09-02-2023, 11:55 PM
Ministry of State Security, Vahania
Wednesday 5th June, 1872
Anton Segura sat in his usual briefing room, smoking a cigar with a glass of rum in hand. Ever the yes man, he now served as the Chief Secretary of State Security after his ex-superiors had been ousted in what was known as the Week of Massacres- when a number of high-ranking government officials refused to accept the much more hands-on role now being played by Costeno and were subsequently sacked.
His promotion had not exactly made his life easier. He was now ultimately responsible for dealing with the scourge of treason known as the Cultural Congress, which was proving to be no mean feat.
In the four months since the arrival of Costenan troops, not one of the fifteen ringleaders identified had been captured. Hell, some had not even been sighted since the riot on that fateful January night. And those who had resurfaced did so quickly before disappearing again.
Anton skimmed through the stack of papers placed in front of him while the intelligence officers droned on, paying little attention to each until one caught his eye: the weekly edition of the Aredoan Journal, the propaganda paper produced by the Cultural Congress. What started to promote Aredoan literary culture was now used by the Congress to antagonise the government since they were driven underground. Although the paper was officially banned, it still managed to be circulated around the country each week without fail. This issue was not kind to Anton, who raised an eyebrow as he began to read the headline.
Anton threw the paper against the wall in a fury. They had gone too far this time, meddling in his personal life and humiliating him publicly. The paper's cartoon depicted Anton as fat and old, the personification of Costeno, while his wife- whose departure was still very raw- swooned over a younger, more handsome man, representing Aredoan independence. He turned to face the intelligence officers giving the briefing that, until now, he had paid little attention to.
“I’ve had enough excuses. What are we doing?! We’ve allowed these vermin to run right under our noses, undermining our every action, and we can’t even bring down a single one of their leaders? Your failure is not acceptable, gentlemen!”
The intelligence officer taking the lead cleared his throat. Outbursts by Anton weren’t exactly uncommon. “Well, Chief Secretary, as I was saying… Our use of informants is beginning to pay off. We have received word that Agustín Pastrano will be resurfacing next week to speak at a socialist rally in Bancoa. Pastrano is a relatively minor leader in the Congress, but a leader nonetheless. Arresting and interrogating him should provide clarity on the whereabouts of his accomplices.”
His humiliation by the Congress’ propaganda wing fresh on his mind, Anton grumbled. “This is promising. I want Pastrano executed. We’ll send a message to his friends that this merry band of treason has gone too far. Let’s see how eager these puny bookworms and dramatists are to oppose us when they face the firing squad.” Anton chuckled to himself, relishing the thought of their persecution. The Cultural Congress would finally die.
Wednesday 5th June, 1872
Anton Segura sat in his usual briefing room, smoking a cigar with a glass of rum in hand. Ever the yes man, he now served as the Chief Secretary of State Security after his ex-superiors had been ousted in what was known as the Week of Massacres- when a number of high-ranking government officials refused to accept the much more hands-on role now being played by Costeno and were subsequently sacked.
His promotion had not exactly made his life easier. He was now ultimately responsible for dealing with the scourge of treason known as the Cultural Congress, which was proving to be no mean feat.
In the four months since the arrival of Costenan troops, not one of the fifteen ringleaders identified had been captured. Hell, some had not even been sighted since the riot on that fateful January night. And those who had resurfaced did so quickly before disappearing again.
Anton skimmed through the stack of papers placed in front of him while the intelligence officers droned on, paying little attention to each until one caught his eye: the weekly edition of the Aredoan Journal, the propaganda paper produced by the Cultural Congress. What started to promote Aredoan literary culture was now used by the Congress to antagonise the government since they were driven underground. Although the paper was officially banned, it still managed to be circulated around the country each week without fail. This issue was not kind to Anton, who raised an eyebrow as he began to read the headline.
ANTON SEGURA LEFT BY WIFE WHO SEEKS YOUNGER, MORE ATTRACTIVE FUTURE!
SHOULDN’T AREDOA DO THE SAME AND PART WAYS WITH COSTENO?
Anton threw the paper against the wall in a fury. They had gone too far this time, meddling in his personal life and humiliating him publicly. The paper's cartoon depicted Anton as fat and old, the personification of Costeno, while his wife- whose departure was still very raw- swooned over a younger, more handsome man, representing Aredoan independence. He turned to face the intelligence officers giving the briefing that, until now, he had paid little attention to.
“I’ve had enough excuses. What are we doing?! We’ve allowed these vermin to run right under our noses, undermining our every action, and we can’t even bring down a single one of their leaders? Your failure is not acceptable, gentlemen!”
The intelligence officer taking the lead cleared his throat. Outbursts by Anton weren’t exactly uncommon. “Well, Chief Secretary, as I was saying… Our use of informants is beginning to pay off. We have received word that Agustín Pastrano will be resurfacing next week to speak at a socialist rally in Bancoa. Pastrano is a relatively minor leader in the Congress, but a leader nonetheless. Arresting and interrogating him should provide clarity on the whereabouts of his accomplices.”
His humiliation by the Congress’ propaganda wing fresh on his mind, Anton grumbled. “This is promising. I want Pastrano executed. We’ll send a message to his friends that this merry band of treason has gone too far. Let’s see how eager these puny bookworms and dramatists are to oppose us when they face the firing squad.” Anton chuckled to himself, relishing the thought of their persecution. The Cultural Congress would finally die.