warmly. "Then let us ensure that friendship continues to flourish."

[vesica]

Natalie Ross had always found negotiations to be a game of patience and perception. Every meeting was a battlefield, and she wielded her words like precision-guided missiles. She watched as Premier Axel Rodin and Deputy Premier Gerard Virmer settled into their seats, the weight of their latest predicament evident in their rigid postures. They had requested this meeting, which meant they were already on the back foot.

"Mr. Premier, I see we have additional guests today. A pleasure, Deputy Premier," Ross said smoothly, masking her intrigue.

"The pleasure is mine, Madam Ambassador," Virmer replied, extending his hand.

She shook it with a practiced grip, taking a seat without waiting for an invitation. "I'll be honest, gentlemen. I wasn't expecting a call so soon. How can Hutori be of assistance?"

Rodin exhaled slowly. "Let us get straight to it. Herr Virmer here just recently got back from a meeting with a Herr Dragovich, former security commissar in the Legionary Kundrati, to discuss the possibility of a military alliance."

Ross felt an involuntary twinge of contempt at the mention of the Legion. Thugs wrapped in ideology, parasites gnawing at the roots of civilization, desperate to restore some imagined past glory. She had seen their kind before—small men playing at power, mistaking brutality for strength.

"I'd say the meeting went well, to be honest," Virmer continued. "As a former SSB officer, I had analyzed Dragovich's files beforehand and expected more erratic behavior. But in essence, Davostag made it clear that we have no intention of signing a military alliance with them and are content with the arrangement we have now. Obviously, they were annoyed, which was expected, but the issue is that they made a not-so-subtle threat claiming that they've put many ethnic Davostagers on their trade vessels and will use explosives as well as chemical weaponry in case of a Hutorian boarding."

Ross cocked her head slightly, suppressing a smirk. "So... hostages to fortune. As I said was a possibility."

Rodin’s lips pressed into a firm line. "So it would seem, yes."

"It's the boarding of the ships that's a problem?"

Rodin hesitated for a moment, exchanging glances with Virmer before responding. "We wouldn’t say that necessarily is the problem, but the fact that they are using trade vessels as weapons certainly is."

"What are the actual trade goods you send to them?" she asked, leaning forward, already suspecting she knew the answer.

Virmer shifted uncomfortably. "We'll have to take a look at that specifically. It is free trade, after all, and private sector Davostager companies manage those things. The government's customs agency just does controls at our ports to ensure that nothing illegal is carried over. We have a large private food sector, car sector, and tobacco sector, so those would probably be the most common trade goods."

Ross steepled her fingers, her gaze sharpening. "Let me ask a blunt question, Mr. Virmer—and this is not a time for coyness. Are any of the goods you sell them or buy from them related to the defense industries or could be utilized by their domestic defense industries?"

Virmer hesitated before answering, and Ross noted how Rodin's fingers tapped lightly on the table—a tell of discomfort.

"The defense industries in Davostag have very limited private sector involvement. Those that are involved must abide by tough regulations and are supervised by the state-owned Allstatliga försvarskompaniet ("All-State Defence Company," ASFK). No military equipment is sent over to Kundrati, as that would require a separate diplomatic agreement with the Ministry of Defence. However, we also have a large metals industry of rare irons, which is divided between public and private sectors, and which could be used in military production. We haven't issued any directive regarding such goods in trade deals at the moment... but that can obviously change."

Ross leaned back, the answer precisely what she had expected. "So to be clear... it's a free trade agreement... but you are under no obligation to trade these sorts of critical goods to Kundrati? You could, for example, sell them to a neighbor for whom the costs would be significantly lower, and for whom transportation would be far faster? With the... appropriate encouragement to private Davostager interests, of course."

Rodin and Virmer exchanged glances, both understanding exactly what she was implying.

"Well, of course," Rodin said carefully. "Such is the way of free trade."

Ross allowed herself a small, knowing smile. "Much like uranium, of which Hutori has a true abundance and Davostag needs and desires, I have no doubt there are a litany of Hutorian firms, and even the Hutorian government, that would pay handsomely for those goods... in fact, I have no doubt our coin would be even better. If I'm not mistaken, the cash you do give Kundrati and the investment is mostly used to buy your goods... so you are essentially selling your goods for your own money back... or do I have the economic situation incorrect?"
Rodin and Virmer nodded stiffly, their discomfort evident. Ross merely nodded back, as though accepting it as an unavoidable truth.

"As for the point of the ships... if they are Davostager citizens, and they are coming back to a Davostager port... what's to stop them from... again with gentle support... just not boarding the ship again?"

Rodin exhaled through his nose, thinking. "That's true... Unless they are literally holding Kundrati Davostagers detained in their ships, unable to leave."

"That's the problem with hostages—you have to keep them close, or else they cease being useful. Regardless," Ross continued smoothly, "it's the ships that we can't board? What about the containers when they are still on the docks? You said it yourself—your government customs agency checks all containers. What if, as a matter of—let’s call it compromise—you allow us to review the goods before they are loaded onto the ships? Anything unaffected by sanctions goes straight onto the ships. Anything that is... we find an alternative buyer for before it becomes an issue. The sanctions are thus technically being enforced, and we aren't placing your people in jeopardy."

Rodin took a moment to think. He looked at Virmer, who gave a slight nod of agreement.
"I believe you are right. About it all. We'll agree to your compromise. You'll be allowed to review it all. If necessary, we can provide customs service uniforms to keep things under the radar. We'll also formulate a plan based on your advice concerning bringing our people home."

Ross smiled faintly. "That can work. This will allow you to preserve your national honor, and if it starves the Legion... we'll call that a nice bonus."

She took a sip of her untouched water before adding, "And yes, before you ask, Mr. Premier, as I have no doubt your dossier on me suggests... I am former HSIS."

Rodin blinked, then let out a quiet chuckle, shaking his head. "So it would seem. That explains a lot."

Virmer, who had been piecing things together, let out an exhale of understanding. "And here I thought you were just naturally terrifying."

Ross merely smiled. "You know where to find me, gentlemen."

[Dredd]

[July 5629, Presidents Office, Kaesama]

Dragovich stood meekly infront of Comrade Lazar who listened to his report and read the results of the meeting with Davostag. Lazars eye twitched a bit as he continued reading down the page, his frown becoming larger the more he read. "Comrade Lazar if I migh-" Lazar stared him down grimacing and Dragovich shut his mouth promptly as a bead of sweat ran down his temple. "This....this is just like Xsampa" Lazar said trembling, "The same shit different toilet, they sign their deals and immediately go behind our backs and fail to meet the obligations. We offer them the most competitive labor rates in Terra, free reign to build uranium mines and ore facilities, and we give them hundreds of thousands in labor just for them to play the fence sitter and cozy up with foreign powers!" Lazar smacked his pencil holder across the room. "I thought they would know better than to attend all these foreign delegations, its obvious they were never truly behind this deal, and now I'm hearing their companies are considering withdrawals!? What the FUCK is going on here Dragovich, help me understand this dribble!"

Dragovich gulped and replied, "In my personal, and professional opinion Comrade....I think Davostag is playing both sides..I believe they wish to reap the benefits of our rare earth market and free trade while aligning themselves publically with Hutori and other powers. I heard they had shared delegations with, forgive me for uttering their foul name, the likes of Kalistan and other commonwealth aligned nations too. Truthfully, it was a very prudent measure to threaten the scuttling of vessels, but the Davostagers, they only care about their people. If we keep sending people aboard them as simple crewmen they may find the temptation to flee to their homeland irresistible, and as it stands migration is open, our records indicate over 50,000 have migrated back to their homeland."

Lazar nodded slowly, "Very well, if they wish to cozy up to the satantic powers, we'll just have to show them the folly of their ways, to let them know we will not tolerate their nonsense. They signed the damned deal, and by god they'll stand by it or I wont let a single one of their fucking northerners leave this country alive. I am ordering an immediate halt on all migration of Davostagers in or out of the country, and immediately install Commissariat guard battalions to every mine owned by their companies, if they try and flee the country with their goods and facilities we'll just nationalize them before they say a fucking word, oh and have immediate fiscal halts ready incase they try to offshore it all, no wire transfers from Davostag permitted from this point on!" Lazar smacked his desk proudly and nodded his head, "See it done Dragovich, lets see if they come to the negotiating table now!"

Dragovich saluted, taking the newly signed orders from Lazar, turned about face, and marched out the doors, immediately phoning the central committee and trade departments.

[vesica]

The room was cold. Not the kind of cold that bit at your skin, but the kind that seeped into your bones, designed to make someone uncomfortable, pliable.

Scarlet sat in the chair, legs crossed at the knee, back straight, as though she were waiting for a drink to arrive at an upscale bar rather than being interrogated by the most feared secret police in Kundrati.

Across from her, a man with a severe face and a poorly concealed sense of self-importance tapped a folder against the table. Commissar Gregor Kasinov. A typical cog in the Commissariat machine—efficient, ruthless, convinced of his own omnipotence.

“We have been looking into you, Miss Prikrylov,” Kasinov said, his voice like sandpaper on steel. “Your finances, your acquaintances, your residence. You keep…interesting company.”

Scarlet sighed theatrically. “Oh, Gregor, darling, I do hope you didn’t go rifling through my lingerie drawer. That would be such a scandal.” She smirked, watching his eye twitch. “But please, do continue. I find the thoroughness of your government absolutely inspiring.”

Kasinov ignored her quip. “You have been seen interacting with known criminals, smugglers, even individuals tied to foreign intelligence agencies.”

Scarlet tilted her head. “Guilty of networking, am I? It’s a dangerous world. A girl needs friends.”

“And yet,” he continued, opening the folder, “there is nothing. No official records beyond a handful of dubious identity documents, no birth certificate, no family history.” He closed the file. “You do not exist, Miss Prikrylov.”

Scarlet chuckled. “Oh, that old thing? Honestly, you should know better, Gregor. The revolution was so terribly messy. Bureaucrats burning documents, changing names, purging records—it’s a wonder anyone exists at all. Poor little me just got lost in the shuffle.”

She leaned forward slightly, lowering her voice conspiratorially. “Besides, do you know how many times I’ve had to answer that question? When I was five, my mother caught me standing beside an empty cookie jar. ‘Marie,’ she said, ‘Did you take the cookies?’ And you know what I told her?”

Kasinov stared at her blankly.

“I said, ‘How can you be sure the cookies ever existed?’” Scarlet smiled at the memory. “She wasn’t amused. But I learned a valuable lesson—perception is everything.”

Kasinov exhaled sharply, barely containing his frustration. “We also searched your apartment.”

Scarlet feigned a gasp. “You did? Oh, Gregor, I hope you left everything just as you found it. You have no idea how hard it is to keep a place tidy when you entertain as often as I do.”

“You are a ghost, Miss Prikrylov. Every lead, every suspicion, vanishes into the ether. Either you are the most careful criminal in Kundrati, or you are exactly what you claim to be: an enterprising woman with an unfortunate talent for making powerful friends.”

Scarlet sighed. “And yet, here we are. You with your oh-so-serious file, me missing my jacket—which, by the way, I do expect back. It was a rather expensive piece.” She smoothed the fabric of her dress. “At least this little number keeps me on theme.”

Kasinov frowned. “Theme?”

Scarlet stretched out a leg, admiring the sleek red of her high-heeled boots. “Oh, darling, surely you’ve noticed? My dress, my boots—perfectly in line with the Commissariat’s signature red. Consider it my way of showing appreciation for your department’s…hospitality.”

For a long moment, Kasinov simply stared at her, as if trying to decipher a puzzle missing half its pieces. Finally, he shut the folder and stood up.

“You’re free to go.”

Scarlet clapped her hands together. “Oh, wonderful. I was beginning to wonder if you were going to offer me dinner. Alas, a lady must eat elsewhere.”

As she stood, he gestured to one of his subordinates, who returned with her jacket. Scarlet snatched it back with a pleased hum. “See, Gregor? I knew you were a gentleman.”

He said nothing as she slid it over her shoulders, turned on her heel, and strutted toward the exit.

She didn’t even have to look back to know he was still watching her, still trying to figure out if he had missed something.

Poor Gregor. Some mysteries simply weren’t meant to be solved.

[vesica]

Anton didn’t know. That was the best part. He walked into the dimly lit bar, the air thick with the scent of cheap vodka and cigarette smoke, expecting nothing more than a casual conversation. Scarlet—Marie Prikrylov, as far as he knew—sat at a quiet booth in the corner, one long leg crossed over the other, her crimson dress catching the light just enough to remind him who he was dealing with.

She smiled when she saw him, but it wasn’t the kind of smile that put people at ease.

“Anton,” she purred, gesturing for him to sit. “You’re late.”

He chuckled nervously, sliding into the booth. “Didn’t realize I was on a schedule.”

Scarlet tilted her head, her fingers drumming lightly against the glass of untouched vodka in front of her. “No, I suppose you didn’t.”

For a few minutes, it was just small talk. A few questions about business, about mutual contacts, about the latest crackdown by the Commissariat. Anton, poor Anton, thought she was feeling him out for a job. Maybe even trying to get dirt on someone else. He relaxed, leaned back in his seat.

Then she dropped it. “You know, the funniest thing happened the other day. I was sitting in a very uncomfortable metal chair, drinking truly atrocious tea, being questioned by the Commissariat. And, Anton, do you know what’s really interesting about that?”

Anton went rigid, but he recovered quickly. “That is interesting,” he said, forcing a chuckle. “What were you doing in a Commissariat office?”

Scarlet leaned in, resting her chin on the back of her hand. “That’s what I’d like to know. Because, you see, they didn’t have anything on me. Not a thing. But they knew where I was, and they knew just enough to think I might be worth a conversation. Which means, my dear Anton, that someone talked.”

Anton swallowed hard, his throat bobbing. “You think it was me?”

Scarlet let the silence settle between them. She let him stew in it, his mind racing. Then she smiled again, softer this time. “No. Not at first. I thought maybe it was someone else. But the thing is, Anton, I checked. And then I checked again. And wouldn’t you know it, every trail led right back to you.”

“I—I don’t know what you’re talking about.” His voice cracked.

Scarlet sighed, reaching into the small clutch bag beside her. She placed a small stack of documents on the table, fanned them out. Different passports, different names, different identities. Some had her face, some didn’t. Anton’s eyes darted over them, his breathing uneven.

“This,” she said, gesturing to the documents, “is why I’m not mad. Just disappointed. Because, you see, I have options. Marie Prikrylov? Burned and forgotten. I’ll miss her. She had good taste. But she was always disposable.” Scarlet slid a glossy, forged ID toward him, tapping a manicured nail against the name. The identity card was of the finest quality as if straight from the government's printing presses. “I’ll be someone else by tomorrow. And you?” Her voice turned razor-sharp. “Well, Anton, you will be nobody.”

His hands trembled. “Please, I didn’t mean to—”

Scarlet cut him off with a laugh, shaking her head. “You know, when I was a teenager, my mother caught me sneaking back into the house in the middle of the night. I made up some ridiculous story about needing to help out a friend, being stranded, never mind that I was clearly dressed for some school party. She listened. She nodded. And then she told me something I’ve never forgotten.” She leaned in, her voice barely above a whisper. “She said, ‘If you’re going to lie, make sure it’s a lie worth believing.’”

Anton let out a shuddering breath. “Marie, please—”

“Oh, Anton.” She sighed, almost fondly. “You should have lied better.”

She didn’t pull the trigger. That was never her style. But the two men standing by the bar—men Anton hadn’t even noticed when he walked in—moved at her slightest nod. They lifted him from his seat, dragging him toward the back exit. Scarlet smoothed her dress, adjusted her cuffs and down the vodka with an expert toss of her wrist before lighting a cigarette. Not a single person in the bar had as much reacted to Anton being taken out of the back; not like the first time people in Legionary Kundrati saw such things. A message needed to be sent. She would make sure it was received.

[Dredd]

[Kaesama [Legionaria] Trainyard, 0430]

Criminal investigator Slavan moved his flashlight up and down the corpse behind the metal dumpster, rain prattled on metal in a distracting symphony as more commissars searched the area high and low. Slavan pulled the collars down on the corpses shirt revealing a red mark across his neck, he deduced it was the telltale sign of a garrot wire, something he'd seen many, many times. The slightly bloated corpse thankfully didn't stink as badly in the downpour, its eyes glazed over with a white sheen and cheeks bulging from the rat unceremoniously stuffed into his mouth, evidently to send a message. It didn't take long for other commissars to confirm this was in fact an informant, Anton, who informed on a mysterious character who'd been skulking about the capital for months, some former miss Kundrati by the looks that went by the name "Maria". The poor fellow originally hadn't wanted to inform, but after his wife and daughter were dragged into the adjacent room he caved quickly, the underworld didnt benefit those with emotional luggage. Slavan considered the angle, what possible relationship could they have had; Gang members, political agitators, Etxean espionage? Didn't matter anymore, they wouldnt know the truth till they had her strapped to an electric chair, but any hope of that was gone considering she hadn't been spotted in weeks. Crime but no motive, perp but no location. Best they could do was issue a warrant and try to circulate some fuzzy CCTV photo from her interview, if only that drunkard fuck that'd interrogated her actually kept her for the professionals.

-----------------
[Etxean Coast, 0200]

Mislo heard the 4 knock rythm at his barn door and hastily ran to it sliding it open as he ushered in a dozen men in a variety of wetsuits and black track jackets carrying crates and pulling in a van. Mislos heart was pounding, when he was approached by fellow Legionary patriots who offered to bring him in on some anti Etxean activity he thought for sure it was a scam, some phishing attempt by the local government to crack down on more loyalists, but he had truly done it. He followed all the instructions, succeeded in rallying all the radio contacts and even was tasked with finding them a safehouse, he felt like some spy in a movie. He closed the wooden ceiling doors and ran over to the men who were cracking open wood boxes with crowbars and speaking in a northern accent with some slang he didn't recognize. "S-so you guys are from the mainland right?" a few glanced at him uninterested and retorted as they kept prying the boxes open.

"This your first OP or something pal?", Mislo nodded, "Then you best get your shit together, you're shaking like a tree and you haven't barely done a thing. This is just the beginning pal, you ever shot a rifle before?" Mislo spat quickly, "Y-yea in the army, mandatory service but I never uh, actually got deployed or anything." The stonefaced agent from the fatherland wordlessly picked up an assault rifle and threw it to him. Mislo peered into the boxes in astonishment; There were hand grenades, dozens of rifles and pistols, belts of rounds and dozens of magazines, even radios with 2 way communications and plastic explosives, he couldn't help but gawk at the astonishing cache. Mislo's was snapped out of the daze when one of them barked at him,

"You ever planted C4 before kid?"

[vesica]

Classified Cabinet Meeting – Prime Minister’s Office, Bekenial

The weight of history sat heavily in the Prime Minister’s office. The air was thick with unspoken tension, the kind that had been absent from Hutori’s strategic discussions for decades. The walls of the high-security chamber bore witness to the critical decisions of generations past, and tonight, they would bear witness to another.

Prime Minister Michael Kensington sat at the head of the long polished table, fingers steepled before him. Across from him, the most powerful military and political figures in the nation gathered—Minister of National Defence Christopher Reinhardt; Chief of the Defence Staff Admiral Henry Roswell; and General Beatrice Steuart-Carmichael, a cousin to King Charles III and Chief of Staff of the Royal Hutorian Air Force, among others. The stakes were higher than they had been in decades.

“Let’s not waste time,” Kensington said, his tone clipped. “We all saw the satellite imagery. The Kundratis just test-fired their first ICBM. How long before they have full nuclear capability?”

Admiral Roswell exhaled, placing a classified report on the table. “Our intelligence suggests they’re within five years of full operational readiness. But we need to assume a worst-case scenario—that they could have a deliverable nuclear warhead within two.”

A murmur rippled through the room. Minister Reinhardt leaned forward. “We’ve been down this road before. But Beitenyu broke the nuclear taboo years ago when they launched a warhead against Xsampa. The world has changed. Nuclear deterrence isn’t theoretical anymore—it’s active policy for our adversaries.”

The room fell silent. No one wanted to bring up the nightmarish reality that followed the Xsampa strike. That single strike had obliterated any lingering illusions that nuclear weapons would remain purely symbolic. One launch had shattered decades of arms control agreements. And now, Kundrati was inching closer to the nuclear club.

The Prime Minister sighed, rubbing his temples. “Let’s get to the point. Do we have the capability to counter this?”

General Steuart-Carmichael cleared her throat. “Conventional forces? Yes, we can hold the line. But if they go nuclear, our response options are… limited.”

Admiral Roswell leaned in, his voice carrying a hint of finality. “The simple fact is: Hutori dismantled its last operational warheads decades ago. Our deterrence capabilities are outdated, and if we don’t act now, we risk being left behind in an arms race that will define the next century.”

Kensington looked around the room, seeing the resolve in the faces of his closest advisors. He took a deep breath, then nodded. “Then we reactivate Project Satanil.”

A hush fell over the room. The name carried weight—Satanil was Hutori’s once-vaunted nuclear weapons program, mothballed after decades of disarmament treaties and international pressure. But now? Now, the game had changed.

Minister Reinhardt was the first to speak. “That means re-establishing production capabilities, testing next-gen warhead designs, modernizing our missile command infrastructure—”

“All of it,” Kensington confirmed. “We’re rebuilding our nuclear security umbrella. And we need it fast.”

General Markson, the Army Chief of Staff, leaned forward. “We’ll need significant investment. Our warhead stockpiles are gone. Our delivery systems? Outdated at best. We’ll need next-generation ICBMs. Not just to match Kundrati—but to make sure we outclass them.”

General Steuart-Carmichael smirked. “I assume this means we’ll also be bringing back long-range strategic bombers?”

The Prime Minister’s eyes were steely. “If we do this, we do it right. We bring back the triad—ICBMs, bombers, and submarine-launched warheads. The world has become more dangerous, and Hutori won’t be caught unprepared.”

He turned to his Defence Minister. “Chris, you’ll oversee the formation of a task force to bring Project Satanil back online. I want reports in two weeks on timelines and feasibility. Assign an officer and work at getting Global Strike Command up and operational.”

Reinhardt nodded. “Understood.”

Kensington then turned to the Chief of Defence Staff. “Admiral, I want a full strategic review of our capabilities. If we’re re-establishing the nuclear deterrent, we need absolute precision. No errors, no wasted resources.”

Roswell nodded. “Consider it done.”

The Prime Minister exhaled, glancing at the faces around the table. They had just made the most consequential decision in Hutorian military policy in a generation.

Kundrati’s missile launch was a message to the world. Hutori had just sent a message of its own: They were back in the game and they were playing to win.

[vesica]

Newport Castle, Bekenial, Adelia, Kingdom of Hutori

Newport Castle stood on the cliffs overlooking the Harding River and the William Canal, its stone walls a stark contrast to the modern skyline of downtown Bekenial. From the castle’s highest towers, one could see Parliament Hill just up the street—a silent reminder that the old and the new still coexisted in Hutori.

Prime Minister Michael Kensington strode through the castle’s grand corridor, his polished shoes echoing against the marble floor. The weekly audience with the King was a tradition as old as the monarchy itself, meant to keep the sovereign informed of government affairs. In theory, it was ceremonial. In practice, with a well informed Monarch, it was anything but.

The heavy oak doors to the audience chamber swung open, revealing King Charles III seated near the fireplace. The chamber was a blend of history and quiet authority, with tapestries depicting Hutorian battlefields hanging above mahogany bookcases lined with decades of state records. The King was dressed simply, in a navy suit and open-collared white shirt, the image of a modern ruler who understood the weight of his station, a leather folder open in his hand.

"Prime Minister," the King greeted, his voice as steady as ever.
"Your Majesty," Kensington replied, giving a respectful nod as he took a seat across from him.

The conversation began with the usual affairs of state—economic updates, diplomatic engagements, the Prime Minister’s upcoming international tour. The King listened, nodding occasionally, his expression unreadable. Then, just as Kensington finished outlining his itinerary for Dorvik, Dolgava, and Kalistan, the King closed his folder with deliberate slowness.

"Michael," he said, his voice shifting to something quieter, heavier. "Let’s discuss something that wasn’t in your briefing."

Kensington frowned. "Of course, Your Majesty. What is it?"

Charles studied him for a moment, then said simply: "Project Satanil."

Kensington’s stomach tightened, though his expression remained neutral. He had expected this conversation eventually—just not today.

The King leaned back in his chair, fingers interlocked. "I imagine you’re wondering how I know."

"It did cross my mind," Kensington admitted, measuring his words carefully. "Project Satanil’s reactivation was meant to be handled with the utmost discretion. Only a handful of people in government and the military were informed."

Charles exhaled slowly, as if disappointed that Kensington even had to ask. "Prime Minister, I am the Commander-in-Chief of the Armed Forces. By law, the military ultimately report to me." He let the statement linger before adding, "And, as you know full who my cousin is."

Kensington fought the urge to curse. He had underestimated the King’s access to military intelligence, despite knowing full well that Charles received classified briefings daily.

"I wasn’t trying to keep you in the dark, Your Majesty," Kensington said smoothly. "But given the sensitive nature of the program, I felt it was best to reestablish our nuclear deterrence before discussing it more broadly."

Charles regarded him for a moment before speaking. "Michael, I understand why you’re doing this. I am not naive about the state of the world. Beitenyu destroyed whatever taboo there was when they launched a nuclear strike against Xsampa. Kundrati is testing ICBMs. I know the reality we face." He paused, his gaze sharpening. "But do not mistake my understanding for approval of being left uninformed. You may run the government, but I am still the sovereign of this nation. I will not interfere in matters of policy—but I will not be blindsided again."

Kensington nodded, recognizing the unspoken warning. The King would not publicly challenge him, but if he felt he was being deliberately excluded from key matters of state, the relationship between Crown and government could become… complicated.

"Understood, Your Majesty," Kensington said finally.

Charles studied him for another moment, then gave a slow nod. "Good. Now, tell me about your plans for Dolgava."

The conversation resumed, but the balance of power had been quietly reinforced.

Kensington had won the battle to restart Hutori’s nuclear deterrence—but he had just been reminded who still held the throne.

[Dredd]

[Legionary Reproduction Center 2-X]

Yevgeny opened his eyes as the boy tried to make sense of where he was, the room was a complete daze and the bright lights of the whitewashed walls were blinding to his sensitive retinas. He tried to move his arms but found himself unable as straps on his limbs came into focus. IV drips were connected to him, along with a plethora of monitoring equipment. Yevgenys turned from confusion to panic, what was this mysterious place, where was Mama, why hadn't she picked him up from 3rd grade class, he even forgot his paper mache sladek mural at home!

Suddenly 2 commissars with a doctor entered the room speaking angrily, he was only a child and the language was difficult to understand..

"We've been waiting 8 fucking months for a proper subject and this is your best? You understand we've already gone through 200 adolescents right, we can only take so many homeless kids of the streets and the ones we're breeding wont be ready for another 4 years, I have to report to my superiors on this fucking mess Luburov!"

"Please calm yourself comrades, our department is working tirelessly to ensure the utmost genetic quality in our selections and frankly, many of the subjects just couldn't withstand the chemical loads. Kids aren't made for steroid injections and genetic modification so young, and even adults are unlikely to survive so much in a short span of time. This one however has passed with flying colors, trust me, you and your superiors will be proud once you see what he's capable of. He has withstood both MSTN suppression treatment and our BDNF enhancements via injection over the course of 4 months, though he's been unconscious for the whole ordeal!"

The three men stood over Yevgeny while he simply stared in confusion

"How old is this subject anyway comrade, 14? The orders were for young ones so they can be adequately educated in legionary ideals."

"He's 6 years old comrade, remarkable isnt it."

"Fuck me, 6 years old? He's already got muscles bigger than most teens I see in primary, he's nearly 5 foot!"

"Indeed comrades, the growth hormones adapted wonderfully to his physique, we are pursuing this lead with utmost vigilance, I suspect he may be our patient zero for future models. If predictions are to be fulfilled, we expect him to stand at nearly 7 foot tall by the age of 20, and over 340 pounds. With just 4 of these men and training, there isn't an assassin in the world that could try to god forbid attack comrade Lazar, and imagine the future implications! Enhanced super soldiers on the battlefields, workers, Kundrati can create the new man, I just need....time!"

"Fine, but I want more results comrade, plug a needle in 10,000 kids if you have to, I have to report this."

Yevgeny stared in bewilderment as the two commissars exited the room, the doctor slowly loomed over him with a gaze of admiration and a smile that looked both sinister and endearing.

"My dear dear child, do you have any idea just how special you are?"