While the CBW he took control of is only a beta and not the final product, he believes now that they can stop the fiercest of Rubella Typhus, something he believes Trojan Jack would take too long to stop. He spins in his chair with joy, passing out in the process. He slumps in his chair as he slowly stops spinning. His aching body can’t take anymore.
REMEMBRANCE
NOVEMBER 18th, 2060
12:15 A.M.
MOSKOVA
Dmitri stares out from his bedroom window. The room is dark, his wife Amelia asleep, their kids in bed. Only the sound of the gentle breeze whistles as the trees sway, shaking their colorful leaves off. These leaves are taken into the air, making a swirling motion.
He follows these dancing leaves, his eyes gradually focusing on the beauty of the clear night sky he admires so deeply. He’s thankful for living in a nation that has provided natural rights, ones that everyone can enjoy without fear of being persecuted by the state. He’s thankful for the men and women protecting these undeniable rights, protecting his family and the people he represents. That’s what he usually thinks at this time.
Tonight, however, something else is on his mind, something that he believes poses a threat to him and the nation. Deflecting his attention from the glamorous night sky, he looks straight ahead, staring at a building shining under the moonlight. This is the Tower, a slim chrome building that is the headquarters of the Red Skulls and the Empire’s Department of Defense. It serves as one of the two main control hubs, the other one being the Presidential Palace. They act as the brains of the nation, making decisions that affect the outcome of everyone within Zentari.
Originally, the Tower was where all the nation’s military policies and decisions were made. In 2058, however, Dmitri called for a Session of Silence[78] to discuss an idea proposed by Marcus. What he proposed was that the Presidential Palace be given equal responsibility for military tasks, citing the ever-growing problem of centralization, and also believing that if the Tower fell, then a backup would be in place.
This would lead to the creation of the Defense Improvement Act, making the Presidential Palace a second command and control center. The bill also increased funding for the Empire’s military, granting additional funds to improve its infrastructure and research into new technology. It also gave funds to build new bases across the Empire to accommodate the surging number of recruits getting jobs. The bill passed unanimously, although some Golden Civics had qualms with the increase military spending. This act established the command and control center called “The Vault” within the Presidential Palace, meaning the military could more effectively run its operations.
This legislated achievement is not on his mind right now, however. He feels something isn’t right on this peaceful, quiet night, sensing something is quietly crawling out of the shadows. He has this gut feeling that something bad is coming, something that threatens the very nation he loves.
Yet, his gut feeling, for the most part, has been wrong, something he sometimes doesn’t like. He has been right on a few occasions, however. As he stares off into the distance, his mind slips to the past, thinking of the events that occurred on October 6th, 2052.
~
The Mayor’s Motorcade is just one turn away from arriving at the Mayor’s Residence. Mayor Dmitri Covasku wears his favorite sunglasses as he stares out the tinted black windows. He’s returning from a public speaking event that promoted expanding the city’s speed rail. The current speed rail is considered out of date and needs significant upgrades for it to handle the growing population and expanding economy. He has promised the people that construction will begin soon once they select a bid, one he hopes won’t break the city financially.
Yet, his mind isn’t on the speed rail. His mind is on the recent events that have happened at the Moskova Mall Center. Two weeks earlier, he was giving a speech at the annual Economic Summit of Zentari, an event that is hosted in every Zentarian Nation once a year except in Jekaria and The Velekrian Empire. The summit usually is a discussion of economics, ideas that help bring prosperity. As a rising star within the Golden Civics, he had been invited to attend and to talk about his ideas for improving Zentari.
As he was giving his speech, three Gewerksols opened fire into the crowd, their target being the Mayor. As the attackers sprayed their bullets all around, the police surrounded him and escorted him out. They quickly eliminated the attackers, but 100 people died that day. Since that tragic day, he has devoted more funding to the police in hopes of increasing security and deterring crime. He didn’t want another mass murder to happen.
As the Mayor’s motorcade makes a turn around a corner, there is a crowd of people standing around the Residence. Dmitri raises his eyebrows as he lowers his sunglasses. He sees a woman in a cream-colored dress speed walking away. She has a brown fanny pack around her waist, her hands gripping it as if she were holding onto it for dear life. She is ignoring the people who are staring at her, wondering why she just tossed a large red purse onto the Mayor’s lawn.
She turns her head, staring at the passing motorcade. While she can’t see the occupants inside, she knows the Mayor is in one of the vehicles, a target she hopes will die soon. But everyone else can see her, including Dmitri as he stares into her grimacing eyes. Her aloof look turns his stomach, giving him the sense that something is wrong.
“Something is going on here,” Dmitri says with anxiety.
“You worry too much, Mayor Covasku. It looks to me like the people have come to show their support for you. There’s nothing to worry about.”
Agent Bruce Wellings turns around in his seat, trying to calm the Mayor’s fears. He is a tall muscular man with black hair and blue eyes. He is the head of the Mayor’s Protection Unit, and it’s his job to ensure that the Mayor is safe, the people coming second.
The motorcade comes to a stop. The people turn around, surprised to see the Mayor’s motorcade. Looks of dread and shock stretch across their faces as they wonder why the motorcade hasn’t been diverted. The terror on their faces sends chills down Dmitri’s spine, and now he believes something is indeed wrong.
“Mayor Covasku?”
He continues to stare into crowd, studying their perplexed, scared faces.
“Dmitri?!”
He jolts and turns around and sees Bruce’s hand on his shoulder.
“Are you ok?”
“Not really.”
“Everything is all right, I assure you. Here, let’s get you out.”
Bruce gets out and opens the passenger door.
“No, wait a moment. I think something is not right.”
Bruce looks at him, astonished. The Mayor has always liked to greet people, especially when they gather at his residence.
“What’s wrong?”
“I, I find something suspicious about this crowd. They don’t seem eager that we have arrived. Their minds are on something else.”
“Unusual for you to say that. I assure you that there is nothing wrong,” Bruce says as he reaches for Dmitri.
“I am not getting out-”
Dmitri pulls back, refusing to relent.
“Dmitri, there’s nothing to worry about, I promise.”
Bruce reaches in, forcefully grabbing the Mayor. Using all his strength, Dmitri tries to resist being pulled out, his determination to stay making him all the more defiant. But Bruce’s strength is too much as he pulls him forward. He gets almost pulled out of the car, only able to stop himself when his hand catches the door.
Reluctantly, he stands up, frantically looking around. On the lawn is a red purse, an item that doesn’t belong there. This alarms him as he looks around for his guards. He doesn’t see them. His face crinkles as he turns to see the woman in the cream-colored dress hastily turn around the corner.
Her pace is increasing, the adrenaline in her body pumping. She is trying to get as far away as possible, knowing that the show is about to begin. She has to thank her friend later, an insider within the Mayor’s Protection Uni
t.
As her momentum grows, she passes an alleyway. In that alley are two men wearing opera masks and light body armor, hiding in the shadows. Each is carrying a Vicks 9[79] submachine gun, which carries forty 4.6×30mm rounds. They have been waiting for the signal, a woman in a bland dress to walk past them.
As she passes them, they walk out of the alleyway, heading towards the motorcade. She pulls her phone out, swiping it open. She then pulls up her contacts list and selects one of them. She doesn’t put her phone to her ear as the phone rings loudly.
Suddenly, an explosive goes off, causing the crowd to run and scream. Some of the fleeing people get trampled, joining others who have been mangled by the explosion. The two men come running around the corner and open fire. Bruce jumps to the sound of the explosion and gunfire as he pushes Dmitri into the car and slams the door. Dmitri shakes his head, stunned a bit.
“God damn it,” Dmitri says, terrified. “Not this again.”
He grabs hold of his gold-plated .357 magnum. It’s Bruce’s job to make sure the residence is secured. It’s his job to ensure that the Mayor is protected. It confuses him as to why Bruce would bring him here when there are no guards. He then realizes that Bruce probably has something to do with this, and he’s wondering if Bruce is an insider for the Gewerksma. Fearing the worst, Dmitri turns towards the driver.
“Get us out of here-”
Shots ring out. The car horn drags on. The driver’s face has planted itself into the steering wheel. It is covered in blood, the driver’s head blown apart.
“Looks like your gut was right for once,” Bruce says maliciously as he hops into the passenger seat, pointing his gun at him. “But it looks like it is too late for you now.”
“It is never too late!”
Dmitri pulls out his magnum and fires, striking Bruce in his shoulder. He falls back, landing on the glove compartment as he groans in pain.
“I knew something was wrong, you bastard!”
He opens the door and runs out into a flurry of bullets. Desperate, he flees towards the next vehicle in front of him. He slides towards the front, taking refuge with one of his bodyguards.
“Protect the Mayor!” shouts the bodyguard as other guards exit their vehicles.
The guard turns towards the Mayor.
“Where’s Agent Wellings?”
“He’s in the car back there. He shot the driver.”
“Get out of here! We’ll protect you!”
The guard sticks his head around the corner, ready to fight. But as he’s ready to engage, he falls to the ground, a bullet passing through his head. Dmitri pops up and Bruce points his gun in his direction.
“Get him- get the Mayor!” he shouts in pain.
He opens fire as the two other individuals engage. Dmitri fires as he takes off running, heading to another vehicle to take cover behind. His shot once again strikes Bruce, hitting him in the gut. He falls to the ground, unable to get up. Dmitri has always been a good shot. It is rare that he misses. While he never served in the military, he’s had several of his friends train him on how to defend himself, a lesson he believes everyone should learn.
He slides behind another vehicle as his bodyguards run past him. They engage the hostile targets, ending their streak of terror quickly. They then head to Bruce, kicking his gun away as they apprehend the bleeding man.
Believing it’s safe to come out, Dmitri stands up and heads towards Bruce. He’s a bit shaken up, but he wants to confront Bruce, wanting to know why he betrayed him. He approaches him, standing over him, staring at him angrily.
“You were one of the best. You are one of the most respected security personnel in the Empire. Why?” he asks in shock.
“The Empire has stifled its people for too long now,” Bruce says, grumbling in pain. “The Gewerksma fear you, believing you will further bury the working class to enrich your friends. But unfortunately for us, we have failed to stop you once again. But liberation will come- Paradise will see your existence perish.”
“Liberation? Paradise? What do you mean?”
“You’ll see…”
Bruce closes his eyes, drawing his last breath as he succumbs to his wounds. Dmitri ponders the man’s words as he wanders aimlessly around, examining the carnage. A total of 15 people have died and another 34 are wounded. He walks around, examining the carnage. He stops as he hears a ticking sound.
He looks around seeing a clock on his mansion ticking away. It is in an unusual place as Dmitri stares at it. The clock ticks again as he jolts himself out of his daydreaming. He looks around before he realizes he is in the Presidential Palace. He breathes a sigh of relief. But Bruce’s words continue to haunt him. He looks up, reciting the words in his head.
“Paradise,” he says, worried. “What did you mean by that, Bruce?”
~
The sky is slowly becoming overcast, the moonlight being masked by the approaching clouds. At Fort Moskova, the base is inactive except for a few military personnel roaming around. Security cameras monitor the surrounding area, covering the blind spots. The fort lies 25 miles away from Moskova, making it conveniently close for the Red Skulls if the city ever comes under attack.
The fort has multiple hangars, bunkers, and buildings and covers an area of roughly two miles. This is where the soldiers rest, where they charge up their Kinetic Warrior Suits when they aren’t using them, and where supplies are kept. In the middle of the fort is a tall building, the most important structure within the fort. This 220-foot tall building is the traffic control tower, helping guide military aircraft safely.
But on top of the building is a hexagon-shaped dome where high-level military leaders discuss and implement strategies for the Red Skulls, a hub that serves as one of the nerves connected to the Tower. This hub serves as one of Marcus’ command centers, a place he sometimes sleeps in.
The command center is an elaborate room filled with holographic and touch screen technology. It has six long black crescent-shaped segments filled with highly advanced computer technology where tacticians, hackers, security personnel, and others utilize their capabilities to protect the Moskova Province and the fort. Separating these segments is an oval-shaped staging area. Behind them is a large desk with several Smart Touchscreen Monitors. This is where Marcus sits, overlooking them.
The dome’s windows, which are also Smart Touchscreen Monitors, can project an enlarged image, which can provide multiple viewpoints and perform multiple tasks. This has helped Marcus to see multiple parts of the Empire and other nations they secretly monitor, allowing him to strategize and plan their next move. To help him visualize this, he relies on several holographic projector cameras to create and modify his plans. He does this in the middle of the room, sometimes going to the windows to get a better view of the situation.
But tonight, this room serves a different purpose for Marcus. Since he discovered his faults as a leader, he has been soul searching, wondering where he went wrong. Yet, he has been ignoring the moon’s fading light to help guide him, a symbolic thing trying to show him what he may be missing.
But he has an idea where he strayed off the path, the one his former mentor, his friend, put him on. It all started when he was nominated to be the Supreme Commander by Dmitri. It was an honor Marcus immediately accepted, one that his former mentor believed he would ascend to. Shortly afterwards, he was unanimously confirmed by the Miktsrod. He was allowed to retain his leadership position in the Krenma, and he believed that he would still be with his companions, serving alongside them.
However, when he officially took command of the military, he soon discovered that the responsibilities he inherited consumed an enormous amount of time. The little time he did have he used to train, preserving and retaining the skills he learned as a Kren. This led him to despise his new job, his new life, believing he was abandoning the companions he had fought alongside, warriors who revered him greatly.
As time went on, he relinquished himself to his new title, begrudgingly accep
ting the rigid changes to his life. Not only did his life change, so did his leadership style. Marcus was a proponent of a hybrid of centralization and decentralization. He believed that a strong figure was needed to define tasks, duties that figure would delegate and oversee firsthand, leaving some room for modification if needed. This hands-on, arms-length approach ensured that he could interfere if order became unsystematic, the tampering of the objective halted.
That changed when he became the Supreme Commander. He discovered that he couldn’t be as thorough when examining others’ work, preoccupied with other tasks. This forced him to take a more decentralized approach wherein he delegated duties he would otherwise keep, placing trust in others, hoping they would fulfill the tasks at their discretion.
He found this helpful in fixing the stringent bureaucratic military, where only the high-ranking officials made all the decisions. He changed this by giving more local control to middle and lower command that ran the forts. This also helped reduce the stress on him, allowing him to initially critique these entities and recommend or enforce changes they needed to abide by.
Over time though, his power was eroding as he delegated more and more responsibilities. The thousands of middle and lower command centers were abusing their newly granted powers by wasting Zureus to fund projects not related to the military, undermining high command and enriching themselves. This made it difficult for him to keep track of them, forcing him to create additional positions to oversee them. These positions would report to him, giving him monthly reports with which he could then enforce changes they must abide by. By doing this, he hoped to re-establish control on how the money was being spent, ensuring it wouldn’t go to waste.
However, he was unaware that he was further eroding his power. While he was able to establish some control, some of the people he appointed were concealing the misdeeds, hiding them from their reports. Instead of being praised, he was criticized for leading from behind, putting too much trust in others over his intellect that was superbly systematic and analytical. He brushed aside his critics, believing that he had a firm grip on the situation.
Zurkerx- The Empire Shall Grow Page 20