― This is the All-Union Radio Station. In the final session of the 5th Supreme Soviet, the Social Revolutionary Workers' League and the Centralist faction engaged in 72 hours of negotiations regarding the rationing reform bill. A neutral compromise has finally been ratified. Starting next month, citizens' ration entitlements will include shoe exchange vouchers.
― This is Philadelphia Liberty Radio. In the Columbia Soviet, the Liberty Party and the Communist Party have once again clashed over taxation. The Liberty Party claimed that tax cuts for the middle class are the lifeblood of the national economy, but Communist deputies countered that such measures are merely tax-exempt privileges for the bourgeoisie.
― An advertisement: "Safe tableware guaranteed by the People's Commissariat of Union Security! Unbreakable plates, just 15 kopeks each!" Purchase them now at your nearest state store.
― This is the Voice of the People! At the Manchester Steelworks, a director who ignored safety inspections has been ousted at the demand of the local Workers' Soviet. Compared to eight years ago, the industrial accident rate has been halved. However, fatal accidents still exceed 400 cases annually. The voice of the workers must grow even louder!
― A brief report: In Kazdel, the Lord of Fiends, Theresia, has once again delivered a speech. "Peaceful coexistence between Sarkaz and non-Sarkaz is possible." Following this brief but significant statement, Union media outlets immediately released welcoming commentaries.
― Yesterday at 3 PM, a financial bureaucrat from the Alliance for Hopeful Progress admitted to a calculation error in a statistical table during a public hearing... She claimed she had not slept that day, causing a significant stir.
― Scandal breaking news: Representative Frenner, a young technocrat from the Alliance for Hopeful Progress, is under investigation for suspected collusion with a specific construction Soviet during a public housing bidding process. Representative Frenner has denied all allegations.
― Overseas news: In the Empire of Gaul, the fourth general strike of the year continues. The strike by the Lingones tank workers has entered its third week, as workers halt production to oppose the Emperor's militarism. Corsica I has signaled a heavy-handed crackdown.
― Additional breaking news from Columbia Liberty Radio: Liberty Party leader Selene Maylander stated in a radio address, "The Communist Party intends to monopolize bread made from the blood of the people." The Communist Party immediately issued a rebuttal and expanded their street oratory.
― An advertisement: "New roads, new roofs, new machines! The fruits of the rural revitalization project are coming to your village. If you desire tractors and utility poles, apply now to your Agricultural Soviet."
― Cultural news: Since the implementation of the 1st Cultural Rationing Program, performances and exhibitions across the Union have increased by 400%. However, some deputies have called for budget cuts, claiming the theater is "excessively avant-garde."
― A brief report: In the Ursus Empire, twelve underground Communist Party members were arrested on charges of operating a secret printing press.
― An advertisement: "An eight-hour workday, five days of labor, and leisure thereafter! The People's Commissariat for All-Union Welfare is responsible for your weekends. Utilize your local gyms and libraries!"
― This is the All-Union Radio Station. At 10:00 today, the 6th Supreme Soviet Congress convenes. We take you now to the main plenary hall.
*********************************
The ceiling of the People's Palace was a grain of undulating steel, and the walls stood as straight as chisels, adorned with the ribbons of ancient victory banners.
The 2,080 newly elected deputies filled the seats.
The air in the chamber was heavy with the scent of paper and ink, damp wool, and the wax applied to the floorboards.
The insignias of each faction were established not with flags, but through badges, memos, and the deliberate positioning of shoulders.
As I walked toward the Speaker's chair, I had to admit that I had loved this scent and this noise for a very long time.
Revolution is often easily summarized by blood and fire—and I was no different in the very early days of the Revolutionary War—but for me, the majority of the revolution has been the persistence of ink and dust, wax and the glow of filaments.
The gavel always sat in the same spot, at the same angle. I had developed a habit of warming the metal with my palm for a moment, ensuring it was not as cold as a winter morning.
When the gavel's chill subsided, it felt as though my voice trembled less.
"The session is open."
With a single strike of the gavel, the noise that had risen like a wave was brought to order.
I scanned the faces filling the benches.
There were the hollowed eyes of those from the factory night shifts; the ears of those who had spent their lives listening to others; the noses of those who arrived carrying the scent of markers from university lecture halls.
Different lives had surged into this single space, all facing me.
"Comrades, over the past eight years, we have proven the promise of the revolution not merely with words, but through our institutions."
I did not open my script.
The sentences I had refined last night at my desk, adjusting every single comma, were already engraved in my mind.
"The eight-hour workday and the five-day week have protected the sweat of the people. The inspectors of the Department of Labor Safety have stood in the gap to ensure that workers no longer head toward early graves. New roads, new roofs, and new machines have lit the fires of our Saemaul villages. The cultural rationing vouchers have placed books in the hands of our children and songs upon the stages of our public squares."
I could feel the warmth in the hall shifting subtly.
"But Comrades, the revolution is not a finished history. In the strikes of Gaul, in the underground printing presses of Ursus, in the experiments of coexistence in Kazdel, and in the communes of the Iberian idealists—we hear the same tongue. The language of liberation, the language of solidarity, the language of the people."
After uttering the final sentence, I took a moment to catch my breath.
I cut across the gazes of the various factions.
Behind the calm of the Centralists lay confidence; in the eyes of the Social Revolutionary Workers' League was the heat of struggle; in the clear gaze of the Liberty League was a conviction that would never falter; and in the documents held by the Alliance for Hopeful Progress were expressions of calculated precision. And the eyes of the Liberal Party deputies remained cold.
"The 6th Supreme Soviet must now shoulder even greater responsibilities for the sake of the people."
Standing upon the rostrum, I thus concluded my opening address.
Applause spread like a surging tide, but I did not watch that wave for long.
Another sound was already pushing into my ears.
****************************************
The hallway immediately dissolved into clamor.
As soon as the plenary session ended, deputies poured out in mass, and the colors of the factions collided in the narrow corridor.
"We must move beyond general statutes and enshrine safety rights within the Constitution itself! The shops cannot wait any longer!"
A deputy from the Social Revolutionary Workers' League shouted while waving a stack of papers.
"If you do that, the entirety of industry will grind to a halt. A planned economy requires calculation, it cannot be run on emotion. Think with reason, not sentiment," a Centralist deputy shot back.
"Calculation... In the end, aren't you just drawing lines on paper? While someone else is out there sweating."
"Do you even know whose sake that paper is maintained for? And that sweating you do? You wouldn't even be able to do it without us!"
A deputy from the Liberty League squeezed between them.
"The state will disappear soon anyway. All that will remain are the communes and autonomy. This bickering is meaningless. The hollow system of the 'state' is destined for collapse regardless."
A Liberal Party deputy also chimed in.
"As expected, it's nothing but everyone divvying up power. Tax cuts are the answer. The state lives only if the middle class survives."
At that, others yelled back.
"If we cut taxes, how do we fund welfare?!"
Voices overlapped and fingers were pointed.
An elderly deputy from the Social Revolutionary Workers' League pulled a small pamphlet from his pocket and threw it at his opponent's chest.
The Centralist deputy's face turned flush with rage as he tried to shove the other man, only for aides to quickly intervene.
"Deputy, please, calm down!"
Documents scattered across the floor.
The air in the hallway vibrated with sharp shouts.
I watched the chaos from a distance.
In the past, I would have walked straight in to mediate.
But now, I couldn't move my feet.
Instead, a smirk escaped me.
'I suppose I have to clean this up again.'
Those were the only thoughts that surfaced in my mind.
I used my foot to press down and flatten a rug that had been rumpled during their struggle.
Then, I looked down at the bundle of documents.
Unlike what the world said, claiming I was holding the banner of the revolution might be an exaggeration.
All I was holding was a mass of paper printed with dense text.
A stamp upon the paper, and my name upon that stamp.
That was everything.
Eventually, I was left alone in my office.
Stacks of documents piled like towers filled the room.
My wrist was fine, but every time I gripped my pen, my fingertips trembled slightly.
"I'm still alright," I muttered.
But the voice that came out was cracked and irritable.
The fact that my voice sounded like that without my intending it surprised me for a moment.
My fingertips felt heavy as I pressed the stamp onto the paperwork.
Red ink bled across the page.
The approvals drawn upon countless reports, budget proposals, and amendments danced before my eyes.
My mind flashed.
For a split second, the characters on the documents blurred.
I closed my eyes and opened them again.
My mind had to remain sharp, but it felt as though fatigue was creeping up from somewhere within.
In the past, I would have stamped these happily, telling myself it was for the future. I had certainly changed.
Now, every time I applied the stamp, the first thing I felt was annoyance.
'I can still hold out. I am fine.'
I whispered that to myself.
Yet it sounded less like a vow and more like a sedative I was forcing upon myself.
The office lights remained bright.
Though the darkness outside the window was deep, I turned another page today.
"Is tomorrow... Allya's 6th wedding anniversary? I should buy a gift... Maybe something for the child too."
Yes, if I meet Old Man Pyotr or Wrangel at the party, perhaps this fatigue will lighten slightly.
Did they not say that the best cure for hysterical symptoms is social interaction with friends?
Taking comfort in such thoughts, I went to bed.
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