by Max Barry

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by The People's Federation of South Reinkalistan. . 712 reads.

Chapter 3

The man, the face, the mask.

Hello. You probably don't want to be here. Or perhaps you do. Some people have a thing for, uhm, an existential sense of dread, I guess. You know, the kind of inescapable, clawing feeling on your back, in your skin, as you realise that there's no escape from the mess you've dragged yourself into. That which you just can't escape from, this hole in your mind that just keeps going down and down and down, until eventually you decide to put a pistol in your mouth and end it. Yeah, some people kinda like that. That's why they come here, after all! Where is "here"? Don't worry, it's not important.

Just know that it's probably better to be literally anywhere else.

So, uh, where were we? You wanted to learn more about South Reinkalistan, right? That's why you came to me, after all. I mean, hey, it's not a bad place for some. Keep your head down, do your work, and just raise a family. Have fun, even. Just don't challenge the undeniable mandate of the revolution - or whatever they call it now - and you're fine. You might not have much, but the people are friendly, the booze is good, and the weather can even be nice sometimes.

But for people like me. People who thrive on individuality, on free expression, so to speak -- it's a living hell.

Anyway, that's enough about me! I'm unimportant, haha. I'll go back to being another cog in the machine nobody's able to stop. So, uhm, while I'm melting my very self into the undifferentiated mass of the proletariat, I'll just leave you with this... text I found here. In this weird space I'm in, where reality bends to my will and the various everythings the universe has to offer are temporarily at my fingertips, they happen upon me, these things. A complete file containing the life of Mozhkin Turaniski. At least, it represents his life to a degree. It's confusing.

I can't stay here, now. I'm not really sure how I got here. I just arrive every time people like you come around, commanded by some heavenly mandate to give you this. I've read it enough times to drive a man mad, heh. Prolly got a few screws loose myself.

Well, gotta go. Have fun.



"Throughout history, the visionaries of the future have always been fettered by the antiquated past. This superfluous appendix, the things our civilisation has outgrown; they only now pose a threat for sickness. What once was here must be amputated, severed, removed. What will be -- that is the beautiful world we will have the honour of building. Eternity beckons!"



55 Years


4/5/1966 (Actual)
1/1/1966 (Official)

Full Name:

Mozhkin Kaszaraczki Turaniski



Kaszar Turaniski (deceased)
Mayatha Turaniski (deceased)


Kassara Turaniski (Kassara Tarysyk)


Joyisk Turaniski
Herrettien Turaniski (deceased)



6 feet, 4 inches


98 kilograms (216 lbs)



President of the People's Federation
General Secretary of the Communist Party
"Premier" (unofficial designation)


Lakersk Turnov (Foreign Affairs)
Jesk Karayov (Defense)
Vekten Hayasal (Intelligence)
Athier Veros (Interior Security)
Ivaken Taratysk (Ideological Office)

My odd childhood years.

My birth was unconventional. The stabbing colours and the violent auras of the world into which I had been brought were exacerbated by the jubilance surrounding my arrival. Though I did not understand it then, it was because from day one I was a very, very important person. By virtue of simply existing, I represented the future towards which the liberated proletarians of Reinkalistan could gaze. I was THE FIRST CHILD OF THE NEW WORLD, another spark to our growing flame in the darkness. The people loved me, and as a child I grew to love them. As a baby in my mothers arms I was already adored. In a sense, it was meant to be. I was selected for this purpose by the Supersession and by the whims of my father. Partly by luck and partly by providence, I had been thrust into a spotlight which would guide me to where I am today with a steady hand. I... feel it sometimes. That force highlighting my path, and my path alone. In my footsteps follow all three hundred million souls under my stewardship, a holy chorus chanting my name on the long march to infinity. It's a euphoric sensation.

Of course, none of these greatly exciting realities appeared to me at that time. I was a newborn, overwhelmed by the splendour of my divine ordination. It would take years for me to realise my purpose, to recognise it and cherish it as I do now. That would come later. My first few years on this Earth were marked by a blissful ignorance of my place, a half-understanding at most. While of course I would not forgo my present duties for a second, I sometimes look back to those times with an odd nostalgia. Things were simpler, then. I would appear before the people, beside my father, occasionally, smiling and waving as my face appeared on posters. I didn't interact with other children that much for over a decade. It was just me studying alone, educated in many things. It was foundational at first. Mathematics, Science, Reinkalistani. The standard. Then - at a startlingly young age - I was introduced to the basics of much more complex concepts such as Vanguardist education. Its various esotericisms, once only known to me as a shadowy science discussed by adults, were explained to me, a new world of possibilities at my fingertips. And, upon learning of the Supersession, however much of its full scope escaped my feeble childlike understanding, I still understood well that I was conceiving a power greater than any which had been awakened in man before. I was realising the spiritual and social pinnacle of man, our directive as a nation.

And thus it was here, at the gentle age of twelve, that I realised why I was born. Why I had been made into the person I was. Why the people cheered when they heard my name. Why they stood up and shouted with triumphant exaltation that I, the son of their liberator, embodied the new world in its entirety: it was that I had been granted my soul to serve the purpose of striking down the reactionary, of uplifting the workers, and bringing history to a halt at the eternal zenith of civilisation. These ideas were a confounding mess in my mind, a child imbued with revelations that the oldest and wisest in our society could only grasp at. But as I grew from then, this realisation solidified, took form, and cemented itself. Those around me grew worried of my potency, my caretakers shocked at my newfound mentality. What fools they were -- how could they tell me of my role, of my glory, of my wisdom and my strength, then expect me not to command them as I did, lambast them as I did, punish them as I did? Nobody would dare touch me, the First Child, as I put them in their place.

Regardless, their pathetic lamentations reached my father, to whom I was distant. He was a busy man, and I could not talk to him much. I was far closer to my mother, after all; a woman I respected. Still respect. It was his decision that I be sent, at fourteen years old, to a school with other children. I detested this idea. There was no need for me to experience the company of inferior peers, meant only to follow, not to lead. But nevertheless I bore my duty to do as I was instructed - for now - and consigned myself to what I saw as a deeply boring few years. And for the most part I was right, but I made a discovery that would perhaps define my very rise to power. While I met fawners who would bathe me in false compliments, those who, frightened, refused to go near me, and even those few who expressed a hint of disdain for me, there was one pupil around my age who most certainly fitted none of those categories. LAKERSK TURNOV was quick-witted and intelligent whilst also a boy of what I considered to be strong character. But most importantly, he treated me as if I were just another classmate. No heed was paid to my position, merely to me. I respected that. Whereas I was usually accustomed to spinelessness, Turnov shone like a star in a blank cosmos of mediocracy. I learned there: some people, exceptional individuals, must be kept close to oneself. This was in my mid-adolescence, when most are carefree and insincere, that I was already taking on the burdens of my duty. It was then and there that I began to properly entertain the idea of becoming PRESIDENT or GENERAL SECRETARY.

And so I trudged through my mindless studies, the demands thereof paling in comparison to my wild aspirations. According to my educators, I was of exceptional intelligence but with limited will to apply myself. They were, no doubt about it, idiots of the highest order. How could they expect me to "apply" myself to subjects so small? Something so meaningless in the grand scheme of things? I had interests far beyond the pursuits they would relegate me to in schools. I was looking to the Old World, studying and observing it. And it was a good time for me to do so; by the time I was sixteen, the GREAT WAR FOR THE LIBERATION OF ASKANDER had begun. As my father had predicted in his works, an IMPERIALIST CONFLICT for the redivision of the world had emerged as a result of the inevitable contradictions of LIBERAL CAPITALISM. I, however, saw opportunity in this. While the tyrants in Kayastadt were busy fighting to maintain their long-standing hegemony, it was the perfect opportunity to spread the banner of Vanguardism to the barbarous capitalists of our sister-continent. Let them taste the sweet nectar of socialist civilisation, I thought, and it appeared that my sentiments were shared by the Politburo. For in the year of 1983, the RED FLEET set forth carrying a grand army of liberation to the reactionary puppet-regime on the isle of DAZROFT. Soon, with gritted teeth, we met in coalition with the Northern powers to expunge the Kayan filth from the continent they had domineered for centuries on end.

Throughout the early war, my father was obviously too busy to even consider talking to little old me. I was no more to him than his son, after all. There's nothing special about being someone's "son". Fathers beat their sons all the time. Mothers occasionally, too. Sometimes sons are abandoned. Humans can be cruel to each other no matter whether they're related or not. This social rot is especially prevalent in capitalist societies, where the dejections of an exploited people results in a lack of cohesion in society at whole. I was to my father a propaganda piece. I understand that now, but I resented him for it then. That said, Mother was a much more caring parent. Seventeen damn years old and I couldn't handle my first bombing raid, Kayan cruise missiles obliterating my schoolhouse as they relentlessly attacked our cities; ghastly planes capable of striking even Turaniskidak itself. It was utterly unforgivable for me to weep when I heard Turnov had been badly injured in the crash. Nonetheless, my mother offered me comfort and consolation I frankly had not deserved. I was not yet able to drive, so she would take me to the hospital, without fail, every day to see Turnov. I saw his parents occasionally, too. Unlike their son, they were a most underwhelming couple. Sycophantic suck-ups who I later learned had chastised Turnov for being so "casual" with me. Unbearable.

But yes, Mother was a fantastic person. As I graduated to university, I remember watching her, teary-eyed, seeing me off as I left home. A stark contrast to my father's cold neglect, I suppose it was at times the maternal warmth which had kept me going.

i feel like someone's watching me

Enter: Comrade Turaniski.

Naturally, I made sure Turnov got into my university as well. While I didn't doubt he was wholly capable of attaining a place himself, a personal visit to the Chancellor's office made acceptance all but certain. I wanted to keep Turnov close to me. Not only did I see him as a helpful person to have by my side, but he was a good friend. Where I raged in passionate fury, he would make calm address and measured discourse; yet he was sharp-tongued in formal debate, an intellectual under all circumstances. Luckily, our tenure at university was relatively undisturbed by the rest of the war. The Kayans, in their arrogance, had harassed our civilian populations rather than the critical military and logistical infrastructure used to now bring the full might of our armed forces upon their reactionary state. I took a lesson from this: the people are eternal. They may bear the brunt of an assault to protect the nation in the face of war, so that it may continue its forward march. This philosophy now formulates a fundamental tenet of my governance.

Regardless, the attitude at university was jubilant as reports of victory after victory came from the front, our lines advancing further than we could imagine as the Northern powers fought their protracted war of attrition which was only just beginning to let up. It was a period where Vanguardism seemed unstoppable. I studied political science, and my various treatises on what the war meant for the development of socialist ideology greatly pleased my professors. This was the setting where I could thrived; where I received at the very least a fraction of the recognition I had craved. Not only did I read the works of my father, but also those of Vanguardist theorists past: Darien Zeinberg, Walter Hoch, and Jonathan Greene. These three had met in Kayastadt and developed the fundamentals of Vanguardism during the mid 19th Century from their refuge in Suthambram. While I had a somewhat proficient understanding of the ideas behind it, it was the professional tutelage with regards to these men that I finally unlocked my ultimate understanding of the purpose of the VANGUARD CULT. It was not merely to instigate a revolution -- the revolution was not something so temporary. It was our duty to see that the revolution be waged in perpetuity; to every corner of our world, to the stars, and then evermore. We could not win against the forces of atomisation without forever endeavouring to hold them back.

At any rate, I was still at university when the war was won. It didn't take long, only a matter of months after our final offensive. Reinkalistani troops marched through the Kayan capital of HEIDRICHSBERG and had the COUNCIL of the Iron Republic executed before a tribunal of the proletariat. The streets were flooded with celebration. I watched with my father as we stood atop a motorcade that drove through Turaniskidak, crowds crying in joy as they witnessed our glorious emancipation of half a continent. All in all, ten new countries had been embraced into the FIFTH INTERNATIONAL, our scarlet and crimson flags waving defiantly in the face of those who would crush our liberated societies. The ELEVEN STARS OF THE NEW WORLD now stood as a triumphant vanguard against the old and decrepit regimes of the North. We were on the road to victory, so to speak. But it was then that my father made his most crucial mistake.

The TREATY OF SATYCHI took our victories and cast them to the wind, recognising the D'ailloustre Line as a legitimate border and promising non-aggression between the NADL and Fifth International. My father even went to the Dhoerish capital to sign it. The whole thing made me sick beyond anything I had ever felt before. We were at a position to continue our march, to claim the entire continent and defeat the imperialist -- to reunify our country, even! But in the name of such temporary concepts of "peace" and "reconciliation", we stopped in our tracks and became, for a time, "friends" of the northern powers. Decadent tourists soon infested our streets, horrid embassies set up all throughout Turaniskidak. It was a dark, dark time. As I graduated with a First, I quickly joined the Reinkalistani Communist Party and was soon elected as the representative of Turaniskidak Central to the NATIONAL CONGRESS OF THE REINKALISTANI PEOPLE. It was here that I made myself truly shine. I made passionate speeches - BRILLIANT speeches - about our situation, and about the necessity of our fight against the reactionary and his fickle whims. I chastised our carefree attitude to the imperialists, our reluctance to bring victory to the Federation against the traitors of Renyashika.

Many ignored me. In front of me they applauded and congratulated my greatness, but otherwise nothing really changed. But I had allies, a small circle growing. Turnov had been elected as representative of Turaniskidak West, after all. Together we stood in front of the lapdogs, the cowards, and the subversives, two beacons of proletarian virtue in a Congress which had become filthy and corrupt. They saw me as their poster boy, a firey speaker to rile the masses and occupy the papers but ultimately achieve little. They saw me as their puppet. I was no such thing; that I would show them. I would inculcate it into their empty heads, dash their minds open on the stones of reason and either discard or remould them. I swore as such! I was gathering more allies, chief among them JESK KARAYOV. He was a Red Army officer, not much older than me, who had distinguished himself in the war. Turnov and I met him discretely, and he grew convinced of our vision. While I found his attitude to be arrogant - especially considering his audience - Turnov managed to smooth over the bumps and attract him to our side. I was ecstatic. Of course a man to serve his motherland in its direst straits, and witness its most stunning victories would understand the frustration of having stopped on the cusp of victory. Soon, I thought myself a force to be reckoned with, my allies in tow. But the Congress was as short-sighted as ever.

Enough was enough. Rot was encroaching upon our revolution at every angle, the reactionaries preparing for their final assault to crush us! I took pen to paper and, in 1990 produced a large treatise on the state of our nation. Turnov was there every step of the way to offer feedback on my advice. "WHERE TO, REINKALISTAN?" was published in 1991 and quickly caught the attention of the intelligentsia. Whereas the entrenched, corrupt old guard of the Party had grown comfortable in their positions, exposing themselves prostate before the imperialist, the young, youthful sections of the various governing institutions grew enamored with my vision. Karayov reported that many young officers were beginning to admire my vision deeply. Finally, I brought the matter to the Congress with vigour, my many allies distraught at how a man as young as me - twenty six years old - could dare refute their petty assumptions, their complacent attitude, their dying regime! Beneath the pressure, my father conceded and, in a televised speech to the entire world, me by his side, he proclaimed it.


"We will not uphold the dictation of the Dhoerish; we will not accept their terms as they seek to encircle us; we will not relent in our quest for a prosperous and emancipated world! Tremble in the face of our armies, he who would strip from us our liberties! For we proclaim once and for all as one united voice that our dreams will not be extinguished!"


"Reinkalistan lives! She shall always live! Our free republics united shall crush the reactionary!"

However, my successes drew me the ire of a number of inferior men. These envious kleptocrats, so willing to frustrate my career at the Federation's expense; they would prove a most troublesome obstacle.

why are you here?

A cutthroat game.

Enter ANTONAIS LAVASK. Your bog-standard politician. Popular. Sensible. Formal.

Boring. Boring, boring, boring. Insufferably, incomprehensibly boring. Sometimes boring is what you need, but this man was of the kind of quality to gum up the faculties of state with nothing but the steady drone of bureaucracy and paperwork. The kind of man who would suffocate the workers' revolution underneath his own mundanity, the cogs of our beautiful mechanism rusting as slowly our nation is buried beneath individual ego. His professed "stalwart peace" claimed that the revolution could be won through mere fortification of our existing territories, and waiting for the inevitable COLLAPSE OF THE OLD WORLD in the North, as predicted by my father. I rejected this mentality vehemently; for we were those forces of history summoned to collapse the old world. It was not for us to drag our feet, to slow ourselves down, to let up the eternal fight that had just so recently resumed. I don't understand how - even now - he could genuinely hold such a belief. It was so contradictory; invariably, he was positing a counter to my positions out of a desire for power.

That said, a great game had descended unto the scene. It was the 1990s, and it was very clear my father was getting old. Many were saying he wouldn't even last the decade. All eyes were rapidly turning to Lavask as the likely successor to take his place. I was still seen as a spoiled child by many in the political scene, though my popularity among the people was actually rather high. They didn't all seem to want me as a leader, though. I was more a celebrity than a politician. That needed to change. I started by talking to a man I knew vaguely to be in Lavask's orbit; a certain VEKTEN HAYASAL. At that time he was a damned godsend. I got him in my pocket, and instructed him to get closer to Lavask. And so he went, worming his way into the man's inner circle with skillful manipulation and complete determination. As he grew further lodged in the political circle my enemy had constructed, my life got a lot easier; so much, in fact, that the idea of "General Secretary Mozhkin Turaniski" was not a joke anymore. This frightened people.

But yeah, the intel was really, really nice. I remember we were once set for a large debate; oh, it was marvellous. Lavask had almost every aspect of his speech and all of his refutals for my expected points outlined quite neatly, discussing them with his strategists multiple times. And every single time, Hayasal discretely recorded the meetings and sent them back to me. He even managed to photocopy and smuggle a transcript of Lavask's opening statement. So, when the debate was actually set to happen, I immediately tore into the old man without remorse. I immediately leapt into a carefully constructed argument to subtly discount his points, all the while weaving skillfully around his rebuttal. When he presented his points, there was no fire in his eyes -- he knew he had lost. Meanwhile I - the young populist that I was - had inspired vigour into the halls, this major televised debate inspiring in the people knowledge of my supremacy.

Naturally, this made Lavask rather suspicious. He knew, it seemed, of my spying; he began to be more secluded with how he dealt with sensitive matters to our ongoing power struggle. I would have to be more careful. Naturally, of course, I had to pin the blame to cover my act. I merely had dinner with one of his closer associates - poor man, Tyrek I think his name was - prior to a meeting of political strategy, slipping a note into his coat pocket while he was distracted. Then, Hayasal exposed him at said meeting and he was basically expelled from Lavask's circle. Naturally, this meant that all Hayasal had to do was continue being my eyes and ears in Lavask's inner circle. I had to be more sparing with regards to how I used the information, however; I could not throw scapegoats under the bus forever and I didn't want to lose my valuable source of information. That said, it was nice knowing what the opposition had prepared. It most certainly allowed me to politically outmanoeuvre him at practically every point that mattered. I'd let him have token victories, of course, but in a game where secrecy and scheming were what mattered he was practically always on the back foot. Soon, I began to be seen as his equal. And that terrified him. It sickened me, to be fair; I had seen myself as his superior long before he had been relevant to my ascendency.

That having been said, the final struggle was yet to come: namely, my father's approval. With us more or less on equal footing, securing his endorsement would be the decisive strike in this game of chess that had gone on for far too long. Naturally, I had a rather distinct advantage in that area, being the man's son. So it was during this time that we, estranged by the cruel whims of fate, began to mend our relationship. I would visit him more often, and I began to take on the faculties of state, aiding him with his political management and advising him on certain aspects of policymaking. I believe, in a way, it was around this time - 1995 - that I began to effectively become de facto leader of the country, ruling with my father as a proxy. It was around this time that Lavask began to grow very, very, nervous. Not that I blame him, anyone who had been so outmanoeuvred as he was would probably begin to get tetchy. All of his downfall reported directly to me by Hayasal. Beautiful. Eventually, everything began to fell into place as I grew to become the dominant political force in the Federation.


TURANISKI: "About Mozhkin; yes, the boy has been most helpful. I do wish you two could get on more. Your combined strengths could lead the Federation into a golden era, against the Northern tide. Then again, I suppose you both are after the same position.

LAVASK: "I wouldn't dream of taking your office, Comrade-"

TURANISKI: "You're lying. You both... you both want to be General Secretary once I'm gone. I can understand that. But Mozhkin was more honest, Comrade Antonais. He was quick enough to tell me, clear as day, that he had every intention of succeeding me. I can appreciate that honesty. It's something you lack, old friend."

LAVASK: [Raising his voice] You can't seriously be considering an endorsement of that- of Comrade Mozhkin? He's a demagogue! He'd steal from this Federation its soul, tear it apart for his ego! [Quieter] And besides, Comrade General Secretary, you wouldn't want people to imagine he earned his position simply out of birthright, after all.

TURANISKI: I would ask you be more respectful when talking about my son. He is a Comrade, the same as the rest of us.

LAVASK: Well... well yes, I apologise, Comrade General Secretary. But can you not see that his... talents may be better applied to a different office? I do not think that he is of a mentality suited for governance.

TURANISKI: He is honest, he is bold, and he is dedicated. You lack these virtues. I have made up my mind, and he has my endorsement.

LAVASK: I see. Apologies for disturbing you, Comrade.

TURANISKI: No worries at all. Your service to the Federation is still appreciated. Remember that.

I did, eventually, hear great news from Hayasal. Lavask had snapped, and was now, with a group of close conspirators - including Hayasal, whom he now trusted implicitly - planning to kill me! Very exciting. With the ability to hear about every stage of the plot, it naturally posed very little of a threat. It was still interesting to live explicitly knowing that people were out and trying to kill me. It was a sort of uneasy pleasure. I almost craved more of the feeling, the exhilaration of being in such an intense struggle for the future of a nation, all while in firm knowledge that his resolution to strike a decisive blow was what had made my victory inevitable. Finally, I heard that they had set a date. 19th December, 1996. On my usual walk to work, a sniper positioned above a residential building would fill my skull with lead and kill me. Wonderful. Luckily, that would never come to be, as I decided to take a maddeningly similar but slightly different route to the Congress that narrowly avoided the sniper's line of sight.

Apparently, Lavask was terrified. And the betrayal in his eyes was sweet as ever, as the National Security Service burst into his hideout, arresting him and his co-conspirators -- all except one. Me and Hayasal smiled warmly at him as he was taken, shell-shocked, into an unmarked vehicle. It was a decided game from the start, one that I had played masterfully. After so long, watching my enemy utterly defeated, crushed beneath my heel... I could finally rest secure in the knowledge that I was all set to inherit the Party and the Federation. My poor mother, though; she was absolutely distraught at the idea that people would be out to kill me. She cried, genuinely cried. I felt sorry for her then, as I do now. She was both a very strong and very fragile woman. My father was ostensibly shocked, but I saw a knowing, resigned look in his eyes that suggested he wasn't as surprised as he'd like me to believe. He knew Lavask better than most, with the latter having served on his Revolutionary Council during the civil war. It was with significant difficulty, I'd imagine, that he testified against his old friend at the trial.

On that matter, the trial was pitiful. Hayasal had select recordings of many discussions regarding the plot, and it was pretty much known that Lavask was a dead man. He plead guilty and, along with anyone even tangentially related to the plot, faced the noose. I was somewhat sad, in a way. Despite my utter hatred towards the man, it had been fun playing the political games we had. Regardless, I would spend the next few years quietly managing the Federation as my father slowly started to fade away. With all opposition to my path purged, I began to intervene in Karayov's military career, having him promoted to the rank of Field Marshal by 2000. At the same time, Turnov had become involved in the diplomatic corps since 1992, and I had him promoted to a rather prestigious diplomatic post in GYARGAGOSK, one of our foremost allies in Askander at the time. Some would call it nepotism; I call it insurance.

At any rate, my father would proceed to die of a sudden heart attack in 2001. His funeral was rather hastily organised as a nationwide period of mourning was proclaimed for a week. With basically no other contesters, I would assume the General Secretariat soon after.

get out of my head.

Rebuilding my country.

I had inherited a rotten nation. One afflicted by the complacency of the past, of the older generation now unfit to rule. There needed to be a renewal. A rebirth in fire, where Reinkalistan could be torn down and remoulded in my image. To this end, much work had to be done. Our stance had not changed, not even as our armies marched triumphant through Kayastadt. We needed a new perspective, lead by the freshened face of the youth. I was a mere thirty-five years old at the time, but I would re-shape the country beyond recognition, hastily enacting a situation which should have metamorphosed a long time ago. To start with, I needed to rid the country of the leeches. The parasites who grew fat off of the toil of the people; the kleptocrats and apparatchiks who were acting more and more like the capitalists we had all too recently excised.

Action, clearly, was needed.

I needed to enact a plan of national salvation, one to bring the nation forward, to make it the young and frightening state it once was. To furnish it into a country capable of opposing the imperialists and of spreading Vanguardism further; to the chaotic, impoverished continents of ODOHEIA and SIANSHU, both deeply divided upon ideological lines. For this purpose, we could no longer persist along the line of dividing power between a President and General Secretary -- I had to take full on responsibility for the entire nation, to become the nation and embody its revolutionary strength. To this end, I took advantage of a constitutional provision that entitled a new General Secretary to appoint a new President, regardless of the occupant. With the absence of Lavask, the incumbent President was a legislative nobody called HYASTYRE LOKAV, someone who everyone expected me to re-appoint. I did not re-appoint him, however, and instead appointed myself. I had become the first PREMIER -- the de-facto holder of all political power in the country, the foremost leader who answered to nobody.

Naturally, the Congress was outraged, and this outrage spread to the people. Soon, counter-revolutionary mobs began to spring up - no doubt financed by the Dhoerish - demanding "peace", "love", and an end to one-party rule. In a time of such threat upon the governing institutions of the workers' state, it was an absolute necessity for me to mobilise the Red Army. Luckily, Karayov and his circle of young officers were ready to fulfil my vision to the utmost. And so, Reinkalistan's rebirth began as soldiers poured into the streets, cutting out the first source of corruption; those in the population too stubborn to embrace the future. Through the fires of the New World, the sickening degenerates - such filth, desiring to tear our liberty from us - were put down like the dogs they were, scurrying back to their homes or lying dead in the streets. The "2002 Sea of Blood", as it was named in the imperialist press, was a necessary act to protect our revolution. This uproar spread throughout the Fifth International and our allies in Askander as well. The Red Army continued to aid local governments in crushing the reactionary insurgency, flames engulfing what had once stood as we began the reconstruction of Vanguardist ideology.

But I was far from done. In 2003, I reconstituted the National Security Service as the EXECUTIVE OFFICE FOR IDEOLOGICAL AFFAIRS - an institution with expanded powers and responsibilities - and began to charge it with exacting a rather overdue phase of my plan for national reorganisation and rejuvenation. The old NSS leader, now transferred - serving me as he had my father - to the leadership of the Ideological Office, IVAKEN TARATYSK, would carry out my will in turn, namely through removing from the Party the old, broken men who no longer served any purpose. Thousands were put on trial and hung for their complacency. I set that precedent, then: that to thieve from the people would be punished, that I would spare no quarter in removing he who would exploit the workers of the country. I left the army alone, however, as part of my deal with Karayov. I trusted him to keep his house in order. Regardless, one line still grew to prevail -- my line. The Congress was now a properly Vanguardist institution, run in accordance to Vanguardist principles under Vanguardist law. And it was I who stood at the forefront of this movement, proudly saluting our flag as my cleansing flames spread yet again throughout the Fifth International once more.

Yet as I finally hung up the axe I had wielded with reluctant discipline, I did so a feared yet despised man. It was then that I felt anger and fury at the ungratefulness of those who still seethed despite the newfound freedom I had offered them. It became a source of considerable upset for me, watching my efforts - all done for the people I had loved since birth - receive nothing but resentment. It reached a height when my mother, old as she was, chastised me in a private conversation for what she saw as "unforgivable excesses". She accused me of having blood on my hands, blood that could not be washed off. I was furious and inconsolably upset. Here was a woman who had loved me and cared for me since birth, and calling me a murderer. It was then that I saw red, without ability to control myself, and struck her down then and there. Her head hit a nearby windowsill as she fell. I felt sick to my stomach. I had just killed my mother, the woman to raise me. With significant trauma and fear, I had it covered up. As far as all but a select few people were concerned - not even Turnov knows - she suffered a heart attack like my father. The people who did know have been dealt with by now. It was sad to see her go, but at the end of the day it was likely for the best. She had proven herself incompatible with the systems of the future, yet another defunct organ to be stripped so the body may be healthy once more.

Despite all this, I needed to win back the support of my nation. Rule by terror is an impermanent thing; a momentary tool through which the revolution can be properly established and the people placed in true control of their destiny. The people needed to love me, and despite what I had given them - a clean, free nation - there was a large group who saw me as an oppressor. I needed to deliver them something tangible, I supposed. To do this, I assembled a cabinet of people I could trust: Turnov as EXTERIOR COMMISSAR; Karayov as WAR COMMISSAR; Hayasal as INTELLIGENCE COMMISSAR, and ATHIER VEROS, hitherto then one of Taratysk's subordinates, as INTERIOR COMMISSAR. Now, surrounded by my allies, I began to discuss the possibility of a war for national reunification. That is to say, resume the war which - while technically still ongoing - had practically all but ceased in the 1960s. However, I was warned against this, particularly by Karayov, who said that the Red Army was ill-fitted to cross the KASKIAN MOUNTAINS which had split our continent in two. Therefore, what was necessary was a complete reorganisation of our military and industrial system, to compete with the Northern powers.

Therefore, I instituted via executive order the 2005 ECONOMIC REFORMS, which effectively reconstructed the economy to allow for greater flexibility while still maintaining a properly socialist character. I had our industries streamlined into various PRODUCTION COALITIONS, centralising each industry of each constituent republic in the Federation under one self-managing, localised syndicate. These were then subject to the oversight of Federal Planning Boards, who then co-ordinated production in a top-down model. I also managed to integrate military production into this model, effectively allowing the Federation to bolster her military and subsequently provide employment and work opportunities to an extent not seen before. This came with the catch that our various related industries would induce a lot of necessity for military action to keep it afloat, so to speak; but with the wide variety of conflicts for the Federation to involve itself in during such a period of international chaos.

I loved this chaos. Whereas the oppressor desires what he calls "order" and "law", these are only instruments through which he reinforces his rule. When man's spirit is allowed to run free, then it may be harnessed by revolutionary organisation and channeled against reaction in all its primal might; that is when society is ripe for change. It was the duty of the Federation, therefore, to incite chaos, war, and bloodshed wherever it emerged. Only then could the hard but necessary choices be made to scrub clean from the world its antiquity and usher in a free world. It is a burden we all bear for the children of the future. And so the economy picked up. Life got better. And I naturally had these achievements broadcast far and wide. I introduced my books into the curriculum, my achievements exalted in schools and workplaces. Give people something to lose, and they will not oppose you. Those who had supported me since the start grew even more radically supportive of the policies I instituted, soldiers of the new world as they were, ready to embrace a new and fantastic future.

It was also around this time that I became married. An oddly mundane and regular thing for a man charged with such duties as I. But I had known the woman in question - KASSARA TARYSYK - for a matter of a few years. She's a respectable woman, I suppose. The First Lady of the Federation; always eager to serve, and adored by the people. Our marriage marked another spectacular victory in that regard. Over the years I grew... respected. That's the word. I even had children. Well. Child. The first showed signs of deformity in the womb, but Kassara refused to terminate the pregancny. She was a strong woman, who had faith that Supersessive willpower would save our child, Herrettien.

It did not.

Since my mother, this was the first time I had seen someone truly inconsolable. And, to be fair, so was I. There was a distance between us that had been, ironically, closed a bit by that death. I cried. She cried. I didn't cry that much. It felt like a somewhat weak thing to do. But nonetheless I cried, cried until I couldn't bring forth any more tears. That's the kind of thing that's the worst feeling alive. Knowing that something terrible's happened -- that you couldn't stop it from happening, that it was always going to happen, but nonetheless it hit you like a train regardless. And you just keep crying until you can't. No control over your own emotions. I hated that. Utterly hated the feeling. The people, though, were very sympathetic. State media reported the event, and there was much genuine mourning across the country; even in absence of an official order for such events.

I came out of the first period of my rule a changed man. I had done what was necessary to secure a future for my country, my people, and my party; in doing so, I had suffered consequences unto my person that I had to bear for the rest of my life. It was, nonetheless, necessary. I stood triumphant, and Reinkalistan was rising. In 2009, I instituted with Karayov a military expansion plan. Hundreds of thousands of new men were enlisted with an aggressive recruitment campaign, while our equipment was rapidly modernised thanks to flexible design bureaus advised by the brightest military minds in our nation. Soon, beautiful new aircraft carriers would be commissioned; fifth-generation fighters would begin to soar through the skies; advanced and terrifying tank models would be designed, creating a new arms race between us and the North, one that had suffered due to the corrupt mismanagement of earlier times.

you aren't welcome here.

And thus unto the future.

The circumstances leading up to my present position have been marked, principally, by the machinations of the Ideological Office. The expansion of its power has been necessary, no doubt, but it is still a painful endeavour. Besides the military and economy, all aspects of society have been rapidly politicised; something which, to be fair, is a stepping-stone to the construction of a free Vanguardist society. But regardless, I have as of late noticed certain erratic and inconsistent behaviour with Taratysk and his ilk. They're rather secretive, now. Plotting, plotting, plotting. All plotters. It's a horrible feeling, uncertainty. I've always been sure of exactly how much I can trust someone, throughout all my life. I can never tell with Taratysk. It's like I'm living my life ensnared, laughed at by the forces beyond my command which have placed me in such troubled waters.

Turnov, Karayov, and I have all somewhat banded together on that front. I am aware that they share with me the view that he is not to be trusted; that said, I am growing suspicious of Veros and Hayasal. They too linger in the shadows, talking, talking talking. Whispering. I am sitting in the eye of a storm, one I've built, one I've summoned from my own willpower but now spirals to be greater than me - greater than me - and looms with evil mirth at my helplessness. Enemies. Eyes in the dark. Enemies, enemies, enemies. Enemies in the north, enemies in the south. Enemies at home, enemies abroad. Enemies. Enemies everywhere. They're everywhere, that which I muster oppressing me as it oppresses us as it oppresses us all; oh what cruelty!

And it is here as I stare that which I have made in the face, and I stare into the contortion, I stare into this cruel reflection of my world, eye-sockets melting into the seamless stream of the Vanguard's ever-forward march, and I continue to gasp in horror at that which I have witnessed thousands of times before. It never grows less threatening, pinning me down in my sleep, infesting my dreams, the feeling of helplessness. It corrupts, it contorts, it drives one mad in envy and excruciation. Yet I keep barreling forward, looking forward, gazing forward, laughing and crying as what is thrown at me continues to assail this beautiful thing I have built, attempts to melt it and destroy it and break it. I will not stop; I'll never stop. For if I am to face tragedy, so be it! So be it, god-damn it! Let me watch in glorious ecstasy as the world crumbles, keeps crumbling, turned to ash and nothing more. And I'll bathe in this glory! My enemies numerous, their slander echoing, while I stand in glorious indifference, knowing my immortal legacy trumps their failing plans.

And so I sit, waiting for my enemies to make their so-called "moves". I'll sit and I'll wait and I'll watch as they continue to circle like vultures, around the pray that they think they will seize; until I leap like a lion, obscured by false weakness, and crush them beneath the fangs of the revolution. Already, I have another son, JOYISK, who shall stand in my place once I am gone as I did for my father; and so shall his sons for him. I will stand immortal, my bloodline eternal, Turaniski the name to eternally inspire fear into the reactionary. I am eternal, I am eternal, I am eternal, I am eterna

I am et






Got you.

Oh. You're back so soon? Uh, yeah, wasn't ready to be completely and utterly sucked out of the astral realm like that again. Well, uhm, I'm sure you enjoyed reading that. I've got some more information down here, if you'd like. More neutrally presented, mostly less substantial. And it's most certainly less likely to induce, uhm, whatever on Earth reading that stuff gave you, I guess.

Didn't lie when I said it's confusing, eh?


"I, Mozhkin Kaszarczki Turaniski, do solemnly swear with utmost sincerity that I will protect the rights and the liberties of all Reinkalistanis; that I will serve eternally as guarantor of the Party's integrity as a Vanguardist institution; and that I will endeavour to guide and educate the Reinkalistani workers in their construction of a socialist society, free of exploitation or repression."
- 2001, upon election to the position of General Secretary.

"It makes little sense to me, honestly. That we are proclaimed as oppressive by the Northern powers, as 'totalitarians'. They say we deny our people democracy! Yet it is they who elect parties not on the basis of popular mandate, but upon the basis of campaign funds, of the plutocrats. While the people there starve because they cannot be employed, due to entirely avoidable crises of economic production, we are the ones who deprive our people - they say - of basic luxuries! I think it is fair to say, Comrades, that we must spare no quarter in countering this hypocrisy with evidence, with the truth behind our proletarian state."
- 1998, in a speech to the People's Congress.

"There are two types of revolutionary. There is the revolutionary who, despite his oppression, despite his continued suffering at the hands of the persecutor, stands vigilant, knowing that his name shall rest eternal in the history books despite the temporary woes of the present. Then, there is the 'revolutionary' -- you know him, Comrades! He is the opportunist who jumps on the bandwagon when the revolution is as good as won, when he has nothing to lose. And it is he who will always jump away from the revolution when it faces trouble! We must rid this party of these false revolutionaries!"
- 2003, during the great purge of the old guard.

"When Comrade Lavask speaks, he speaks from theory, not from practice. He says that because his preferred theorist - say, Zeinberg, Hoch, or even my father - considered the revolution 'inevitable', we need do nothing. Lavask, then, says to us: 'the revolution will win itself'. How asinine is that? Yes, the revolution's success is inevitable. But it is only so because of our resolve! It is only so because of our strength! Comrade Lavask sees no strength or resolve in our Party. He is lazy, and thus considers the rest of us to be lazy too."
- 1994, during a debate with Lavask.

"Why do we fight? It is simple. We fight because we have no other option. Look to the North. They have no culture, no homeland to speak of. What was once a pure identity, built by real men from real history, has now been supplanted by bourgeois decadence; by fickle consumerism. I will not suffer this fate. We will not suffer this fate."
- 2011, in a visit to Turaniskidak University, where he had studied.

"I don't think I shall stand up the same man again."
- To Kassara in 2007, upon the death of his first child.

"I have no idea what I'd do without you, ma."
- To his mother, following a bombing raid in 1984.

Political positions.


- Syndicalist-style economics

- Supersessive Vanguard-worship

- Maintenance of the Turaniski bloodline

- Nuclear War as a revolutionary method

- Socialist patriotism

- Militarism, military build-up

- War and disorder in general

- Dictatorship of the Proletariat

- Materialist dialectics of the religious-ideological type

- Violence

- Reunification of Reinkalistan under the People's Federation


- "LGBT Ideology"

- Liberalism

- Peace, reconciliation, etc.

- Arms reduction

- Counter-revolution

- Capitalism


- Demilitarisation of the D'ailloustre Line

- Imperialism


Turaniski's got a dog. The dog's name is "Dtyaski", which roughly translates to "spot". Spot is the SRverse equivalent of a King Charles Spaniel, and Turaniski adores the thing. It's currently 6 years old.

Turaniski really, really likes guns. So much, in fact, he declared in a 2007 edict that every household must own at least one firearm. Those unable to afford or obtain a firearm for whatever reason are provided one by the state. This has had the knock-on effect of growing the Reinkalistani arms industry by a significant degree.

When he was 6, Turaniski tried interacting with a slightly older child. The kid's parents were so terrified that their son would mess up and insult the first child, they literally picked him up and ran.

Sometimes, Turaniski kind of just looks off his balcony at the sea, and wonders if a nice, gentle life as a fisherman would've been better.

His favourite colour is blue.

Turaniski never learned how to ride a bike.

Credit to Kiu Ghesik for this horrific monstrosity