Lewis!
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As Europe plunged into a maelstrom of chaos and revolution in the wake of Seventeen, there emerged a city that defied the odds in a manner that even City Twenty-Four could have only dreamt of.
Nestled a mere two hundred kilometres from the smouldering remnants of City Seventeen, Brașov, City Fourty-Four appeared on the edge of utter annihilation. Its Citadel core, strained to the brink by the influx of volatile energy, hovered on the verge of total collapse, only narrowly saved by a desperate redirection of power into the city's sprawling sub-stations that would soon succumb to a fiery demise.
With Brașov left ravaged, its industrial infrastructure crippled and infestation control all but wiped out, the city plunged into a frenzy of riots and revolutionary fervour as famine's cold grip tightened around the population. Cut off from supplies, the urban garrison of Civil Protection found themselves besieged on all fronts by a starving populace-turned-revolutionaries. Meanwhile, the remnants of the Transhuman arm toiled relentlessly to secure the precarious survival of their burning Citadel.
With each passing week, the city's garrison drained, their spirits fading in the manner of dying embers, teetering on the precipice of defeat. It was in this bleak hour, that a twisted salvation would finally materialise.
Born from the burning crucible of Europe's uprising, they were refugees of a sort, banished from the sanctified ranks of Overwatch, cast aside in a whirlwind of shame and fanatical devotion to the old ways. Their arrival in Brașov bore a promise, not of liberation, but of all-consuming resistance… resistance against the encroaching Sublunary that had claimed countless other bastions. They mirrored what Civil Protection ought to have been, a paragon of order, a collective devoted solely to the prosperity and victory of the regime, but their purpose had been corrupted, twisted in the ashes of the defeat. Now, they sought only to forge a justice of their own.
Driven by a blinding zealotry and a scorched desire to avenge the cataclysm that befell City Seventeen, the Jury, as they had come to be known through their crusade of retribution, unleashed a cacophony of violence, leaving in their wake a bitter triumph over the Brașovean revolution. None, not even the pillars of the Civil Authority, could escape their ruthless judgment, deemed as traitors themselves and their palace faced ungodly violation, its corridors stained with the blood of Councillors who met their swift demise at the hands of the Protectorate Jury. From the ashes of Brașov’s uprising, a malevolent cadre of Rank Leaders emerged, weaving a web of dominance over what remained of the city’s political foundations. It was then that they declared, in Brașov:
“Terror was to become the order of the day.”
What followed were the long days and even longer nights of Autonomous Judgement. Convinced of a continual rebel scheme, of the enemy lurking within the city's shadows, there was to be no true protocol, no code of conduct, not even a Dispatch to demand but a modicum of discipline, all that came to truly matter in Brașov was the Amputation Jury and its bitter drive to crush the Sublunary.
"You wouldn't have been scared if they had come to kill you?"
"No... no... we would have been scared but- if it was to have been all of us- I don't think we would have suffered quite as much as we did."
"What do you mean by that?"
"For some, it was as quick and simple as sitting down in the Trial Hall, a Jurer waved a pen, and they would be taken to the courtyard and- shot, just like that. But for others- there was leniency, there was mercy, genuine mercy- I- I- could never..."
"You felt as if at times they had a- real empathy for the people?"
"They did... it was maddening... if you tried to understand it, if you tried to look- tried to emulate those who had been shown their leniency... you would find yourself watching every breath, every step, contemplating your every thought and move at every waking moment of the day- it was unbearable... the pressure, the stress...
"Please, I understand it is difficult to recall such a time, take a moment to compos-"
"And if you didn't!- If you didn't concede yourself to their game- you would surely end up before them yourself- you HAD to obey you HAD to consider everything you did always- ALWAYS in line, ALWAYS mistrustful of everyone around you!- It- I... I... **weeping**
"We- we'll leave it there for now- cut the recording."
________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________Excerpts from Teodor Mihai, A History of Ultraloyalist State-Terrorism. University of Bucharest, 2079
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