13:15 — August 7, 2047 — Red Square / Politburo
"Esteemed comrades, we expect the Eastern Front to finally stabilize due to the newly concentrated forces.There have only been minor shifts in the frontline. Our losses are—given the circumstances—within an acceptable range."
He paused, raised his hand to his mouth, and coughed loudly. The rasp in his throat echoed through the chamber before he continued.
"In the south, we have held the line and inflicted heavy personnel and material losses on the enemy."
A brief, approving nod passed through the rows of officials.
"Furthermore, we can now conclusively confirm that the United Stations are supplying the enemy with weapons and manpower."
A murmur rippled through the hall.
The Supreme Marshal of the Union cleared his throat.
"We have seized weapons that unmistakably bear the signature of the United Stations. Their quality and production volume exceed anything the Eastern State could have manufactured in such a short time. However, these items do not carry the usual markings known from United Stations armaments."
A voice cut him off.
"Is that all?!"
The official half rose from his chair.
"Because of this 'evidence'"—he gestured quotation marks—"we are supposed to risk our fragile peace? Retaliate with sabotage?"
He took a deep breath.
"Weapons that might originate from the United Stations? Forgive me, comrade—but this is not a report. This is reading tea leaves. Just because something is possible does not make it true. Correlation is not causation!"
As with everything, there were skeptics—those who were all too willing to distrust their comrades.
An icy silence spread through the chamber.
"If you allow me to finish, esteemed comrade," the Supreme Field Marshal said calmly, raising his hand.
"Of course," the skeptic replied curtly, sitting back down.
The marshal nodded slightly.
"Before continuing my report, I wish to express my deep respect for our fellow official's honesty—and above all—for his skepticism. Critical voices are the lifeblood of any rational debate. However, judgment should only be passed once all facts are on the table."
The air in the hall grew dense—almost electric.
"Not only have we seized weapons," he continued, placing a file on the table with a faint smile,"we have also detained members of the so-called Foreign Legion. Under interrogation, they confirmed they are volunteers from the United Stations, deployed as mercenaries."
A low, heavy gasp spread through the room.
"Along with them," he concluded,"a considerable arsenal was delivered—its origin allows only one conclusion."
Papers rustled as files were hastily distributed.
With every line, every word—every comma—the suspicion hardened.
The Union had entered yet another phase of the Cold War.A war that had quietly simmered for thirteen years—since the day the Revolution freed part of humanity.
"Cursed class enemies…" someone muttered.
The former skeptic sat silent now, staring at the documents.
"We are fighting the demons of the past," he said quietly."Comrades… we cannot afford a war with the United Stations. Another front would subordinate our entire economic planning to slaughter."
He swallowed.
"We must think of the future. Of the lives of our people.I therefore urge the Consul not to authorize retaliatory measures."
After hearing the economic and medical reports, the Consul finally spoke:
"In times like these, we cannot afford the luxury of doubt, morality, or guilt."
He let the word luxury linger.
"The entire sector will be disinfected using flamethrowers.All inhabitants will be terminated."
A collective intake of breath.
"We have no other choice.For the good of humanity, we will burn out this wound…"
His fist rose.
"…and later recolonize it with healthy tissue."
His voice dropped.
"I know this order places a heavy burden upon us.A genocide—in the name of humanity's survival.But we cannot allow this epidemic to spread."
No applause.
No protest.
Only the heavy realization that an entire chapter of human history was about to go up in flames.