The camera lights flared white against the marble of the Bruno's Palace.
Dozens of international correspondents had been summoned. Silent. Tense. The German flag hung motionless beside the Imperial Standard of Tyrol.
And then the doors opened.
Bruno emerged, flanked by two officers of the Werwolf Group in ceremonial blacks, their silver skull insignias glinting under the stage lights.
He walked with deliberate calm, clad in his field uniform, gloves off, collar crisp, medals from two wars gleaming against his chest.
He reached the podium.
Waited.
Not for effect, but to let the gravity settle.
The silence stretched long enough to become unnerving. Then, slowly, he leaned into the microphone.
"Two days ago, Monrovia ceased to exist."
Gasps rippled. Cameras flashed. Bruno's gaze didn't waver.
"It was not bombed for oil.
It was not destroyed for minerals.
It was not leveled for land.
It was annihilated because it harbored those who plotted the murder of German citizens.
