Robert Can't
Éponine
Vogoća, Lower Sarajevo
You are no longer a part of this family.
Srećko Adamić looked down dispassionately at his ex-brother. Mateo Adamić looked back up at him with a look of such sorrow that it could have brought up feelings of sympathy in any kind man. Srećko however is not what one would consider a kind man; however as the leader of the largest organised crime family in the whole of Eurasia that is not to be unexpected.
Petar Adamić looked over Srećkos shoulder at their brother with a look of pity on his eyes. Brother, He said Dont you think this is taking it a bit far?
Srećko, dressed in a nice blue suit with a green bow tie and an expensive cigar lodged between the lips of his gaunt face, turned to Petar with a disappointed and angry expression He betrayed us, Petar. He took what wasnt his and he broke the family contract. I have much better men, more qualified, more able and more loyal, but I chose Mateo because he was family, I trusted him, he broke that trust.
Petar continued to plead with Srećko for quite a while but it was obvious that his Brothers mind was set. Mateo was no longer wanted in this enterprise.
Petar, take him away.
Srećko smiled to himself, he was pleased to have finally gotten rid of his brother. Mateo had been becoming all too ambitious and powerful, in a way that Petar never would. And Srećko needed men like Petar around him, loyal, clever and unambitious; it ensured a safe transition of power, a safe transition to Srećkos grand plan for Sarajevo. Srećko had manipulated himself into a position of such power in the politics, economy and military of Sarajevo that soon a total takeover of the government would be in his grasp, soon he would be in charge; hed make this place a paradise.
Backstreets, Lower Sarajevo
Mateo wasnt angry at his brother. More pleased in fact. As he ran through the darkened backstreets of the Metropolis of Sarajevo; dirty, tired and without a family he may be, but he was still best pleased that his grand master plan was coming into fruition. Mateo smiled to himself as he went over in his mind how much his Brother didnt know. Srećko was simply playing into Mateos perfectly laid trap. Soon Srećkos empire would collapse around him and there would be nothing left in its place, nothing left but Mateo and Mateos own criminal underground. So, he kept on running amidst the poverty of Lower Sarajevo.
Lower Sarajevo is the name given to the lowest districts of the town. Not only low in status but also in altitude. For, you see, Sarajevo was no longer a normal city. After the many calamities that had rocked the Balkans over the anarchic periods people had begun to migrate to the protection of the great city. It had grown exponentially until there simply wasnt the space left for more people. So, under the visionary guidance of the well known infamous madman Gavrilo Gavrilovich they had built upwards...
The great towers of Sarajevo made it look like a collection of wedding cakes building itself into one giant wedding cake. The massive central spire soared up higher than could be imagined into the atmosphere. It was truly a lunatic design for a city, but at the same time oddly enlightened. The same could be said about the man behind it all. Gavrilovich was undoubtedly insane but still held some sort of strange power of the tiered city.
Mateo was of the opinion shared by his Brother, Sarajevo was a corrupt power whos downfall would be swift when an organised body from within could seize power. Mateo however did not believe this power would be his Brothers, but his.
Floor 22, Tier 8, Tower 4 - Moritz Schiller's Cafe and Delicatessen
Better known as the location of The Offices of the SRS Secret Police.
Emir Vildić stood looking out of the high up window of his offices at Moritz Schiller. It was at the top of tier 8; at this point the concave shape of the city was reaching its spire and the tower was only about a kilometre thick and so from this point he could look down across a large section of the city. From the east facing window the steep sides of the tower rolled down with the financial district first (Home of the Ministry of Accounting and Redistribution) followed by the upper habitation ring (colloquially called the up-habs) and beyond that the workplaces for the clerks and scribes that kept Sarajevo on its feet. Remarkably, over 48% of the citys demographic consisted of such scribes and clerks working tirelessly at the processing centres where they ploughed through reams and reams of raw data processing and filing it. These Processing centres were obviously visible as they each had their own small tower unit peaking out of the otherwise smooth sides of the city. These towers known as Processing Spikes worked some horrific technology to harness the natural elements and use them for faster cognation. Below these not much more could be seen of the city as then it sunk into a layer of thick and dark cloudy smog. This formed a thick and unbroken layer above the Factories, down-habs and Lower Sarajevo.
Emir had a dream for what this city could be. He saw possibilities that others could not even fathom and he knew he would have to be the person to enact them. He had worked and worked to reach his place in Moritz Schiller; a place of inestimable power and responsibility. And this would be his time, a time to build Sarajevo, make it strong. He was in control here, he knew everything, watched everything. Nothing went unnoticed, no one went unobserved.
Floor 4, Tier 10, Tower 4 - Offices of Prime Minister Gavrilovich
At the highest office in all of Sarajevo sat a man that looked a bit eccentric. He wore a brilliant blue blazer and a pair of knee high green socks over his ghastly yellow trousers. His hair too was not void of eccentricity and though it looked like it was regularly washed and kept clean it sat on his head like a highly disorganised and knotty mop. This was of course Gavrilo Gavrilovich, the utterly insane Prime Minister of Sarajevo.
He sat scrawling at a piece of paper in front of him. On closer inspection one would see the room was filled with similar pieces of paper each with some fragmented verse on it all written out in a spider like hand. Some spoke of the city, others of some illusive cabinet, others of a long lost love and others still of the Adélie Penguin. Every now and then he would pick up a silver fork and take a mouthful of the casserole that sat at his desk. Truly it was madness.
The madness, however, was not limited to Gavrilo; it had spread throughout Sarajevo like a festering infection. The parliament which had once been an effective ruling body had now descended into a house of madmen and fools. The secret police, once a precautionary measure were now employed by Gavrilovich to maintain an aura of fear amongst his people and to also make everyone think that it was themselves that was truly in power. All government decisions were passed through the bureaucratic parliament or secret police but not much ever seemed to come of any decisions, no ones plans ever came into fruition. In Sarajevo there was pitless ambition and deceptive power but in the end it was all false, all an illusion seemingly orchestrated by the great madman who ruled over it all.
The Illusion that was Sarajevo infected every corner of society, everyone thought they were the next big thing, everyone had hope. Everyone thought that they understood; everyone had some enlightening madness about them. But only Gavrilovich, mad prince of a court of madness, could truly fathom the magical, deep and oppressive deception of Sarajevo.
You are no longer a part of this family.
Srećko Adamić looked down dispassionately at his ex-brother. Mateo Adamić looked back up at him with a look of such sorrow that it could have brought up feelings of sympathy in any kind man. Srećko however is not what one would consider a kind man; however as the leader of the largest organised crime family in the whole of Eurasia that is not to be unexpected.
Petar Adamić looked over Srećkos shoulder at their brother with a look of pity on his eyes. Brother, He said Dont you think this is taking it a bit far?
Srećko, dressed in a nice blue suit with a green bow tie and an expensive cigar lodged between the lips of his gaunt face, turned to Petar with a disappointed and angry expression He betrayed us, Petar. He took what wasnt his and he broke the family contract. I have much better men, more qualified, more able and more loyal, but I chose Mateo because he was family, I trusted him, he broke that trust.
Petar continued to plead with Srećko for quite a while but it was obvious that his Brothers mind was set. Mateo was no longer wanted in this enterprise.
Petar, take him away.
Srećko smiled to himself, he was pleased to have finally gotten rid of his brother. Mateo had been becoming all too ambitious and powerful, in a way that Petar never would. And Srećko needed men like Petar around him, loyal, clever and unambitious; it ensured a safe transition of power, a safe transition to Srećkos grand plan for Sarajevo. Srećko had manipulated himself into a position of such power in the politics, economy and military of Sarajevo that soon a total takeover of the government would be in his grasp, soon he would be in charge; hed make this place a paradise.
Backstreets, Lower Sarajevo
Mateo wasnt angry at his brother. More pleased in fact. As he ran through the darkened backstreets of the Metropolis of Sarajevo; dirty, tired and without a family he may be, but he was still best pleased that his grand master plan was coming into fruition. Mateo smiled to himself as he went over in his mind how much his Brother didnt know. Srećko was simply playing into Mateos perfectly laid trap. Soon Srećkos empire would collapse around him and there would be nothing left in its place, nothing left but Mateo and Mateos own criminal underground. So, he kept on running amidst the poverty of Lower Sarajevo.
Lower Sarajevo is the name given to the lowest districts of the town. Not only low in status but also in altitude. For, you see, Sarajevo was no longer a normal city. After the many calamities that had rocked the Balkans over the anarchic periods people had begun to migrate to the protection of the great city. It had grown exponentially until there simply wasnt the space left for more people. So, under the visionary guidance of the well known infamous madman Gavrilo Gavrilovich they had built upwards...
The great towers of Sarajevo made it look like a collection of wedding cakes building itself into one giant wedding cake. The massive central spire soared up higher than could be imagined into the atmosphere. It was truly a lunatic design for a city, but at the same time oddly enlightened. The same could be said about the man behind it all. Gavrilovich was undoubtedly insane but still held some sort of strange power of the tiered city.
Mateo was of the opinion shared by his Brother, Sarajevo was a corrupt power whos downfall would be swift when an organised body from within could seize power. Mateo however did not believe this power would be his Brothers, but his.
Floor 22, Tier 8, Tower 4 - Moritz Schiller's Cafe and Delicatessen
Better known as the location of The Offices of the SRS Secret Police.
Emir Vildić stood looking out of the high up window of his offices at Moritz Schiller. It was at the top of tier 8; at this point the concave shape of the city was reaching its spire and the tower was only about a kilometre thick and so from this point he could look down across a large section of the city. From the east facing window the steep sides of the tower rolled down with the financial district first (Home of the Ministry of Accounting and Redistribution) followed by the upper habitation ring (colloquially called the up-habs) and beyond that the workplaces for the clerks and scribes that kept Sarajevo on its feet. Remarkably, over 48% of the citys demographic consisted of such scribes and clerks working tirelessly at the processing centres where they ploughed through reams and reams of raw data processing and filing it. These Processing centres were obviously visible as they each had their own small tower unit peaking out of the otherwise smooth sides of the city. These towers known as Processing Spikes worked some horrific technology to harness the natural elements and use them for faster cognation. Below these not much more could be seen of the city as then it sunk into a layer of thick and dark cloudy smog. This formed a thick and unbroken layer above the Factories, down-habs and Lower Sarajevo.
Emir had a dream for what this city could be. He saw possibilities that others could not even fathom and he knew he would have to be the person to enact them. He had worked and worked to reach his place in Moritz Schiller; a place of inestimable power and responsibility. And this would be his time, a time to build Sarajevo, make it strong. He was in control here, he knew everything, watched everything. Nothing went unnoticed, no one went unobserved.
Floor 4, Tier 10, Tower 4 - Offices of Prime Minister Gavrilovich
At the highest office in all of Sarajevo sat a man that looked a bit eccentric. He wore a brilliant blue blazer and a pair of knee high green socks over his ghastly yellow trousers. His hair too was not void of eccentricity and though it looked like it was regularly washed and kept clean it sat on his head like a highly disorganised and knotty mop. This was of course Gavrilo Gavrilovich, the utterly insane Prime Minister of Sarajevo.
He sat scrawling at a piece of paper in front of him. On closer inspection one would see the room was filled with similar pieces of paper each with some fragmented verse on it all written out in a spider like hand. Some spoke of the city, others of some illusive cabinet, others of a long lost love and others still of the Adélie Penguin. Every now and then he would pick up a silver fork and take a mouthful of the casserole that sat at his desk. Truly it was madness.
The madness, however, was not limited to Gavrilo; it had spread throughout Sarajevo like a festering infection. The parliament which had once been an effective ruling body had now descended into a house of madmen and fools. The secret police, once a precautionary measure were now employed by Gavrilovich to maintain an aura of fear amongst his people and to also make everyone think that it was themselves that was truly in power. All government decisions were passed through the bureaucratic parliament or secret police but not much ever seemed to come of any decisions, no ones plans ever came into fruition. In Sarajevo there was pitless ambition and deceptive power but in the end it was all false, all an illusion seemingly orchestrated by the great madman who ruled over it all.
The Illusion that was Sarajevo infected every corner of society, everyone thought they were the next big thing, everyone had hope. Everyone thought that they understood; everyone had some enlightening madness about them. But only Gavrilovich, mad prince of a court of madness, could truly fathom the magical, deep and oppressive deception of Sarajevo.
