Night Falls

[A Former User]

KIEL, UNION OF SYNDICATES

The light above them, the two founders of the new Union, flickered.

"It is your responsibility," said the first, the freedom-fighter, the older, "to complete the restoration. To finish the construction of the New Society."

"No; the time has not yet come," said the second, the younger. He had never been one for fighting, for violence; he had always been quiet, "behind-the-scenes," a writer and perhaps an artist more than a speaker - not a politician, more of a framer. "Do not forget that I was one of the drafters of the Plan. There is no restoration to come. We will not, cannot, must not, bring back the old." He sighed, running his hands through his dark hair. "But everything has gone wrong," he whispered to himself.

"No, of course not,' said the first. "But it is not the old I nor the people wish to restore. We aspire to the restoration of glory, of freedom, of socialism, true socialism, the socialism of our forefathers, not this bastardization. Look around you. Is anyone in the Union truly free? Has labor truly been liberated? No, no, no! No one produces for themselves, no one has control or a connection to their work and to its result. We shout of self-expression, of the old State, but none of it is here! Our labor is as meaningless to us as it is to those in Inquista!"

"Do you really believe that?" asked the second softly. It wasn't true, he was sure; it can't have been true. He did not know someone who felt that way, nor anyone else. In his work as an architect, outside of his more political career, he himself did not feel that way.

"Yes," said the first with ferocity. "Yes. Do you think those toiling in the factories take any joy in their work? They scramble to leave; they are all enrolled in the schools, trying to escape their fate. Our entire industrial sector is smaller day by day; no one wants to work in that industry! The professionals, they used to be happy; now they are not. The state has asked too much of them!"

"That is a necessity," said the second strongly.

"No matter. This is an unexpected opportunity." The first chuckled. "God, Weaver, Weaver; I thought she was a danger. Well, she is a danger; but at the very least, she is useful."

The face of the second contorted with surprise. "For what? Dictatorship? Is that what you want? Dictatorship? You are sick."

"Dictatorship is too far. But centralization is necessary. 1965 - before, of course, both of us were born, but still quite an important date. They established order, they established safety, and they established the joy and freedom I speak of, without sacrificing liberties. Evidently, we should not emulate them in all ways, but of course..."

"I have no desire to turn this country into a basket-case."

"Under them it was not a basket case. In any case, has industrialization ever really worked in this country? We have no natural resources; everything has to be imported. Better to focus elsewhere."

"And how exactly do you want to accomplish this? Oh yes, I know. They still respect you, don't they?"

"Well, yes. It is a necessary evil, but one that will succeed in the end."

"A coup is too far. The referendum is soon; if it is rescheduled, everything will go through more smoothly."

"That constitution will result in our deaths. It is my intention to ensure that it never comes into effect, by any means possible. Order and freedom must be restored. This charade cannot continue any longer."

"And how will it result in our deaths? The religious fanatics will be voted out; we will gradually return to the old system of the State; all, hopefully, will go well. As it stands, the New Society is certain to come. We do not need authoritarianism, we do not need your antics, to restore it. The military may respect you, but they are not loyal enough to you to carry out your will. Remember that they forced your removal just a few days ago."

"Here is a proposal: maintain the state of emergency for some time. Perhaps we will come to an...agreement later."

"I do not think the state of emergency will end anytime soon. Perhaps we will reach an agreement; perhaps we will not. Only time will tell."

---

COPALA CITY, ICHOLASEN/REITZMAG

The night was dark. Clouds obscured the light of the moon and the stars; the Bomballey street outside was oddly quiet. It was a residential area, but the drunkards and other assorted revelers did quite often wander in.

Vaien found himself staring into a mirror. He had left Inquista just a few days ago; now, he was here, in the home of the parents he hated so much, awaiting punishment. When he had written the article in the Europolis Post, he had thought that the Inquistan child protection services were at the very least competent. Evidently, they were either not or were simply corrupt. No matter; he was here, and his parents would likely use the knife tomorrow.

He glanced at the clock. Almost 01:00. He didn't care; he wanted to be able to feel whole for as long as possible.

What was that wholeness? Evidently that which his parents would remove, but what else?

Likes? Thinking, writing, drawing, perhaps? Dislikes? His parents, obviously, blood, authoritarian behavior, religious zealotry - perhaps he was guilty of that, he did believe that the idiotic school in Inquista needed to be burned down - what else? Too many.

Aspirations? Testifying against his parents, seeing Kiel, studying sociology, perhaps going into politics, or more likely academia - professional politics weren't really a thing in his home country (home country? He'd never actually been there, but then again...). Vague things, really. Having a comfortable life, perhaps, but that was something everyone wanted. Discovering who he really was? Well, he was doing that - sort of, not really - right now.

Way of thinking? Pessimistic. Very pessimistic. Somewhat religious - perhaps very religious, it depended. Philosophical. Long, rather than short. Detailed - focused, perhaps? No, not quite focused - somewhat, but not really.

Personal characteristics? A bit frivolous, but OK. Appearances, while deceiving and generally a poor indicator for anything else, were valued by some. Blond, lanky, with a Haanean accent. Relatively normal, for teenagers from the Syndical Union. More or less gay, but that wasn't terribly important.

But a person can't be reduced to likes, to dislikes, to aspirations, to ways of thinking, to appearances. A person was something else; a person had a spirit, a soul - a person was, he couldn't put it any other way. They existed as a whole, not as a disparate collection of attributes. A whole inexpressible, but somehow known.

A person wasn't simply just another object. There was something different - the spirit, the soul. A conscience? Thought?

A light came on elsewhere. His father.

"Vaien!" he shouted. "A glass of water, a glass of water! You are useful for nothing else; be glad that you are alive."

Vaien's hand brushed against his coat pocket. The little box, the beautiful lacquer box of ievonuia, was still inside. A thought. There was enough - for him, and for his father. He could escape.

He slowly breathed in, breathed out. In. Out. In. Out. Almost without thought, he began to move, almost gliding, towards a glass of water, seemingly sculpted, so ornate it was. He took the pitcher of his parents, pouring the water until there was enough. Just as his parent wanted, exactly as he wanted.

He took the box from his pocket, fumbled with it as he opened it. The bottle was still full, unused, untouched, glistening in the dim light of the place in which he lived. He opened it, pouring some of its contents - enough, enough to get rid of them - into the glass.

He closed the bottle, placing it carefully back into the box, which went back into his coat-pocket.There was enough left.

His hands were shaking as he took the glass took the parents, walking almost on tpitoe.

"I bring you the glass you requested, O Most High Ueliohen," he said. He was but their servant now; they had all but disowned him. He hated this, but then again, it was all to end soon. All so quickly, almost in an instant.

His father stared down at him. "Go!" he shouted.

He did as he was told, with the satisfaction of knowing that his father would soon be driven to insanity, taking his mother with him and perhaps, in the end, as so often happened with these sorts of overdoses, killing himself. He took a chair with him into the closet he was given to sleep in. There was just enough space as to prop it against the door - why did the closet's door open in that way, he did not know, but it didn't matter anyways - and for him to stand, just aside.

He reached again into his pocket, taking out again the little box, opening it, almost mechanically, extracting the bottle.

The end of his childhood, he thought. What will the Copala police think?

He opened it, placing it to his mouth, swallowing its contents.

He smiled. It would be over soon, all over.

[A Former User]

KIEL, UNION OF SYNDICATES

A knock from the door.

"God!" The curfew was still in order; he had received no visitors for a long time. Since the Committee. He was forgotten, in that regard. He was simply a sculptor now, surprisingly successful. Perhaps with some fame for that, but for nothing.

Shouting. "They're dead, they're dead! They're finally dead! The Ueliohens, they're dead!" came the voice of a woman.

It was then that he had realized that something very strange had happened. The pigs were dead, or perhaps not. If they truly were, then...

He went to the door and opened it. His neighbor, her face bright this morning. "They're dead! Dead! There's a party in the common room. Come, join us! They're dead!"

She thrust a little paper notice at him.

"Kaeykonrujt: Vale! Ūliohenalxajjiuv." he read. Interesting. Given that the prohibition was still in place, this was probably true; the typography, perhaps, was a clue as well - he had toyed with it in the past, and he recognized the font as one of the fonts that one of his old Committee friends had designed all that time back - a font adopted by the government (at his suggestion - it was clear, nice, distinct - good for such things.) The deaths themselves seemed mysterious: one "fallen from a window," the other "stabbed." "Evidence" showed that it had been by their own hand. What evidence did he wanted to know, but it was of no matter for now. They were dead, and that was cause for celebration in itself.

He smiled. "Of course I'll come! This is amazing news!"

He almost ran with her to the room. There was an atmosphere of fear - "who knows when a war could begin? It seems so likely now," - said someone, a sentiment reflected by so many others.

But people were still generally happy. They ate, they drank; the conversation went along.

"It was Annette who told me," said one. "Annette - my aunt Annette, don't you remember her?"

Someone said no. As for him, he did vaguely, but he said nothing.

"The eccentric lady who came here about a year ago? Who broke the water heater? I'm sure we can all remember that we didn't have hot water in the kitchen for a week after her!"

Yes, he remembered that - it was a mild and relatively bizarre annoyance. Everyone else seemed to as well, murmuring or nodding in recognition.

"Well, she took a bus here - dangerous, she told me, but of course it is, with those people you never know, they've made our life hell for the past 28 years - and she told me, waving this notice."

She took a slightly crumpled piece of paper from her pocket.

"So of course, I was very surprised, but also very happy. I don't know why I decided to return in '05; worst decision of my life. But I'll never forgive them for what they did to us. So of course I was overjoyed when I found out that they had died, the two of them - "

A person asked whether they had a son, because they believed that they did.

"Yes, but I think he's a leftist of some sort, at the very least he hates them. I feel a bit sorry for him really; what horrible parents to have! But back to the topic. I was absolutely overjoyed. I actually jumped when I heard."

He got up and poured himself a glass of wine. If he missed anything, it didn't matter. No one would care;; in any case, the conversation was terribly uninteresting.

The woman was still going on about the experience. He didn't blame her for being overexcited about it - he as well was "absolutely overjoyed." Who wouldn't be, now that perhaps the most evil people on Earth were now dead?

"So, in any case, that's enough," she said. "I'm sure I've bored you, but I'm just so terribly happy that this has happened. Anyone else?"

Silence. He took a sip of his wine. Someone then decided to ask him a question. "So, I've heard that you were part of the Committee. What was it like to take part in that, in the reconstruction of - well, society as a whole? In reconciliation, in all that?"

Quite a sensitive question. The New Society was popular, but it had many opponents. He himself had doubts in it. He didn't really want to answer, how uncomfortable he was.

"Well," he said, taking another sip - actually, several sips - of his wine - "it was...difficult. Areai was truly awful for this country, and fixing everything that she did - and the People's Assemblies before her, but for the most part her horrors had replaced those that had come before."

Stalling. Everyone was satisfied to this point. He took another sip.

"Of our concerns - " he paused for a moment, gauging reactions - still normal, thank God - "of our concerns, the most important primarily had to do with the economy and society. As you very well know, I'd think - we all went through it, so of course. Areai had centralized it to the extent that it was impossible to transfer back to the old system without severe consequences. Absolutely no semblance of the old economy had been left. Everything had been changed. We had to sort through these really odd files when we were drafting the New Society; you would not believe the jargon that the woman used. "Superior Beings," "Great Individuals," etcetera, etcetera - people who performed "magnificent acts on the living ecology of the Empress," "powerful strugglers who pushed through on a magnitude of sixty fourteens and eight nines." We had absolutely no idea what these roles and actions pertained, absolutely no idea what half of her documents even meant, so coded was the language of the regime. I think I still have some copies - I might show you later."

More stalling. People were somewhat entertained. Another sip - two, in fact.

"But there was a lot beyond that. Our society had been unstable for some time - we needed to build one that was stable, freer - we created a maxim of sorts - 'labor, order, freedom.' A bit foreboding; but it summed up the purpose of the New Society well. We needed to get rid of the pseudo-religious jargon of Areai, needed to get rid of her fascism, and replace it with a new, participatory, and socialist society. Now, the whole thing hasn't been yet completed. In fact, I can't even tell you about some of it - it would be a violation of the law."

Shock. Perhaps he had gone too far. He downed quite a bit of the glass - far, far more than he had wanted to. A mistake, but who cared at this point?

"It was imperative that these reforms be gradual. To this day we have not yet released the entirety of the Plan for the New Society, simply because we do not want to encourage extremism. But I can tell you this: the end result is what we all want - a democratic and participatory socialist republic, taking inspiration from both the past and the present; from the old State and the Union, even from 1965."

Some people grimaced, others smiled. 1965 was "controversial," in that no one liked to discuss it but, secretly, everyone wanted to return to it. It was a bit too centralized - ultra-presidentialism, no matter the free-ness of the elections, was something that left a sour taste on the tongues of those outside of the country. Once, it had on theirs' as well, but nowadays; nowadays people wanted stability.

In any case, he was bending the truth very slightly. The end-result of the New Society, if all went well, wasn't exactly "socialism;" well, it was in a way, but not really. If one considered 1965 socialist, yes; if not, no. As for "democratic and participatory," hopefully it would be true; but of course there were some who did not want it.

Aasmäe, Aasmäe, Aasmäe, he thought. What an awful man. He absolutely loved 1965; he wanted everything to be based upon that "experiment" of sorts. In fact, he wanted to go further. "An authoritarian leader," he had said, "is necessary for our country. We need order and authority above all else." The worst part of it was that he wasn't actually powerhungry; he genuinely believed that authoritarianism was the only way out for the Union. Worrying was the fact that he was very charismatic, very well respected; there was a reason he was on the committee. If he hadn't ended up next to Weaver Iahela, something awful would have happened, he was sure of it.

He took another sip.

"Yes, 1965," he said. Terrible in some ways, but we must admire, if nothing else, its functionality. But moving on. Restructuring the economy. We decided to temporarily transfer economic power to municipal workers' councils as to stabilize everything and move power away from the central apparatus, which worked, upon its approval by the National Assembly. As for society, we evidently could not - in fact, it was and remains an imperative - reorganize it on the principle of national unity. Our plan was to return to to 1993, with the focus around labor and self-expression. Which worked, somewhat, but of course - we know. The People's Assemblies, all those mad people. I don't think we'll ever manage to rid ourselves of them completely. But that's enough from me. I'm exhausted."

He finished his wine. He had said far, far too much. Yet the audience remained relatively calm.

People were tired, he reminded himself. People wanted order. They simply didn't care anymore; they had had enough.

---

SOMEWHERE IN REITZMAG

He found himself standing atop a hill, dressed oddly formally. He had no recollection of ever having changed, nor of walking to the hill.

He had, in fact, no idea where he was, nor why he was there.

All he knew was that he was there, feeling almost exactly as he had when attending that long-ago party at that wretched school in Inquista - uncomfortable and out of place, acting in service of some purpose presently unknown to him.

God, he was even wearing the same clothes and cologne.

His belt was over-tight was it was then - God knows how he had managed that, both now and then, he was skin-and-bones - he was wearing far too much cologne, as he had then, enough to make him slightly dizzy - his clothes were just as stiff - and he felt just as exasperated and tired and, perhaps, determined as he had been then.

Everything was just as it was then, except for the fact that he was now in the middle of nowhere rather than in a school full of over-privileged children who so desperately wanted to be anything else.

"Why?" he muttered to himself. Perhaps this was a part of the Ordeal, a vision. No, it can't have been. He had just emerged from that. And unlike this, that had both some level of sense and meaning, although he could no longer truly grasp either anymore, almost as though the experience was a dream, where one emerges and can no longer fully remember or understand what one had experienced.

Everything was as new as it was, perhaps, to an infant, as though he had been born into a new world, as though his life previous had simply been his conception and that now, now, he had emerged.

And it had all happened far too quickly; he had lost his childhood so quickly. He had killed his parents, he had taken the ievonuia, the essence of what was to come, all in a seeming instant, all too quickly, far too quickly.

He was thrown into a dream, an ecstasy, and now he was here, elsewhere.

What had been his final thought before? "It would all be over?" His parents were dead, but it evidently had not ended. He was free, but it had not ended. That was simply life, perhaps. Life continues on, inexorably. It cannot be slowed, cannot be stopped; it will keep on at the same pace. Even death cannot stop it; death was not the cessation of life but rather its transformation. One's body is returned to new life; one's soul, perhaps, by tradition, returns to some wide expanse to one day be reborn.

But even then, he was free; free. Surely that meant something, to be free from others, to be free of others.

Or perhaps it didn't. To him, it did; perhaps then, it did. Or was that an illusion? If one's own feelings, if one's thoughts are an illusion, then is anything truly real?

One had only oneself to trust.

The sun was still terribly bright. He was alone. Before him was forest; beyond that he did not know.

What had happened before seemed hardly to matter. And yet before and now seemed almost the same; he felt the same. The clothes a symbol of this, perhaps. They had not changed, nor had his feelings; and yet now he was in an entirely different environment, an unusual environment, entirely new. In essence, nothing had changed; yet everything had changed.

Yet the fact remained that he was alone and in the middle of nowhere.

How he would get out he did not know. But he felt as though he needed to; life moves, nothing can remain stagnant.

The air was fresh, crisp, not like the air of Copala City, which seemed still to carry the smell of ashes.

[A Former User]

KIEL, UNION OF SYNDICATES

"Shit. Shit, shit, shit!" screamed Lepik, throwing papers from his desk. Unimportant things, his own nervous scribblings; everything else had been carried away. Only God knew what had happened; they were at the door. Who, they still didn't know; it seemed as though the assailants were running circles around them.

An aide ran to him. "We've barricaded the windows," they shouted, "but we don't know how long it'll last!"

He turned around to face them. His hair was disheveled, his face exhausted, bags beneath his eyes, but what did it matter now? "God, God, God. What else? Is anyone coming?"

"We can't tell. Come, follow me."

He did. If he was walking into danger, it was an inevitability. Even if he hid, he would be discovered.

The hallway was abuzz as people hurriedly carried files, books, papers, disks with them, back and forth, at an almost manic pace. Nothing could be discovered by these people; if it was necessary, the protocol was simply to burn them all.

He pushed himself to the wall as to let them pass. It was vital that they do their work.

A long walk, up and down staircases, through winding, twisting, ancient hallways.

An anteroom. A single light, above them, was turned on, flickering madly. No other light passed into the room; papers, cardboard, desks, chairs, blocked every window and the single door out.

There was a persistent and terrifying banging. Muffled shouting, almost screaming. He couldn't quite make out what they were trying to say; but their voices carried a ferocity that scared him.

He turned to leave. Too much, far too much. They were here; evidently, the military, or at least part of it, had mutinied.

He walked back, calmly, to his office. There wasn't really a use in panicking anymore.

He was reminded of what Areai had done; but he evidently did not command the same power over the military as she did. Weaver, and (if he's involved we are all dead) Aasmäe did.

But then again, the fall of the Republic and of the reforms he had worked to create was too far. He could not become an enabler of a second fascism, could not let a second fascism come to power. Never. Never.

[A Former User]

COPALA CITY, REITZMAG/ICHOLASEN

Josephine smiled to herself. Copala City had been so welcoming of those like her; those who had sacrificed for the glory of their people, who had fought the Western menace. It had taken her and those who had helped her, the last prophet, chosen by the dying Supreme Being as their successor, to create Heaven upon the corrupted Earth, in with open and warm arms, given them a home and a safe place to live. She had so struggled to escape from her country after her drugging at the hands of Evil ONes like Le Berre; but she had, and she had been rewarded.

But now, an opportunity had revealed itself. Her nation, which, in its misguided anger against those that had wronged it, which had tortured it for so long, had turned her out. Now, perhaps, it was realizing its folly. Now, perhaps, she could make her triumphal return as the acclaimed Prophet and Empress of the Most Glorious and High Haanean Nation, could finish the creation of Heaven on Earth, the defeat of the evil ones, and the creation of the Haanean Empire which was to rule over all things.

But, of course, she was technically a fugitive. No matter; she had entered the city with a false passport, and would exit it with the same. If they had allowed her in on that documentation, as they had with her acolytes, her High Priests, Tsaiu and his wife (she had forgotten her name; no matter, they had been taken by Death, and for good reason - their son was a traitor to his nation, who would proceed to Hell with all the others who had dared to oppose and corrupt the heavenly rule of the Haanean Nation with her, the great Prophet and Successor of the Supreme Being, as its immortal head, through which it existed, through which it acted, lived, and breathed - although she did certainly believe, unlike his parents, that his homosexuality was entirely a good thing - if he ever became a man, perhaps he would change, if past history showed her anything), Prynxmaxidonel, and the four others, along with their many acolytes and followers, hundreds, thousands, in number, who had totally devoted themselves to the movement for the Heaven on Earth.

They had taken over the Bomballey district and begun the process to make it the first outpost of the new Empire, which would rise from the ashes of the old, from which she would retake the seat of glorious power and create the Heaven on Earth and assume her role as the true Prophet and Empress of all People, the Successor to the Supreme Being who had perished for her, who had given her his mandate!

They had not yet finished the ascension of Bomballey to the new Empire; but it was time.

She called her followers to the great square. (all hidden from the Copalan government; they would not know until it was time, time to turn all Copala City into the greatest colony and outpost of her Empire to come, of the Heaven on Earth, the demonstration of the ingenuity and power of the Haanean people)

They walked across the roads of Bomballey, straddling the glistening apartment buildings and vocational halls of Bomballey, where they worked (upon further review, she had found that the Haanean people did not need hierarchy; for the Haanean people were enlightened to manage all their matters themselves) for their own benefit as an expression of their inner feelings. Companies were of course free to invest, but they would be countered by her loyal followers, who would sacrifice their own lives in defense of the Heaven to come to Earth!

They gathered before her in the great square. She spoke!

"Oh, my children, my children! For our project, for our Heaven, for the glory of our Nation, you have worked, you have sacrificed! I have led you through thick and through thin; led you to glory! We have taken Bomballey from a dirty collection of hovels, built hastily after the bombings, to a grand demonstration of our power and ingenuity, have pushed it towards becoming the first outpost of our Empire to come! To those in City Hall,who try to suppress us, who try to choke us to death as to gain their unsanctioned and undeserved dominion over the Earth, I am but a lowly and subservient delegate on their City Council. But we know - I am the Empress of all Earth! I am the Empress of all the Haanean Nation, who shall take us all to the final glory, to the Heaven on Earth we must create!

"But our Nation, which in its misdirected anger expelled us, expelled me, who would lead it to true salvation, as we have so tirelessly tried to push ourselves towards here in our Bomballey, is now ready. Ready to accept us, to accept my true leadership as its Captain, its Prophet on Earth, who guides it as the Successor to the Supreme Being which birthed it , which the Evil One has perverted through his proxies in the West! I shall return to it, oh, my children, my children, I shall return to it, so that the true seat of power, our birthmother, which the Supreme Being created to nurse us and to comfort us, may be wrested from the control of those created by the Evil One,, and given back to us, so that we may assume our rightful roles as those with dominion over all Earth, so that I may take my role as the Successor of the Supreme Being and their Everlasting Prophet on Earth!"

Those before her began to chant: "Glory to Areai, our Savior! Glory to Areai, our Deliverer! Glory to Areai, our Empress! Glory to Areai, our Prophet! Glory to Areai! Glory! Glory!"

And she smiled yet again. For she knew that the Haanean Nation would accept her; that she would accomplish all that had been set for her by the Supreme Being as their Prophet on Earth!

[A Former User]

KIEL, UNION OF SYNDICATES

The agreement was nasty, but necessary. He was at the total mercy of Aasmäe; the man had outright threatened him with death, and would be able to get away with it - he was not the most popular figure. Why Aasmäe had decided to give him such powers, nor why he had made such a sudden change in his approach, was beyond him. International legitimacy, perhaps? Or perhaps it was simply to slander him? It didn't matter at this point.

These were the thoughts of Kalju Lepik as he cowered behind the partition separating the dais of the Congress from the assembly-chamber, members of Aasmäe's military screaming.

"Vote! Vote! Vote!"

Gunshots into the ceiling. Plaster - ancient, perhaps thousands of years old - the chamber had been existence since the very founding of the nation thousands of years ago - falling, cracking on the clay floor.

The Congressmembers themselves were hidden beneath their desks.

"You will vote for these Provisions, or you shall surely die!"

He really shouldn't have agreed to this; but then again, it would have happened regardless. At the very least, the provisions would give him the support of the public and thus, perhaps, an opportunity to do away with Aasmäe and, paradoxically, save the country from his particular brand of authoritarianism. He had been forced to be a dictator; he would not comply. He would do everything in his power to ensure that democracy and the ancient Republic, from the State to the Union, prevailed; that this chamber, the monument of their thousands-year-old democracy, would never fall.

Shots again. Screaming, "Unity shall prevail! This weak chamber shall fall!"

Aasmäe, to his right, was smiling. As much as he hated to think of it, he would have to kill him, and would rejoice in doing so. It was necessary, he told himself, necessary for the Republic to survive longer. Then again, he would be complicit in its temporary fall. But again, had he not agreed to this, this horrible agreement, Aasmäe would have killed them all, and that would have been much worse. Aasmäe would have full power, and would not die, perhaps, in a few months of a "heart attack" or an "aneurysm," or perhaps simply of "natural causes." But then again, he could do so anyways. What did it matter? At least there was the slightest chance that Aasmäe would deliver on the few promises he had made.

The Congressmembers had given in at this point; the constant shots were terrifying, the plaster falling to the ground even more so, scribbling down their vote on whatever piece of paper was nearby and quickly running up to the box that had been set up by those who had stormed the chamber - with what he had told them, he would never forgive himself for that, no matter how much good it could accomplish in the long term - thrusting their votes into it, before running back to their desks.

More shooting. "Vote! Quickly, quickly! Do you want to die?"

Currently, he knew from the debates over the declaration of emergency, a majority of Congressmembers were in actual support of the Provisions, enough to pass them. But no, Aasmäe wanted a unanimous vote. He wanted this ridiculous show of force.

More Congressmembers sprinted to vote, goaded by the screams and shouts of Aasmäe's thugs; by their gunshots.

When Aasmäe was dead, this would all be over. And he would die; he would ensure that.

[A Former User]

COPALA CITY, REITZMAG/ICHOLASEN

Areai Rides Out of Copala City

Throughout the night, she, the Prophet and Successor to the Supreme Being, who had sole authority, as the true and sole Empress of the Haanean Nation, over all Earth, she and her devoted followers, had prepared for their long march, their long march into their home nation, which was prepared for her, which wanted her, its true and only Empress, who would lead it into total victory!

They were again gathered in the great square of Bomballey, dressed in their uniforms, her thousands of devotees dressed in the green coats that signified one to be a citizen, a member, of the great Haanean nation and the Empire to come, holding their weapons, holding the flags of her Empire, her four High Priests that remained devoted and loyal to her in this realm, which she, the Prophet and Successor to the Supreme Being, had total dominion and authority over, which existed and lived and breathed through her, dressed in their darker green robes, perched atop their white horses.

She stood in her Imperial Chariot before them all, drawn by two bright white horses, in her robes of purple silk, her heavenly crown of gold and diamonds, holding her scepter of silver.

She screamed. "Forwards, my children! Forwards for the salvation of our nation, forwards for the coming of the Heaven on Earth, forwards for the rightful dominion of our Empire!"

And they began to march, the horses of the High Priests moving forward, her Chariot drawn at the same speed by those horses behind her.

They turned onto a grand boulevard, paying no attention to the vehicles before them, continuing with their march, their heads held high as they, the children of the Haanean Nation, her children, showed their glory to all the people of Copala City.

The cars turned for them, their thousands; the buses, the trucks as well. The passerby looked up at them, moving forwards across the boulevard, transfixed by their ultimate glory.

"Faster!" she screamed. "Faster, for the glory of our nation and its salvation!"

The pace quickened; they continued, all of them, their horses, their followers, to march in step, perfectly synchronized, waving their great flags so that all of the people of Copala City could see their glory, their origin.

"Who is against us!" she screamed. "Who dares to oppose us!"

Her followers, her priests, they chanted the same, again and again, in perfect harmony.

"Who is against us! Who dares to oppose us!
Who is against us! Who dares to oppose us!"

"We shall be victorious! We shall prevail!" she screamed, and they again repeated as loudly as they could, still in perfect synchronization.

And finally, after almost ten minutes of this chanting had passed, they praised her.

"Glory to Areai! Glory to Areai! Glory to Areai! Glory to Areai!"

And now, as so many gathered to watch their forces pass, so many, looking in awe, they approached the border.

"Onwards!" she cried, guiding her children on, pointing her scepter forwards as they came ever closer to the Copala border guards.

And they began to run, her horses charging ahead, those of her Priests charging ahead, her devoted followers running, still in perfectly synchronized steps.

[A Former User]

BOMBALLEY, COPALA CITY, REITZMAG/ICHOLASEN

The Council for the Restoration of the Empire (First Department of the United Liberals of Copala City)

Marine knew it was time. She had waited twenty-seven years for this moment; she could wait no more.

For twenty-seven years, she had climbed up the ranks of the Church to become a High Priest; now, she had accomplished it. She was the sole of the four that remained who was trusted by the "Empress" beforehand; even, perhaps, the sole person within the party and the "government-in-exile" who was still respected in her home country.

Oh, the brainless historians called her fascist, but weren't the Kaljus - or just Kalju now, perhaps, since one was dead - doing the same as she had planned to do, with massive popular support? But to be fair, both had collaborated with her; all of them were so young then - 21, 22, 23 for her, and so ambitious, so idealistic. God, what happy times they were; a bit of calm in the chaos. The Kaljus were together; she was with Phoebe; they were satisfied, everything was just so perfect.

She retrieved a stack of papers from a cabinet near her. The constitution, the legislation she had written for the Haanean State she had so wished to establish. So much labor had gone into it. The old Committee, the Committee before the Committee that the Kaljus had created later (she had heard, from Lepik, that they had come to the same conclusion that the old Committee had all the way back in 1993 - back to the topic!), the Committee. They had all drafted it together.

She was Consul; they, eventually, became her cabinet. All of them twenty-somethings, for reasons that remained beyond her. Oh yes, everyone else was either dead or out of the country during those twelve days that they ruled. But now even half of them were dead. Lepik, the old Minister of Urban Development, was still alive; Vūjkur, the Minister of Foreign Affairs was as well. Then there was Juvinal, the old Minister of Labor - who else? She couldn't remember - she'd have to get the old file out. Elsewhere, of course - all of her things from that era were scattered about. Areai couldn't discover them; one needed to have total devotion to Areai to serve her; and that, she had managed to pretend to have for twenty-seven years. She deserved an acting award for that, she thought, definitely.

And now, because of that, she was sitting in this office, the office of the First High Priest, and would soon, with that disaster that Areai had conducted (she had managed to get herself arrested!) become the acting Empress - State Elder sounded better, but she respected Lepik too much to take that title. She had no intention of removing him; he was competent; at the same time, she didn't feel comfortable, for reasons that made absolutely no sense - all the way back in 1990? 1991? - the years all blended together, 1993 had seemed so long, especially that day when she had almost died in a fire, and then at the hands of an angry mob - she had accidentally set him up, in their first year of uni, on a blind date with a woman - "it was perfectly fine," he had said, "except for, well...you know." An absolutely tiny mistake that was entirely irrelevant and without any actual repercussions on anyone, but one that she would remember and feel embarrassed about until the end of her days. Of course, he might've thought that she was trying to "convert" him - but neither of them were closeted at the time, so that would have made absolutely no sense. Well, the blind date itself didn't as well, but again, that was a mistake...

She was going off track again. Areai was gone; she had her chance to reform the United Liberals and to turn it away from its insanity towards - well, her own particular plan for the Syndical Union. She was the next in the line of succession; she was to take power. She had influenced Areai enough as to make such a transformation almost seamless.

An aide came in. "Your Holiness, the last of the citizens have returned. The streets have been barricaded. We are safe for now." And she left as quickly as she came, not noticing the many papers scattered across Marine's desk.

God, what would she do?

[A Former User]

ROSA LUXEMBURG, UNION OF SYNDICATES

Night. The two sat in a tiny apartment, facing each other across a small table.

"No," she said, almost shouting, almost barking, as though she were giving an order. "No!" The very thought was horrifying; no, she could not let this happen, she would never let this happen, so long as she was a member of the party presidium she would never let this happen, how terrible, terrible, terrible it was.

"The people demand it," said the second simply. "We cannot go on like this. Once they have finished their stabilization, the work must and will begin. The foundation has already been laid."

"Fascist!" the first screamed, in a seeming outburst. It was as though the word had been suppressed deep within her, and that now, with such little prompting had come out. But she hadn't known that it was there so deep within her, so suppressed within her thoughts, that little word, that little outburst. The sudden anger that had overtaken her so suddenly, so shockingly, faded almost to embarrassment. But it was true; what was proposed was but fascism. The experiment in Bomballey was the beginning, Marchand the first prophet of this ideology so terribly coming into the world, now this woman, the second Mussolini, was emerging. "No, the people do not demand this horror! No one demands this horror! It cannot be repeated, it cannot, cannot! I; the people; we must not let it repeat, we cannot let it repeat!"

The second had her own trepidations over the work to be done. Marchand's project had succeeded; but at what cost? Was it truly necessary to implement it here as for the greater success of the nation? "Yes," she whispered to herself. "Yes." It didn't work. Her worries, the terror she held somewhere deep within her for the ideology of Marchand, remained. "We must," she said shakily. "We must; what is the alternative? We have to revisit the society of labor and progress; what else is there? We have thrown the book at Kiel, at this country, and nothing has worked! What can be done? The people are apathetic; they want a restoration of previous life, of dignity, of..." She trailed off.

The first was quiet for quite some time. Kiel, the country, they were in a downward spiral. Unification and stabilization would have to happen; but nothing had worked, everything had fallen apart. Perhaps temporarily...but no, no! Too far. But even then...in any case, who knew?

"Have you told them of it?" she said simply, unable to articulate any real thought, any real phrase, beyond that. Better to...delegate, she supposed, although that perhaps wasn't the best way of describing it, than to push through in this state of confusion.

This was perhaps an embarrassing question for the second. She had told them, but not, perhaps, under the best circumstances.

"Yes," she said, weakly. "They've agreed...for the most part."

That gave the first a bit of confidence. "'For the most part?' Perhaps it is the general authoritarianism that they disagree with, or the cult of violence you plan to create!"

"Cult of violence?" said the second, outraged. "That isn't my intention; the Union of the future cannot court violence, cannot court disorder. Society must be built upon the sole principle of labor."

The first got up. "I; I cannot support this. I will be informing the rest of the Presidium of these horrid ideas of yours; I have confidence that they will agree in my assessment of your fascism. Good night."

She left.