03-03-2025, 11:23 PM
Quote:[January, 5614, Kundrati Presidential Office]
It had been a terrible struggle, and despite all the fanatical resistance of Kundrati's best men, Extea had fallen. The nation was in a terrible state, wracked with hunger and economic decline, the war had used all the efforts of the regime and now it needed years to heal from the damages, and now a rogue liberal government had been installed and financed by Luthori in extea. It stood in defiance of the true legionary state. They were an affront to the true fatherland in every way. Elections, free speech, mentally ill communism veiled in "democratic" measures, and on top of it all; A base of operations against them. Sladek's head was pounding thinking of it all, the enemy spies who could come in, the black markets, and of course the many traitors that would no doubt attempt to abscond to the small island republic. Above it all, he had chosen a successor.
It had been a long and difficult decision, and Sladek hardly regretted most of what he had done, all the camps, the weapons programs, the brutal labor efforts had only been boons. But as he gazed out the window in the dark night, he knew half the city of the bright lights beneath him were hungry, cold, and mourning lost ones. The war, all the sanctions, the embargos and scandals, what had it brought the people but misery? Had he been a failure, gods chosen, had he not done everything he could? His eyes for the first time in decades became glazed, and he began having another coughing fit into his handkerchief, blood staining it. Balancing himself on his desk after gasping for breath he read the paper again, and again. His life had been one of brutal repression, totalitarian control, but he would make the right decision before he died, for the sake of the people he fought to save nearly 40 years ago in his party office.
Ruslan Prokovic. One of the most liberal activists in the Legion, he advocated for loosening free speech, closure of many labor camps, lessened sentences, and even removing the personality cult surrounding Sladek. It irked him to think his legacy would be somewhat removed, but these changes would open a new path for the nation. Sladek moved his tremor addled hand to the bottom of the page and began scribbling his name with his gold tipped fountain pen, slowly the barely legible signature was dotted. He'd done it.
Sladek sat back satisfied. He knew millions hated him and would celebrate his passing, he was the one of the safest men in the world with the army and state fully backing him, but he knew no amount of guards, doctors, or commissars could stop death from coming. He motioned for the phone, to make the call, let the legion know of his decision, and thoughts of happy families with full bellies and beautiful homes danced in his mind, of sunny evenings where labor camps didn't dot the horizons, and suddenly he felt a pain unlike any other. His panicked eyes widened, bloodshot, and he grasped his chest while it felt as though a dagger had been shoved in it, failing to take a breath. He tried to press the emergency button under his desk but found himself unable to move as his vision began blurring, and he felt nothing as his head lurched forward and smashed the table. His trembling hands stopped moving, and a dribble of blood flowed down his cheek, as his eyes that had once commanded the obedience of millions slowly came halfway closed, and he gave his final breath in the dark, lonely office.