November 3rd, 2050.
Casablanca, Socialist Republic of Morocco.
The rioters continued to march towards the "Palace of the People". They were all carrying portraits of ibn-Fashid, the Moroccan-born Algieran dictator whose armies have, thirty years ago, marched all the way to Sinai.
The riot police was already being overwhelmed. Jorgen looked at the march from the window. He had to get out of this country quickly.
Way to find a sensation for the Berlin News...
He had no weapons with him, and was a foreigner. Sure, a journalist, but just how was that supposed to help against an angry mob which was not very tolerant to non-Muslims?
Finally, some of the riot police squads begun to break, some even joining the rioters. It was spreading like an infection. Some shots were heard. The Moroccan army was entering the city. Jorgen turned away. Were the Moroccans crazy? They were throwing energy grenades at the crowd! That only creates martyrs!
The blinding flashes and the screams of innocents. Well, maybe not innocents as they already lynched the Tigrayan ambassador...
---
Noverber 4th, 2050.
Casablanca, Socialist Republic of Morocco.
The mob already retreated by nightfall, after the army opened fire. Yet though the insurgency was beaten, Jorgen realized that this was only the beginning. He had to get out of here. No sensation is worth it. He was waiting at the airport, when he suddenly heard several loud explosions.
LGSM! - he realized to his horror. Were the Moroccans now shelling their own citizens?
No... Oh no... - he just understood what was happening. The missiles were launched from the air, and at the army and police locations. Some more explosions followed. Suddenly, he realized that something was wrong. A piece of shrapnel hit him.
They knew it! - was his last thought. The material on the ruthless massacres in Cairo was not getting out any time soon.
---
November 7th, 2050.
Melilla, Socialist Republic of Morocco.
Captain Jabral walked out of the bunker after making sure at the radar screens that everything was safe. Everything was safe.
Alarming news were spreading.
"A coup. Another one."
"Old Fashid was killed, some say."
"Bah! You know that he was killed five times already!"
"I mean, killed for good."
"I know... wishful thinking. You heard that the rest of the army is already beginning to surrender? Fomeyan and the government were killed in the Casablanca Raid. The first one."
"Maybe, maybe..."
Jabral looked at the desert landscape. Everything was safe, though reports were coming from the borders that their very own Melilla Division was attacked by the Maghribese walker squadrons.
The end for Morocco was drawing near.
Jabral sighed and went back to his office, where he drafted the surrender offer.