A long, polished conference table of dark lacquer stretched the length of the room, reflecting the subdued glow of the overhead lights. On the wall behind the lead official, a large, intricate map of the world was projected, its vibrant geopolitical borders now looking a little less certain than before. The air was heavy with the scent of bitter tea and unspoken anxiety. Around the table, a dozen senior officials sat in tense silence.
A calm voice finally broke the silence. "To think, the Russian government would fall so easily. It speaks of a rot deeper than we ever imagined."
Another official, this one a stern-faced woman, tapped her pen on a notepad. "The fact that they remain a valuable trading partner is unchanged for now. However, they are already normalizing their relationship with the West, given the similarity in terms of their newfound religious fervor. It is an ideological common ground that we, frankly, lack and cannot replicate."
A third voice, more agitated, chimed in. "Our sphere of influence has been reduced greatly. With Japan and the United States both possessing clear evidence of supernatural power, our previous close allies in the region are already starting to show signs of flip-flopping. Some are already warming up to Japan. At this rate, we will be completely surrounded."
"The economic burden is also becoming unbearable," said an official focused on financial matters. "We are already taking in more debt to sustain ourselves on a provincial level. With the sanctions on Russia being lifted, our source of discounted oil may end, resulting in an additional economic burden."
A quiet, analytical voice, belonging to a bespectacled man, offered a different observation. "Did anyone else feel that there was something... off with the Russian President and his cabinet? I can't put my finger on it, but they feel too perfect. Their decisions are too logical, their demeanor too placid. It's unsettling."
A murmur of agreement ran around the table.
A final, frustrated voice, full of nationalistic pride, sounded from the far end of the table. "Even the Russians possess supernatural power now. What about us? What about our nation? With our five thousand years of history, where is our supernatural power? Why can't we discover anything?"
The room fell silent once more. Every problem had been laid bare, but no one spoke of a solution. No one had a path forward, a grand strategy to reverse their crumbling influence. With nothing more to say, the officials simply looked at each other. The meeting ended unceremoniously.
_____
The air in St. Petersburg was a stark, biting cold. A constant, heavy fog of breath hung in the air as thousands of people moved in a slow, reverent procession toward the Kazan Cathedral. Its iconic dome and colonnade stood as a beacon of the new faith, a silent monument to the miracle that symbolized Russia's rebirth.
Iris stared at the massive crowd, her fiery sunset-colored hair partially obscured by a wool cap. The square was packed, a sea of believers and curious onlookers, making any approach to the cathedral impossible without a long wait. "This is where the angel descended," she said, her voice low and tight. "There was evidence of her speaking with someone, but the details and footage of their conversation have all been classified by the New Russian government." She let out a small, frosty puff of air before turning to the somber figure beside her.
Dressed in mostly black and gray. His face was a closed book, a stark contrast to Iris's vibrant appearance. "What do you think, Ethan? Where should we investigate next? We likely won't be able to obtain any information here."
Ethan's gaze was fixed on the cathedral's spires. "We could try to interview random pedestrians to see if they overheard the conversation of the angel. If we're lucky, we might be able to obtain some clue. Seeing as the cathedral is crowded with tourists and the newly faithful, it's likely that they will be nearby, a sign of their devotion to where the angel descended."
"That's a good start as any," Iris conceded. They began to walk, weaving through the throng of people.
"It's rather suspicious that the Russian government was overthrown in a matter of just a few months," Iris said, pulling her cap down further. "Even with the prior discontent with the previous government, it escalated too fast."
Ethan nodded. "I feel there must be an invisible hand behind the scenes. That is, if our CIA department isn't involved with it themselves."
As they spoke, a young woman with black hair and glasses walked past them. Without warning, Ethan's arm shot out, grabbing her hand. The girl gasped, her eyes wide with surprise. She began to speak in fluent Russian, before her eyes took in their foreign appearance.
"Do you need something?" she repeated in English. "And... can you please let go of my hand?"
"Ethan?" Iris said, a sharp note of concern in her voice.
Ethan slowly released her hand, his expression filled with a strange unreadable expression. "I apologize. You look similar to someone I know."
The girl's expression softened. "Ah, I see."
Iris took the opportunity, stepping forward with a disarming smile. "Sorry to bother you. We're on a kind of pilgrimage. We heard a rumor that the angel had a conversation with someone in the Cathedral, so we've been asking passersby in the hope of finding some information. We're devout believers, and this may be the guidance we're seeking."
The girl nodded. "I wasn't there myself, but a friend of mine heard a rumor about them talking about a No Life King. Aside from that, I don't know anything else."
Iris's eyes lit up. "That's more than enough. Any potential words of the angel will be taken to heart."
"Well, I've got to go," the girl said, looking at her watch. "I'm meeting up with someone."
"Yes, thank you, and sorry for taking up your time," Iris said, waving at the girl as she walked away.
After she had disappeared into the crowd, Iris turned back to Ethan, her face shows a sign of sorrow. "What was that about? You know she's no longer with us..."
Ethan's shoulders slumped.
His eyes, dark and haunted, were fixed on the spot where the girl had stood.
"I know... It's just my body moved on its own..."
_____
A gentle hum of soft jazz music filled the air of the private cafe. The room was decorated with an understated elegance, its dark wooden paneling and plush velvet booths offering a sense of secluded luxury. Outside, the gray light of St. Petersburg filtered through large, arched windows.
A girl with black hair and glasses hurried inside. "I apologize for being late," she said.
The person she was speaking to was also a girl of a similar age, with hair as black as a raven's wing, save for a striking, defiant streak of white that ran through it. Chloe was already seated in a booth, sipping from a delicate teacup.
"No worries," Chloe said with a warm smile. "That aside, you look more cheerful than usual. Did something happen, Eleanor?"
Eleanor returned the smile, her eyes sparkling with a hint of quiet joy. "I just ran into a few acquaintances I knew."
Chloe simply nodded, placing her teacup down and handing Eleanor a menu. "I see. Well, before we get to work, let's eat something."
Eleanor took the menu, her gaze scanning the offerings with an air of thoughtful consideration. She addressed the maid who stood by their table, a figure with a bright, cheerful demeanor. "Can I have a Medovik?"
The maid offered a salute. "I will get right on it~" she chirped.
Eleanor watched her walk away with a faint flicker of curiosity in her eyes. "Is she also an automaton?"
"That's right," Chloe confirmed. "With a bit of adjustment, Pi looks and acts identical to a human."
"I see," Eleanor said. "I'm only familiar with Epsilon, but she mostly remains deep in Yumi's lab to help conduct research."
"Some executives don't favor them acting too human," Chloe explained. "Some prefer the doll joints and the Victorian maid aesthetic, while others prefer them to be silent, calm, aloof, and reserved."
A subtle nervousness seemed to settle over Eleanor. She leaned forward and whisper. "Is it also true that the current President of Russia, Ivan Ivanovich, is also an automaton?"
Chloe's playful smile vanished as she let out a sigh. "Regrettably, the Association now controls Russia. I'm here to implement reform to the system and check the dangerous tendencies of our other executives, namely four of them."
Eleanor's resolve hardened understanding the scale at play. "I understand. I'll support you in whatever way I can."
At that moment, Pi approached their table once more, a silver platter in her hands. She set a plate in front of Eleanor. The Medovik was a magnificent sight: a towering, layered cake with a dozen thin, honey-soaked sponge layers, separated by a luscious, sweet cream frosting. A light dusting of crushed nuts and gingerbread crumbs covered the top, promising a complex symphony of flavors.
"Here you go," Pi said with a polite smile.
Eleanor gave Pi a polite nod. "Ah, thank you,"