The Berenican nation; a nation of the nations.
Hanics, Boudicans, and Tholisians all roam on this unequal soil.
The Berenican nation; a nation of the nations.
Hanics, Boudicans, and Tholisians all roam on this unequal soil.
Residence of Atrueue Vischervonda
35 Karlsonnbuhl Street
“I can’t take it anymore, I want to relax for good.”
“Let me live a new life, away from the grinding cogs, god willing.”
“I will go take my doctorate now.”
“Thank you, for everything.”
“Yes, thank you, goodbye.”
3 Sudtlaned Loop, Tlaned Industrial Park
“Alright, shooting the 6th segment for Episode 4 of 'Uns Schone Land”, and action!"
‘Uns Schone Land’ or ‘Our Beautiful (or Shining) Land’ is a pilot satirical sketch comedy show about daily life in Besern. It was written in a way that it attempts to mimics a government advertisement to foreign investors to invest in the nation. The show was produced by Rungenbouen-TV G.B. for the BBS national television channel Zweit. The pilot never took off and was eventually discarded in 2015.
The best salesman of Frastinia, he touts! Successful dealer of several used uncleaned toilets to the Gianlucian government and with an unbeatable portfolio of nine million soners worth of products sold! Spearheaded by his very esteemed producer, Dirk Mayer, one of the best producers in all of Besern, presenting to you, Gerd Plank and his team!
“Yes, have you dressed already?”
“What do you think I am? A peasant?”
“No.” (5 second delay) “A barbarian.”
“I’d not be able to impress viewers by coming up stage naked, I’m not shooting for a fitness commercial!”
“Argh, piss off. Now go. We have 500 soners worth of products to sell!”
coughing from one of the camera crew off stage
Intro for ‘National Commerce Programme’. Shows Gerd dancing around various products, such as a grenade launcher, a teddy bear and a beach ball.
“Welcome back to our National Commerce Programme that you didn’t ask for, now, children, let me show you our government-approved on-sale products today! Our collection (both hands open towards the table of products) today; the Self-Sufficient Housewife collection, for all of you who have unfortunately been married to an Izaakian.”
“Now, for all your cleaning needs, we have, this pineapple kindly donated by glorious piss-off company…”
A text label ‘Shirovskvagonzavod’ in a childish glow 3D font appears on the screen briefly.
“…who have sold us this entire stock for 30,000 soners. This is our good scrubber, the innovation of the descendants of Tyfan; get ready for it…”
A text label ‘Avocado Sponge’ in a childish glow 3D font appears on the screen briefly.
“The Avocado Sponge, yes, the Avocado Sponge. I can get a divorce from my abusive Izaakian wife now. Here, let me demonstrate.”
He takes out a white dish.
“Now, let’s take this sponge, face it on the dish. Pull the plug - automatic, yes! And then, we can watch magic-”
An explosion rocks the studio, sending Gerd out of the stage.
A 10 second pause.
“Ok, enough of Gerd, that’s it, cut-”
The programme then cuts to a television marketing graphic advertising the ‘Avocado Sponge’ for 500 soners.
“Now, you can see how useful this is, you can get one too, now dial on your phone 9462-2737 within 5 seconds to get a 5% discount! The best offers now! Now! Now! Now!”
And so now, investors, you can see how our glorious Besern dominates the marketing sector. Don’t you wish to put your product on sale with Gerd and companies after seeing how he could pitch it to you? And now, our next section.
7 MARCH 2023
Treisag National Circuit
1 Odmulich Drive, Pomorien Industrial Park
At the southern headquarters of the National Automotive Rally Association, two confident men in T-shirts and caps walk through the cooly-lit linoleum-floored corridor. It leads to a conference room near the exit towards the grandstand. Along the corridor are frames of black walnut that detail every small yet apparent step in the journey of racing in the Treisag area. It is a dying sport, but its players are still determined to keep it alive, of course.
Andein cranks down the aluminium door handle and opens the white, glazed door into the chamber. At the humble white table are the team’s most valuable partners; no, not their sponsors, but their mentors. Ilhrich Molnau, director of the Treisag National Circuit and David Khronegom, a seasoned racer who had already dropped racing full-time and now serves as a trainer.
“Hello, thank you for having us here”, Andein greeted. Fraltuhr combed his hair with his hands carelessly as he tailgated him in. “for what have you called us down here on this humid, cooling early morning?”
“Please, take a seat, both of you”, Ilhrich offered as he gestured towards the two blue swivel chairs on the southerly opposite side of his modestly-sized table.
“Now, I’ve recieved an e-mail from the central association headquarters in Brient… and I am delighted to announce, that you will be going to Izaakia for the endurance race.”
A minute yet genuine and present smile covered both of the Engineers’ faces.
“You will compete for the first time on the outer international stage in your name, the Engineers of Zweisaubach. In terms of monteary expenses, you will be sponsored and supported by us and your company - sadly your representative couldn’t be with us today.”
“Very well”, Fraltuhr nodded his head in approval.
“We will gather a full delegation from throughout the association of support crew and whatever else you need; and of course, we’ll be by your side. We’ll settle the details post-haste, and with you as soon as possible. The weather may be rough, but I’m sure you can make it still, I believe in you”, David assured the team.
“Is our University by our side still?”, Andein asked in curiosity.
“Well, I invited someone, he’s not here yet…”
“Other than that, could I have some time with my colleague?”
“Sure”, Ilhrich consented.
The Engineers left their seats to the corridor.
Their smiles suddenly turned into something different.
“Look, Andein, I am excited about competing abroad, but I do have to admit, I felt quite uneasy while coming all the way here, to the point where I almost turned to the wrong motorway at an intersection”, Fraltuhr lamented in worry while facing his colleague.
“I can’t really put my hands on it, I’ve read the news and we are facing a number of teams, but most especially Gianatlan ones, and especially the Funkels. I mean, sure, we may be more passionate than them, or something, I don’t know, but… but…”
“…you see, Besern against the world in terms of racing… not that experienced… where we’re more into public transport than any-”
“You are worried that everyone there will throw us in the gutter to die?”
“YES! Yes, certainly.”
There is an increasingly noticeable noise of someone running down towards them. The Engineers turn towards the figure. He looks familiar, yet a bit foreign. Maybe, just maybe?
“Yes, hello?” The mysterious figure consulted in bewilderment.
“Hi, nothing, just err, we managed to get in the endurance race”, Andein replied on short notice while rubbing his head.
“Alright, good luck!” The figure then turned to the left, where the toilet was opposite of the conference room.
“I don’t know about you, but such a team like us, co-operative and supported by other teams, cannot face against organised, conglomerate-sponsored giants, can they?” Fraltuhr sputtered.
“Personally, I am scared of this too”, Andein showed his concern, “but we don’t have to win, do we? We’re here for the experience, that’s it. Even if our racer breaks down, we have worked at an automotive repair workshop once, down the road into the less scary parts of our region.”
“Fair enough then.”
“Alright, see you later.”
Outside the School of Engineering,
University of Zweisaubach
5 Josephinbuhl Street
The morning met Andein’s expectations.
The air was breezy, a bit icy, actually. And the funny thing is, that it is not raining this time round. It’s not everyday you get this in tropical Besern, wearing the equator as if her necklace. It’s rather a taste of what is to come.
The light created a flowing frost that reflected a cold glow onto the polished exterior of his car. It acted as if like a lacquer for the energetic look that Fraltuhr had also created with him, making the magenta-caerulean harmony more heartfelt. It also helped make his shirt fly with his dangling right hand off the wheel, as he kept himself and his machine-buddy still.
“Hello, Andein! How are you?”
He teleported his vision in his surprise. Of course it was, Andein, get your head out of the whirr of your engine! Mr. Tekersonn, his mentor for, arguably, an extremely meaningful time of his life. Andein got to know him from the Open House before he enrolled in the School of Engineering. During his tenure, he also did find that his conduct and love pardoned his poor humour. A supportive friend, a teacher! He loved that.
“Well, I’m fine, thanks, Mr. Tekersonn!”
“So, nice car you have there.”
“Thanks! You interested to find out more?”
A turn of the key, and the car went to sleep, giving him the opportunity to open every nook and cranny of this “marvellous friend of mine”.
“So Fraltuhr designed this intake system and carburetor… it’s like breathing with two nostrils and better actually, then I designed this steering and gearbox to make it more natural and succinct, to adjust to our capabilities…”
“Cool. Can I drive?”
He took some time to think.
“Sure! Well, not drive, but you can go along for a ride. I’ll show you how it works in person!”
It was what he could think of to give his gratitude to someone who has given him a significant portion of his life to who he is today. A click, then a thud that scanned the schematics of the door into Mr. Tekersonn’s brain. Saving fuel, while working against the harsh elements; he really did pull all the stops! At least, he hopes so. Towards the Test Track just by the School of Engineering, where new innovations related to mobility go; and the charred marks of when Fraltuhr’s old drone had caught fire and exploded. Legend says that the smoke of it still rises from there, diffusing into all the University and city, to this day.
“Poor joke there!” Andein replied sharply with a suppressed laugh on his face.
Operations Centre “Alpha”
Some blocks away from the Terra Firma headquarters, at a Terminian police facility
“And with the permission of the Termina Commerce Guild, we will seize, liquidate and deport the Terra Firma organisation to Besern, and destroy their weapon capabilities. This is our order for Operation Green Light. The means justify the ends. They must be eliminated for the good of all Pacifica, and for holding Besernians hostage. And from there, we can take the Conagasque billionaire to justice for abetting this entire disaster.”
Mannheim recounted this final paragraph from his briefing before he set off in his uniform and flew out of the country. It was personal, between the Minister of Defence and a representative of the Besernian Strategic Command, and the equipage. The Operation is classified still, but now he’s going to bring it to action.
Despite how battle-hardened they are, he still had faith in the principles of “humane disabling”, in that at worst he should strike his adversary into a coma, but if preventable at all, to not kill them. To not saw off the arm, but rather break it. The adversary are still humans, after all, and to uphold human dignity is in the Constitution. Nobody wants to harm anyone on their own volition; at the same time, wrath blinds. Or if you are dead-set on punishment, living with that guilt is more punitive than death.
The question to him now is, is it better to be safe than sorry? And so, how do you strike someone of unparalleled danger into a coma straight without killing them?
He answered the first part straightforwardly, the second part however, he still needed time to decide. And that time is now.
But he still can’t come up with anything. The atmosphere of his mind has broken into shards, ushering flares of fear of uncertainty that created a molten snowstorm in him.
The only thing he could do is to take a break.
And so, the beady wheels of his office chair rolled outwards. With his feet, he pranced out of his chair and glided towards the table of provisions in the middle of the airy, white combine. A cup, a tea. Boiling water, then some of room-temperature. “It’s the formula”, his friend, Andein (no, the other Andein, not the Zweisaubach one) quipped once to “maximise the caffeine dose of the tea”. Yeah, right. As if that quackery works. But at least it tastes the best, and that’s what matters.
He then noticed something, a tingle from a marker on the dark wooden table. It pointed to a whiteboard denoting the plans for Operation Green Light.
There was nothing to lose anyway, not then, or even later.
And on there he wrote in black, boldly with the largest white space he could find;
“Article 1 of the Constitution of the Federal Republic of Besern: Human dignity is inviolable. To protect it is the duty of all state authorities.”