Opus Veda

The north war crept on. A rivalry of two trended: Enver Byron, the laconic general of Revolution Britannia, and his old comrade Marcus Sung, the wry Fu Manchu leading the republicans. Byron wanted Northumbria - a near-autonomous region leaning Red - and Sung wasn't letting him have it. The roads north were a slog of barricades, mines, and snipers. Revolution guards exhausted themselves clearing thousands of abandoned vehicles, each a potential booby trap, as swooping drones harassed them. The first unfortunates were carted back to Manchester, dismembered and dying.

With their military stalling and their economy hitting a roof, Revolution Britannia needed a political victory. They needed outside help. Wales and Scotland hated them for their unionist stance, which left self-assured Ireland, who believed a future 'Britain' had no chance of bothering it.

And its Taoiseach saw opportunity to sell the revolution firearms. The prices were extortionate, the weapons old stock, and the quantity too low to arm every soldier. But they could tip the scales.

Byron travelled across the Irish Sea and, reminding himself of his soldiers hardships, politely suffered the indignity of politics. He toured Ireland with admiration, paying care to compliment the Taoiseach's efforts in Dublin, a futurist Athens of art and culture. When journalists hounded Byron for his plans for Ireland, he teased that if only they would give him their capital, he would gladly trade them his. He returned to England having left a good impression, better armed, with a friend to the west.

Two more friends arose in mainland Europe. Arriving in Manchester came retired commandants of Euskadi and Cataluña. These guerillas had common ground with the revolution - having already won their own - and vested interest in a quick English war. The four Iberian nations were united in their desire to keep out English immigrants, 'Las Gambas Inglesas', always caricatured as fat, burnt, and drunk. The Irish would sell the revolution arms; the Spanish rebels would train them.

The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.

Byron had his victory. He left Sung to bandy about with Northumbria, and set a date for the attack on London.

* * *

September passed. Kasia continued her agent role in a depressive haze, interrupted by episodes of bitterness for her teammates moving on. Sermon never came home, abandoning even an online presence. Kasia kept training out of spite, for the role that should have been hers.

She worked hard, accepting every assignment and traversing every corner of London. She devised a plan of her own to meet informants, matching with them in nightclubs and trading information under the guise of a hookup. Thorstein continued to bother her for a hookup, without success, though he otherwise treated her with more respect than other recipients. And she helped recruits, doing Luca's role without his rank, steering the promising towards Pierce and handling those who misbehaved.

For her reliability she moved up, springing prisoners, paying bribed officials, and keeping tabs on sympathisers. Pierce taught her to operate a taser. She was an awful shot, but learned to fire it from her forearm as she closed in and attacked. When one informant turned coat, she put her new skill to use. Pardo drilled her too, correcting her posture and making her hold eye contact - a rare talent she could use to overpower others. It was harder than shooting tasers.

The pay kept her afloat as she delayed finding real work. Each day Pierce received her with an increasingly arched brow, finding less and less to criticise. He used her as a good example as he crucified new arrivals. The recruits were told to train as she did, stand as she did, fight as she did. Being on the other side of this routine gave Kasia a guilty enjoyment.

But she still wasn't a guardsman.

Home life was tense. Whenever Kasia returned Imany shut herself in. Kasia ignored it.

And Eva ignored her, accepting food but refusing to talk. Nights crawled through silence. Kasia kept their home maintained, played with the rabbit, gave Eva time. Her hunt for Eva's man stayed private, and relentless. The thought of contacting Gemma Alderton crossed her mind often but revolution work denied her the chance. With no other outlet she self-harmed, scoring her skin to release her pain. She fully became a vaper.

Something rescued her from self-pity. Eva came home late one night, rubbing her sleeve. When she slept Kasia checked it, finding a thin red gash across Eva's arm.

A trial cut. Kasia could wait no more.