Chapter 4
The Mask of Victory
[DATA: 18. CYCLE 9. YEAR 40 INDUSTRIAL]
[LOCATION: NORTHERN HIGHWAY — EN ROUTE TO CAPITAL CITY BLIN]
[TIME: 14:20 LOCAL]
[STATUS: RETURN OF THE TRIUMPHANT — PSYCHOLOGICAL ANALYSIS OF THE MASSES]
Seven days had elapsed since the collapse of the front at Byg.
Halter had departed for Blin, leaving behind second-tier officers to manage the “stability” of a city that no longer drew breath. The shattered walls of the front gave Byg city the appearance of a gargantuan meat cage, filled with corpses decomposing beneath the yellow residue of mustard gas. The salty scent of the sea had been permanently stifled by the putrid stench of the chemical strike.
By now, Halter held no interest in the fate of the survivors, if any millimeter of life remained in that hell. He sat in the rear seat of the vehicle, accompanied by a junior officer who seemed to be carrying the weight of the entire world upon his shoulders.
?The anxiety within the car was so dense it was nearly tactile. The officer, terrified by the General’s glacial silence, mustered the courage to breach the invisible protocol.
?“General... I had a question, if you would permit it.”
?Halter did not turn his head. His gaze remained fixed on the horizon being left behind.
?“Proceed. State your grievance.”
?“General, what will the people in Blin think... and the world? Once the deployment of mustard gas and the brutality of the assault are disclosed? Have we not violated every human tenet?”
?Halter smiled thinly. It was a grimace devoid of anything human. He turned slowly toward the officer; his eyes reflected only absolute vacancy—an abyss where morality did not exist.
?“People are merely sheep guided by the words of the shepherd, Colonel. They clamor for freedom, yet the moment they receive it, they are terrified of it. Freedom is a burden they are incapable of bearing. Therefore, the first thing they do is seek a god, a king, or a dictator to direct them through that freedom.”
?The officer froze. His heart began to beat with a frantic rhythm beneath his uniform.
?“That implies...”
?“It implies,” Halter interrupted with a tone that could cut marble, “that they will believe and rejoice in whatever the shepherd tells them. They will scream my name in the streets, celebrate the victory, and will not even dare to question the methodology. Morality is a luxury that nations surrender in exchange for security and false pride.”
?The officer recoiled into his seat, regarding Halter no longer as a commander, but as a monster who had just decrypted the code of the human soul.
?Halter turned back to the window. The vehicle was entering the outskirts of Blin, where Geot’s flags had begun to flutter everywhere. His thoughts, as always, were steps ahead of reality.
This world has rotted under this loathsome order, he thought, lightly touching his ledger. But I will liberate this world from its parasites... even if I must become their greatest parasite of all.
[DATA: 18. CYCLE 9]
[LOCATION: LANDAN — CAPITAL OF BRATAN]
[TIME: 16:00 LOCAL]
[STATUS: DIPLOMATIC AND MILITARY CRISIS]
While Halter marched toward Blin, in Landan — Bratan’s technological jewel — the first echoes of the catastrophe had just reached the ears of President Cici.
?At first glance, Landan was a marvel of development. Pristine streets, skyscrapers brushing the clouds, and an elite class parading in exorbitant attire. But this brilliance was merely a thin mantle covering Bratan’s true filth. Beyond the luxury districts, 85% of the population lived in extreme penury. Cici’s economy was not built on genius, but on the horrific slave trade he funneled across the globe. For them, life was hell, and that hell bore the name Bratan.
?Cici, a 55-year-old man—a political mastermind but a ruthless tyrant—sat in his office surrounded by documents. His composure shattered when the door was flung open with fury. One of his deputies stormed in without knocking, his face ashen and his breath hitching.
?“Sir… the fronts at Thira and Byg… they have been completely annihilated.”
?Cici dropped his pen. His eyes, usually calculating, filled with sudden panic.
?“What are you saying, you fool?! Those fronts were engineered to withstand any conceivable assault!”
?“Sir, it was a Blitzkrieg in Thira. They caught them by surprise, neutralizing every entry point. As for Byg…” the deputy paused to swallow hard, “at Byg, it was pure death. Spies report that the Geotians blocked every exit and deployed mustard gas. They created a mousetrap where no one emerged alive.”
?Cici remained speechless. A tremor began in his hands, spreading through his entire frame. He lowered himself gently into his chair, trying to gather the fragments of his authority.
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?“The use of mustard gas is prohibited by international conventions. Hans knows this well,” he spoke in a low voice. “Who was in command of this massacre?”
?“According to our intelligence, sir… it was General Halter himself.”
?Cici struck the desk with all his might, clenching his jaw until it nearly snapped.
?“That cowardly Chancellor! He knew he couldn’t break our defenses in a fair fight, so he unleashed his monster. Halter…”
?The deputy took a step forward, lowering his voice.
“Sir, what is our move? The people will not forgive this loss.”
?Cici took a deep breath, attempting to restore his diplomatic mask.
?“Only one path remains. We will notify the ISS immediately. They will confront Hans regarding this war crime and impose sanctions. International law will halt Halter where our army failed.”
?The deputy nodded and departed quietly. Cici remained alone, believing that notifying the ISS would be the end of this nightmare. He did not know that for Halter, the ISS was merely another variable he had planned to eliminate. The game had just entered its most perilous phase.
?“Damn it,” Cici muttered to himself. “I didn’t expect them to turn on me just because I established a trade front.”
[DATA: 18. CYCLE 9]
?[LOCATION: CENTRAL PLAZA “TRIUMPH” — BLIN]
?[TIME: 19:00 LOCAL]
?[STATUS: VICTORY CEREMONY AND INITIAL CONFRONTATION WITH THE CHANCELLOR]
Blin was engulfed in the flames of celebration. Geot’s capital shuddered from the roar of engines, martial anthems, and the cheers of a populace feasting on triumph. Red and black banners fluttered everywhere, veiling the ash of daily existence with the colors of victory against Bratan. Hans’s propaganda—painting them as the aggressors in the eyes of the public—had functioned perfectly.
?The only individual who regarded this spectacle as worthless was the very man who had enabled it. Halter observed the crowd from the car window with an indifference that chilled the bone.
?The officer seated across from him, face beaming with exhilaration, could not contain his enthusiasm.
“Look, General! They are all celebrating for you. I trust you are moved by the speech you are about to deliver?”
?Halter etched a faint, nearly imperceptible smirk. His voice was a sarcastic whisper.
“I am moved indeed... truly moved.”
?The vehicle carved through the masses who struck the glass in a show of reverence, finally halting at the city center where Hans and his court waited atop a grand podium. Halter dismounted with ritualistic slowness. His mere presence—that black, unwavering silhouette—sufficed to quiet the atmosphere. The people ceased their shouting; they waited with bated breath.
?He ascended the podium. Hans stepped forward with a formal smile and gripped his hand firmly.
“Welcome back, Halter.”
?The General offered nothing more than a curt nod and turned toward the populace. He did not shout. He employed no hollow rhetoric. He spoke with a low voice that nonetheless echoed through every loudspeaker in the plaza.
?“People of Geot. This victory does not belong to me. It belongs to your sons and husbands who fought without fear. We did not merely repel them; we purged the very air of our enemies. And that... is the merit of your boys.”
?The crowd erupted. His name became a rhythmic strike that rattled the structures: “Halter! Halter! Halter!”
?He turned back to the Chancellor. Their eyes locked for a long, heavy second.
“Chancellor, I must depart. I have an important friend to meet. I gave my word that I would find them upon my return.”
?Hans pulled him close, gripping his hand with unnatural force. He leaned toward his ear and whispered with a voice dripping with venom:
“Halter... I heard about the gas. Do not think you will escape this unscathed with the ISS looming over you. But for now, celebrate... this is your day.”
?Halter stared him directly in the eye, never losing his composure for a moment. A defiant smile surfaced on his face.
“Of course, Chancellor. We shall speak at length.”
[DATA: 18. CYCLE 9]
[LOCATION: OLD DISTRICT — ABANDONED TENEMENT]
[TIME: 21:30 LOCAL]
[STATUS: DELIVERY OF ASSASSINATION INSTRUMENTS]
Halter carved through the lingering celebratory crowds and climbed into the vehicle. He removed his cap, wiping a cold bead of sweat from his brow, and issued a curt command to the driver.
“The back alley. Old District.”
?The driver nodded in silence. The car drifted away from the festive lights, plunging into neighborhoods where poverty had long since strangled hope. When the vehicle halted at the end of a lightless alley, Halter dismounted, carrying a metallic case. He navigated toward a cracked structure that seemed to stand upright solely by the will of the shadows.
?Inside, the air was heavy with tobacco smoke and acute anxiety.
“Peter, do you truly believe that General will show?” one of the youths asked, clutching a knife. “To me, he’s just using us as cannon fodder.”
?Before Peter could utter a word, the ancient door groaned open with an ear-piercing screech.
“Good evening, gentlemen.”
?Peter stood slowly, measuring the General’s silhouette with his eyes.
“We presumed you wouldn’t arrive, General. Hans’s gala seemed too enticing to abandon.”
?Halter walked until he stood mere inches from him.
“I never lie, Mr. Peter. Especially not when it concerns a covenant.”
?“Enough with the hollow rhetoric,” Peter interrupted, his tone demanding action. “What is the plan? How do we get close to that monster?”
?Halter extended the case. A thin, surgical smile touched his lips.
“This is the plan.”
?Peter eyed the box with suspicion, as if expecting it to detonate.
“What are you saying? Do we look like fools? A metal box is your ‘plan’?”
?“On the contrary. Had you opened it, you would have understood,” Halter said with an irritating composure. “Inside is an aristocratic suit, tailored to your measurements. Listen: Tomorrow night, Hans is hosting a private gala for the elite. The guard and the military will remain outside the main hall so as not to ‘disturb’ the wealthy. That hall will be his sepulcher. You will enter as my guest, a special invitee. And when Hans is alone... you will kill him.”
?Peter swallowed hard.
“And after? How do I exit alive without being seized by the guards outside?”
?“That is the most elegant part, Mr. Peter. In the case, you also have a modified Bratan-model firearm. When they discover the body, everyone will believe the Chancellor was assassinated by a Bratan spy in retaliation for Byg. No one will look for a local ‘idealist.’ You will leave the weapon at the scene and exit with me through the rear door. I will ensure your path is clear.”
?Peter stared at the case, this time with a sort of terrified admiration.
“It is an ambitious plan... but I like it. It has logic.”
?He extended his hand. Halter gripped it with an unwavering force, cold as monument marble. The tension in the city was now like a violin string stretched to its breaking point. Everything was in position.
