pirated stuff

"The men should stand trial," I demanded Pilsud, even though I questioned if the world had gone insane instead of either of us. I can't let him defame these politicians; it would give unwanted ideas to the extremists in Germania.

It was also maddening how easy it was for the Field Marshal to consolidate his power. When the election was delayed indefinitely until "national healing" had been completed, the people barely protested.

One thousand soldiers had died in a skirmish between Pilsud's men and those loyal to the Socialist regime. Not everyone in the Army was quick to side with the "Sanation Forces," but not enough remained to withstand the coup. Granted, the week of negotiating, plus Pilsud abusing my public reputation, ensured that the remaining federal soldiers endorsed the new government set up in place.

The old field marshal was clever: already recycling old Imperial propaganda posters of my face and adjusting a few words made my name inseparable from the ecstasy of overthrowing a profoundly unpopular regime. Denouncing him would have portrayed me as a power-hungry hypocrite trying to usurp power for ill intent.

It was insanity.

It was insanity to see that the crowds still cheering for my name and condemning Moscic and his peers. How the newspapers quickly changed their rhetoric to describe the situation as a "liberation from a nightmare." Even worse still, the Socialist Party agreed to endorse Pilsud's Government of Sanation. The fact that they implored me to stay in Warschau in early November nearly made my head explode.

Even a letter from Lergen from a few days ago did not give me the reprieve I had initially hoped for. While I appreciated his firm support of my movement and ideals, he only believed in me. I certainly did not like how he disparaged Visha's Russy heritage or attacked Elena's parentage. While I admit that my partner and subordinate had few opportunities to obtain leadership, it was almost misogynistic and racist for my taste as to how he addressed his grievances. I expected better given his titles and our relationship.

But talking to Pilsud after his ascension? That made me wish I had jumped onto the first train back to Berun when I had the chance.

"My dear Tanya, I'm happy you decided to stay." Pilsud treated me as if I were his great-granddaughter of six and not an adult woman. Snatching his cigar out of his mouth and smashing it against his wooden desk was not enough to scare the condescending tone out of his mouth. "The putsch was to remove them from office, not convict them. I am not criminalizing them, only denying them future participation in Pullskan politics."

"Could you at least allow them to speak for themselves?" I inquired, "At least allow them to return to civilian life with their honor intact. Can't you at least be concerned for their safety outside civil service?"

"Degurechaff," Pilsud answered, ignoring my questions. "Must I explain to you the dangers of allowing your political opponents to use their trial as a platform of martyrdom?"

I held back my tongue from a violent retort. I knew exactly what he was referring to. Imperial Japan had no shortage of ultranationalist freaks committing assassinations in broad daylight and allowing themselves to be arrested. The toxic fascist euphoria permeated society when they took advantage of sympathetic judges to present their actions as noble and just, causing the newspapers to publish their right-wing garbage for the public to read. Invoking the name of the Emperor was enough to get a light sentence or even no sentence at all; such was the power of the Imperial cult.

But this was different.

Moscic was no extremist, nor was he a terrorist of any sort. He was nothing like Himmler or Goering or Hitler himself. If anything, his worst crime was having his name on a list of candidates for the Francois to choose from. The man was simply given too many burdens to resolve quickly. If things were different, perhaps his legacy was not in tatters.

"Since I cannot stop you from visiting Moscic, why don't you ask him why he sold us out to the Francois?" The field marshal smiled, "Truth be told, I wish I could accompany you to personally deliver the news that Pullska will be seeking a new alternative away from the Little Entente. Perhaps I just would."

Immediately, I held back my tongue once more to avoid screaming my lungs out at his face. Given that a putsch was conducted, it was more surprising that Pullska wasn't kicked out sooner like Magyarozag. Its newfound status as a neutral state would have been harmless if it weren't for the fact that the RUSSY FEDERATION is its immediate neighbor.

"I find it highly optimistic that a departure from the Little Entente is preferable to an immediate Soviet invasion," I spoke through gritted teeth.

"You would think," Pilsud replied before reaching into his drawers and pulling out files that sent alarm bells into my head. Whatever they were, the papers were highly confidential. "But why panic when we could count on you to defend us?"

Is that how it's going to be?

It was understandable to help the Magyars against the Dacians and the Danes against the Legadonians, but helping the Pullskans against the Russites? As much as I despise the trap he has placed me in, I am compelled to accept his position.

Having a centrist military junta in Warschau is better than the Red Army, for the former can be restrained by international law and domestic support. At the same time, the latter held no scruples in subjugating a foreign people. If Japan had surrendered to Stalin instead of Truman, the Emperor would have shared a fate similar to the last royal family the Bolsheviks captured. I still grumbled somewhat as I picked up a random transcript and began reading. It wasn't until I realized this was a secret phone conversation between Pilsud and President Mazarik before the putsch. What does the Czech nationalist have to do with this…oh.

Oh.

I looked up to the elderly war veteran in awed disbelief.

"Is this a joke?" I couldn't believe what he was proposing.

"No, it is not." he shook his head. "I have conversed with all the other Imperial states on our collective future. Once Pullska's departure from the Francois alliance has been official, all other members will also leave."

All other members…The Czech-Slovak State, Osterry, Yugoslavia…nations necessary to contain Germanian revanchism in the Little Entente…abandoning the Francois Republic. I would laugh if my current location were different. This would be a diplomatic humiliation for the Francois on an unprecedented scale. Judging by the secret phone calls with Daneland and Lothiern, even the neutral post-imperial states would consider joining Pilsud's pet project of an alliance.

"You can thank me later, Argent Silver." The Pullskan grinned.

What the hell - how deep does this conspiracy go?

The Francois would have to retaliate against Pilsud to save face, though they would have to cut through Germania and Daneland first. I can only imagine how egregious the fallout would be in Parisee once this "alliance" is made official.

"Will it be another alliance of containment?" I asked, already dreading his answer.

"Yes, but against the real enemy: the Russy Federation and other things. Once the situation in Germania has been stabilized, an invitation will be delivered," he answered.

"It would violate the Treaty of Triano," I reminded him. Such an aggressive move would only provoke further reprisals from the Francois Republic, Illdoa, and Albion. There must be something he is hiding from me. There is no other explanation for why he is offering such sensitive details.

"Triano is temporary. Brotherhood is eternal." He retorted, "Don't tell me you believe this European arrangement would be permanent."

"I will not disagree with the idea."

"Then you know war is on the horizon. That it is inevitable."

"But is it wise to defy it so early?" I asked.

"Wise? Just look at yourself in the mirror, my dear." Pilsud waved a hand towards my body. "The fact that you're a free woman standing in Warschau, free to fly and fight with a computation orb, despite razing Arene to the ground. Your being here and active demonstrates why I can defy Triano. I am old, Argent Silver, not blind."

The Francois will do nothing.

"I hope your assessment is correct and drawn from insightful investigations." I caught myself grinding my teeth; I didn't want to crack a molar. "Otherwise, we're both getting dragged to a tribunal in chains."

It wasn't exactly fair for Ignatsi Moscic to be made the face of the Pullskan Depression. There is a difference between failure by circumstance and failure by character, and I think - I certainly like to believe - that I am knowledgeable enough to discern that fine line from my past life as an HR manager.

Work is rarely predictable, even in a routine setting. Data can be unreliable; some are incomplete, some are artificially constructed, some are maligned with biases, and some are just flat-out incorrect due to the wrong methodology implemented. These errors will inevitably occur in government or a company, no matter how much a president or CEO will pour money into their departments.

Garbage in, Garbage out. As they say.

Unlike the former employee who pushed me onto the railway tracks, Moscic has a good head on his shoulders. Science and methodology will only improve over time; as such, circumstances change, and so should the standards of individual competency. I would disagree with the decision to fire Moscic if he worked with my company in Japan.

But I will not disagree that his performance was deeply unsatisfactory.

And yet, knowing the public's reaction was amicable to the putsch, perhaps it was best that he was removed. By trying to appease everyone, Moscic ended up pleasing no one. Not even his party. There were too simply many factors working against him at once.

Because his name was on a list of recommendations that Francois planned to lead the Pullskan Republic, the Imperial hardliners quickly assumed the worst out of his loyalties. A reputation that he could never escape when he accepted the proposal to join the Little Entente.

I can't blame him, however. Neutrality was a death sentence when the Russy Federation drew plans to push the Revolution westward, and the Francois Republic was the only continental power left with a substantial military. As weak as the Red Army was in the Great War, it should never be underestimated.

Of course, the Pullskan nationalists themselves felt betrayed. After spending a few days discussing matters of opposition with members of the Socialist Party, it was abundantly clear that the Francois had ulterior motives for the Little Entente: turning the post-imperial member states into its European colonies. Germanian-made goods were embargoed or placed under extremely high tariffs to force the Pullskans, Czechs, Slovaks, and everyone else to buy Francois goods. I suddenly remembered that comment by one of the Danish officers in Osby.

To say that the moderate socialists, liberals, and other open-minded Imperials were disappointed would be a massive understatement. Many had families and peers who owned and operated businesses in Germania - companies going under thanks to Francois meddling. They blamed their coalition leader for leading their country to economic recession to save themselves from the political fallout.

Moscic's explanation wasn't optimistic either. He felt trapped the entire time from 1933 till now, each day an eternal agony. Those trade wars and high tariffs were the only way for Pullska to acquire Francois armament surplus at a massive discount to allow for a rapid expansion and restructuring of the Pullskan military in preparation for a Bolshevik surprise attack - a quid pro quo with the Devil that is Parisian imperial interests. The Czechs alone could not meet the Pullskan needs at such short notice.

As for the extremists like Himmler's National Volkists, he just thought they would melt away like snow in spring once the economy was up and running like a well-oiled engine. Moscic didn't speak out against them since he feared it would grant those Fascists and Communists free publicity and awareness. In hindsight, it was an incredibly naive position to take. However reasonable it may be, given how the economy has not recovered quickly enough, those radicals are loud enough to be heard independently.

"Why will you not speak up for yourself?" I demanded, reaching up and pulling him down to my eye level by the collar after he gave me the letter of recommendation I requested. I did not endure Pilsud's self-congratulatory attitude in the Presidential Palace to find Moscic playing "tea-time" with his wife in the parlor with his kids. At the same time, there were armed policemen around his property. "Do YOU think that if YOU allow everyone to drag your name through the mud and trod upon YOUR efforts to lead the nation out of calamity, they will simply FORGIVE and FORGET?"

"You didn't speak up for me…" he whimpered, all while his wife and children looked on with horror.

"That was MY mistake!" I was on the verge of strangling him with his tie. "But I will be damned if I allow you to stay silent on the matter. Stop pitying yourself!"

"Then…what do you suppose I should do?"

"Tell the truth. Let the record show that you served with honesty and integrity." I lectured him in a softer tone. "Pilsud promised a return to elections, but someone needs to hold him accountable for his words. Let that be you."

"Will they listen?"

"You have a tongue, a mouth full of teeth, and a functioning brain." I released him from my grip and let him stumble back to his wife's open arms. "Use them."

I have no clue what was going on in Parisee for the Francois to consider him the best candidate for leadership, but I am starting to get the picture. It almost irritated me, but I cannot fault them for trying to get a "friendly face" in Warschau.

"Keep an eye on him." I told her, "Make sure he doesn't do anything counterproductive."

What does a person have to do to find reports from Germania? All the newspapers from the republic and from Pullska itself were sold out on that particular day for the sixth time in a row. While one can go to a beer hall or coffee shop to eavesdrop on conversations and gossip, I had no appetite to indulge in more anti-Judean conspiracy. Despite my best efforts in using Daneland to spearhead the crusade against misinformation, people around me continue to cling to these lies like drug addicts and alcoholics.

The phone booth was equally useless. Visha and Elena weren't at the office when I requested their presence. I only got vague assurances that they would be present and enthusiastic at the time of my return before hanging up immediately. I half-suspected the man at the other end of the telephone was one of Elena's underlings.

I would have to remind her to enforce proper work etiquette among her employees.

It had to be one of Elena's men, rare that it is since she mostly hires young, unemployed women.

Visha surrounded herself with White Russy Cossacks in her growing clique in the Reichsbanner Drachen; I would have smelled the vodka from their breaths through the phone line. If not for their stench of gunpowder, smoke, and alcohol, it would be their Slavic accents slurring their words.

The man on the phone wouldn't be one of Konig's, Weiss's, or Neuman's lackeys. They're jingoistic meatheads; hardly any of them would willingly take a desk job over outdoor "activities." I would have to break both legs to get the men to sit in a chair and force them to engage in bureaucratic paperwork and arrange appointments.

My train of thought was interrupted when I finally spotted a newspaper kiosk with only half of the shelves empty. The only ones left were magazines and newspapers from Francia, Albion, and American publication companies. Unsurprisingly the papers remained unsold since all three were opponents of the Empire, the Pullskans were not so quick to forget that.

The man running the small enterprise looked old enough to have witnessed the unification of the Empire six decades ago. Hell, even the wrinkles on his face seem to suggest he even fought in the Preusso-Francian War. He simply regarded me quizzically as if he had seen me before. I already knew the question he would ask, but I was not in the mood to break incognito.

"Before you ask," I held my hand to pause his mouth, "I just look like her. I get that a lot."

With a nod, the elder held his tongue, allowing me to browse through the international news reports, but upon close inspection, I realized many of them were weeks outdated though I also wondered if they were simply regurgitating previous best-selling news stories.

The Germanian Democratic Party Sold Its Soul to the Devil! Screamed one Francois headline.

Germania Faces Rapid Inflation! Debtors and Creditors in Doubt! Yelled the Albish one.

Europe in Moral Crisis! An Ambassador Regrets Military Intervention! Shouted the American title.

Yellow Journalism at its finest.

Almost sarcastically, I picked up the American newspaper, published by the New Amstreldam Times and most up-to-date, and picked my way to the Europe section. Judging by the interviews, polls, and editorials, isolationism in the Unified States was on the rise as the average American seemed to believe that the whole endeavor to enter the Great War was a waste of time, effort, and valuable manpower.

The last part was genuine. My career in the Empire saw an unprecedented depletion of American mages in a few months.

The feeling was only compounded worse by the loans that the Allied Powers accumulated with the American banks during the eight years of attrition. Though Francia and Albion claimed to be the world's strongest power due to their military, I grinned devilishly knowing that they would quickly get a reality check that their power had an expiration date. America loves their money more than anything in the world.

If the Unified States doesn't get their loans back on time, they'll simply take Albion's and Francia's colonial possessions as collateral. Wouldn't that be a grand sight? Judging the revanchist attitude in Central Europe, Imperial citizens everywhere would gladly crawl into a grave and die in that hole if it meant that the enemies of the Empire got reduced to utter subservience to the Americans.

Yet, my pleasure from that imagined scenario was immediately dispersed when I came across a published report by the American ambassador to the Principality of Dacia.

Steel Legion Dacia now. The defeat in the Magyar-Dacian War saw the complete collapse of the Dacian monarchy in 1931. In an attempt to preserve whatever stability was left, the king had invited the Steel Legion, a far-right ultranationalist movement, to set up a fascist regime to save the nation from Bolshevik revolutionaries and rising instability. Extreme populism, Christian mysticism, an unhealthy dose of revanchism, and religious nationalism are the ingredients in which tyrannies are born. My stomach plummeted to the bowels of the earth when the ambassador described how the Steel Legion had operated since the early months of 1932.

True to fascist doctrine, the Legionnaires openly blamed the two humiliating defeats against the Empire and Magyarozag on the ethnic minorities that lived in the country, mainly Judeans and Gipsies, and called for their violent removal from society and state. A regime built to enact a "national purification."

Gipsies?

I looked back to my past life to remember if I had encountered the word. It sounded familiar, but I was unsure how or where I encountered it. Even during my tenure in the Imperial Academy, I don't remember hearing that name. I tried looking back further to my childhood in the orphanage but the blankness irked me somewhat.

Regardless, the Legionnaires spent the current year finding their scapegoats to purge in broad daylight. I fought hard to swallow the bile building up in my throat when the American ambassador, Forian Mottner, wrote in his report to Philadelphia that Judeans were subjected to great brutality; among the victims included children no older than five. At the same time, the Gipsies themselves were forcibly removed from urban centers and rural villages at gunpoint, mandated to dig their graves, and then shot by Legionnaires once the deep pits were done.

Numbers were not given since the killings became routine. Still, Mottner ended his testament with a statement claiming that Legionnaires in Iasi recently uprooted an underground nightclub for homosexual men before subjecting them to similar levels of cruelty.

Being X, can you not see what your followers are doing?!

An eyewitness report of the inhumanity occurring in Dacia was buried in a text of irrelevancy: opinion pieces, book reviews, stock market statistics, and ads for cigars, fashion, and upcoming movies. Why does no one seem to think this was important?

This should have been on the first page of every newspaper around the world! Why aren't the Americans doing anything? Don't they enjoy interfering in the politics of other nations? This was the perfect excuse to bring "democracy" over to Bucharest!

In my compounded frustration, I let the newspaper slip from my hands, causing the elder man to turn his attention toward me.

"What's the matter?" he asked dryly.

I ignored him as I ripped out the Francois newspaper from the display and immediately sought out any news concerning Dacia. My terror was impalpable when Parisee praised the "modernization" efforts of the Steel Legion. The expansion of railroads, public infrastructure, urban sanitization, and military procurement were the priorities for Francois journalists to report on. I understand that being allies with foreign powers meant overlooking some unpleasant aspects, but this was too much.

I quickly threw it aside ("You'll have to pay for that, little girl.") and immediately reached for the Albish newspapers. The one I picked was The Radio Times from the Albish Broadcasting Corporation; for all things precious and pure, please bring awareness to the atrocities…

Magyar Authorities Deported Gispsies Back to the Dacian Border. Regent Horvath Cites Concerns of National Security.

Deported?

"Young lady, you look sick…" The old attendant pointed out to my face, "What is the matter?"

"What is the matter?" I repeated harshly, turning to stare straight into his eyes. There was concern in his eyes, but it was reserved only for me. "What is going on in Dacia?"

"Dacian business, per usual," he replied, shrugging his shoulders.

"They're killing children," I said, emphasizing every syllable. "People - the Judeans and the…Gipsies are getting murdered…and destroying homosexual clubs."

"So I've heard - hmph, they're always killing children. They're Dacians." He spoke to me as if I was a dull-witted student. "It's what they do. It's how they think and speak and act. It's why their nation was so woefully antiquated and incompetent."

"Always?" My eye twitched. Was this man on a different planet?

"Well, not always." The old vendor grunted, looking back to his childhood memories as if he sought a relic from a bygone age. "I still vaguely remember when I was a young lad that Dacia used to enslave Gipsies - before the Empire was united. It was the last nation in Europe to abolish slavery - I think I still have the pamphlet somewhere in my attic…I still remember when I saw my first Gipsi…"

"Do tell." I implored him, "What was the man like?"

"He was a thief," he replied bluntly. "Stole apples, bread, and purses at my village's market square. Wore dreadfully poor cloth and stank to high heaven; I could swear I could see the fleas and lice living in his hair."

"How…horrible." I grimaced. "Surely, the institutions of the Empire would allow for the people to embrace their freedom and rebuild their lives."

"Ha! The naivety of young maidens. Just like the Argent Silver getting in bed with the Progressives!" The vendor bellowed a big-bellied laugh. "I will never hear the end of it! But truthfully, I wish I had your optimism. In my 60 years of being a citizen of the Empire, I can assure you the government has not once failed me."

Then he suddenly turned serious. The brief flash of good humor and nostalgia was replaced with ironclad apathy and scorn.

"The foolish liberals and socialists thought they could civilize the Gipsies; they were wrong and will continue to be wrong. Everything you hear about these foreigners is no exaggeration. My son, grandson, and great-grandson would prove that statement true."

"How can you say that?!" I found my voice growing louder; I hoped that Being X heard me. "These are people…people with lives, with names, with ambition! No different than the Judeans or the homosexuals getting massacred alongside them."

"I know many Judeans who will bring harm to you and your body by saying that Judeans and Gipsies are the same." He replied coldly, betraying no notion of embellishment or deception. "Judeans are honest, diligent, and knowledgeable; model citizens of the Empire whose traits that none of the Gipsies demonstrate. Yes, it is a shame that the Dacians are killing Judeans but Judeans are hardly folk. They will endure - they always do. If the Tzars couldn't destroy them, nothing can."

"And the Gipsies?"

Tired of my persistence, the newspaper vendor simply leaned against the counter and spoke in a hushed tone.

"Fascists who say Judeans are dishonest, cowardly, and draft dodgers have never encountered Gipsi. My grandson who served in the Eastern Front told me stories of how conscripted Gipsies in his battalion deserted at a moment's notice, stealing their uniforms and guns with them and becoming bandits."

"And you believed him…" I said.

"Why shouldn't I? I know how Gipsies live as civilians. Ask anyone in Pullska, Slovakia, Germania, Magyarozag, and Yugoslavia and they will tell you the same story."

Does he not hear his own words?

With a heavy sigh, I put back the newspapers and paid for the Albish and American ones. It was a waste of time to continue bickering with an old geezer; I suddenly found a new hope that Pilsud's Sanation regime would address this discriminatory attitude towards the Gipsies. Surely even he draws the line of where he stood against the Steel Legion.

If there's one good thing about being the Argent Silver, I rarely get refused entry. Walking into the Magyar embassy in Warschau, the employees might as well laid out a red carpet and throw roses at my feet upon my arrival. But I was not here to gloat nor sign autographs. Addressing the first front desk attendant I saw, I requested - No, Demanded - to see the Magyar ambassador.

"He is currently occupied in a lunch meeting right now." the gentleman replied, "If you want, I can certainly arrange for an appointment next week."

"The matters that I wish to discuss with him cannot be delayed," I stated, wiping the slight smile off the young man's face. "It is a matter of basic human decency: a genocide is taking place on Magyarozag's front porch."

"Gen-o-cide?" The attendant repeated the word as if he had just eaten a cherry caramel chocolate from Waldsatte. "I'll mention it to him."

I didn't have to wait long after the young worker left his desk to retrieve the man I requested. The ambassador had burst through the door as if bayonets chased him. His mouth was stuffed with food; I could smell the garlic shrimp and Burgundy wine on him, as he tried desperately to chew fast. He immediately excused himself to the nearest washroom to rinse his face. When he came back, he looked as if he just run a mile through the Great Sahara. His name tag addressed him as Miksa Roberts.

"Argent Silver!" the ambassador panted as he bowed to kiss my hand. "It is a great, GREAT, honor to meet you in person finally! I thought you would already be on your way to Germania."

Robert's enthusiasm was cut short when I withdrew my palm before he had the chance to lay a finger on my skin.

"It has come to my attention that the Americans have brought ill news from Dacia that demanded equal Magyar attention." I waved the newspapers across his face.

The ambassador's face grew grim at my words.

"Bucharest is planning another war?"

"Worse. They are massacring ethnic minorities." I answered.

Robert must be a psychopath since he only let out a soft, weak chuckle in bewilderment.

"Is that what this is all about? Why does it concern Magyarozag what Dacia does to its people?"

"It concerns Magyarozag when the Regent Horvath refused the Gipsies asylum status in the kingdom!" I pointed to the section detailed in the Albish newspaper. "Their culture is getting wiped out and your country has sent them back to certain death."

"How is it Magyarozag's fault that Dacia is engaged in such brutality?" He questioned, feeling more confused at the moment. "We've beaten them during the Great War as the Empire and beaten them again as a nation. From what I can understand, Dacia is setting fire to its garden. Why should Budapestera be concerned with neighbors destroying their backyards?"

"Because the crimes committed transcend all national boundaries," I stated. This is getting ridiculous. "Refusing refuge is one of them."

"What crimes? And why are you so furious about our current policy regarding border security? We all know that Dacia's ambitions did not end with the Treaty of Triano."

What crimes? What Crimes?

"Crimes against humanity." I spelled it out slowly with snarling teeth. "Dacians are killing Judeans, killing Gipsies, killing anyone that did not conform to the new government."

"I suppose that is a warrant for concern." Roberts shrugged slightly, "But do not worry, the Magyar Army will ensure that the actions of the Steel Legion are confined in Dacia."

"We both know that is not the assurance I am looking for."

"Then what are you looking for exactly? Armed intervention?" the ambassador said sarcastically, though he quickly adjusted his attitude when my mouth wasn't exactly drowning in laughter. "I am sorry to say, but Magyarozag has no appetite for another war against Dacia so soon. Truly."

"Then perhaps at least a public condemnation?" I inquired, "The Steel Legion Party is killing children."

Even at the compromise, the ambassador still looked hesitant.

"I can certainly bring up this situation to Budapestera and your statement would give it the attention it deserves."

"That I can arrange." I grabbed a pen and a blank piece of paper to list bullet points that needed to be addressed in a public statement. Roberts looked over my shoulder and grew even more anxious.

"We will certainly have no problem condemning the Dacians over the Judeans but…"

"But what?" I demanded him.

"We will just condemn their treatment of the Judeans."

"Why?!"

"Because you told us to…"

"That is not the correct answer."

"For God's sake, Argent Silver, what the hell do you want us to do? Budapestera has no appetite for another war so soon - the people are still feeling the hunger of the Turnip Winters - and knowing about the Steel Legion, we would have to drag their corpses from office to get them to stop doing whatever they are doing. An action that requires a large army and a mandate from the people to intervene. Neither of which Horvath has."

"Do whatever you can to condemn Dacia for the genocide occurring; not ignoring one ethnic group in favor of another," I replied, trying to keep my mind calm despite my compounding frustration. "As well as apologize for the unlawful handling of Gipsi refugees and a reversal of the current inhumane border policy."

Roberts only grimaced.

"Unlawful? Inhumane? Genocide? Pardon me, Argent Silver, but where are you reaching that conclusion? As far as I am aware, there are no laws, international or domestic, that Magyarozag has broken."

Shit. He is right.

My face immediately went to my hands to bury in. He is right. All those international laws and institutions came after WWII, after the war crimes in Asia and in Europe by the Militarists and the Nazis. As seemingly toothless as the institutions may be in my old life for some critics, at least they existed to be read and understood. The nations of Europe have no idea what will come if the continent continues scapegoating and wallowing in apathy.

America is content looking after itself and has no desire to look across the pond. Albion is only concerned about the Great Powers of Europe, not caring what a backward, weak, and humiliated statelet in the Balkans is thinking. Francia is merely enabling Dacia's worst antics, seemingly out of pure spite against me or Magyarozag. The Russy Federation would only use the genocide in Dacia to cover up their atrocities rather than push for a genuine humanity among nations. Illdoa is just Illdoa: caring only about enriching itself; being the shameless gold-digger of Europe.

They will not understand the consequences of their inhumanity until they are victims of someone else's inhumanity. And they will not be made victims until it is far too late.

That only leaves Germania and the Social Democrat Party as the "World's Policeman." Given the apparent dangers of tolerating the Steel Legion to their constituents, President Erbel and Chancellor Herimann cannot ignore the situation in Bucharest. Putting a stop to Dacia's antics would solidify the Progressive Bloc as a functioning, united, and competent; the coalition to bring normalcy back to society.

Despite being another burden heaped upon their plate of woes, I must rally them to put an end to this atrocious regime. For the good of everyone involved.

"Don't worry, Argent Silver," Robert said, looking rather sympathetic. "If it helps your schedule, I can write the letter myself and personally deliver it to Horvath and Gumbos. You are a busy young lady, after all. We will condemn Dacia's treatment of the Judeans."

But not the treatment of the Gipsies went unsaid.

"Condemn all of it." I looked up and stared into his eyes. "It's not just the destruction of an entire people - look at what happened in Iasi. Consider what them means for everyone else in Europe. Especially to Germanians."

"My lady, I swear to you, on my honor, that we will do all that we can but I must return to my appointment," he swore before returning to his office. If I had lacked self-control, I would have smashed a crater onto the heavy oak coffee table.

"Uhhh, Argent Silver?" came a small voice from the corner of my eye, "You might want to see this..."

I turned around and saw a small delivery boy, trembling in excitement or fear, sheepishly handing over a newspaper. It was from Neu Deutschland, the newspaper arm of the Germanian Democratic Party.

Hopefully, it is good news for a change.

"My older sister told me to find you and give the paper to you. She says her big boss wanted you to read it. You were very hard to find…" he half-explained, half-whispered, before immediately hopping onto his bicycle before I had a chance to question him. "You should have been in Germania right now!"

"How strange…" I muttered, before looking at the front page. I was immediately taken back by a picture of broken windows of a nondescript store vandalized by a crude, painted Judean Star over a window, with rubble and burned items scattered on the sidewalk and streets. Beside the entrance, what remained of it, were uniformed men.

My heart plummeted once again when I recognized the attire.

These are Julius Rohr's men in Berun.

The Reichsbanner, especially my Freikorps, was to ensure the SA never entered the capital! Now, that fat, drunk demagogue has carved a path to coup the republican government itself. Why did no one reach out to me? Is that why all the newspapers were sold out?

Nationwide Boycott Devolves into National Anarchy. Rhineland, Westphalia, and Bavaria In Open Revolt.

Visha, what did you do?!