[b]Arratzu, Spain[/b]

Julio had lost all sense of time in this place. Solid walls of whitewashed cinderblock were devoid of any windows or clocks and a constant, unnatural glow from fluorescent fixtures behind cages of metal bars eliminated all sense of day and night here. Untold hours passed each time the captive senator fell asleep. Each time he woke up to this claustrophobic cell no bigger than a closet, he began to doubt more and more seriously that he had ever had a life beyond this wretched place - that his life before Arratzu had been but a figment of his imagination. Complete ennui caused the minutes to stretch into hours and it felt as if he had been here for months. With no idea how long each nap or 'night' of sleep lasted, what felt like weeks might have only been a day or less.

The meals - a gross exaggeration for metal plates of usually-stale bread - did not help Julio to decide how long he had been imprisoned here. Through a small drawer in the metal door of chipping blue paint, the plates came at irregular intervals. He could swear that he was only being fed once every three days, sometimes less. The morsels of rock-hard bread did nothing to sate his hunger, and his stomach protested constantly in the form of loud gurgles. He had not once had to use the 'latrine' - the polite term for the putrid-smelling metal pipe descending into the concrete floor at the far corner of his cell - on the account of his malnourishment.

Julio could hear faint cries and yelling from under the door on occasion. They served as a reminder that he was not suffering alone - Sotelo's domestic enemies were a varied and numerous lot to be sure. But Julio had not joined them in protesting against their captors. He understood by now that every prisoner was meant to die here, and there was nothing he or any of the other prisoners could do to change that. But the powers in command here had seen fit to feed him - however meagerly. Stale bread was hardly expensive to be sure, but a single bullet to the back of the head would be far cheaper. The authority here had some reason for keeping him alive.

Julio was roused from sleep on the floor of his cell by the creaking groan of the cell door being opened for the first time he could remember. Two masked guards stood in the doorframe - one with handcuffs in hand, the other with a cattleprod. He sat by in passive submission as the guards stepped inside; resistance would only make this process more painful than it had to be. One of the guards pressed his boot squarely into his shoulders and pushed Julio down onto the concrete. He gritted his teeth as the guard placed full weight against his back, but this was still far preferable to resisting and being hit with the cattleprod. Gloved hands seized his wrists and locked them into handcuffs before yanking him up to his feet and shoving him out the door into the corridor.

Save for the audible "huff" of their breaths through the mask respirators, the guards led Julio through the cell block in complete silence. The former senator could not recall being brought to his cells in the first place, and so this was his first glimpse of the scale on which this facility operated. The corridor stretched far into the distance, bearing hundreds of cells on each side. The scale on which Alfonso Sotelo was eliminating dissenters was staggering, even to Julio Zuraban. The guards at last reached the end of the corridor and passed through swinging double doors into another region of the building.The doors were spaced much farther apart and seemed far less secure than the steel bulkheads of the of the prisoner block. Simple handlebar doorknobs suggested that offices might be on the other end. At the far end of this hallway was a single open open door inside which Julio was led inside.

The interior of this room was a nightmare imagining of a dentist's office. A single chair dominated the space - an actual dentist's chair that had been reinforced and bolted to the floor. Manacles on the arm and footrests had also been affixed and a conspicuous opening in the headrest had been cut out. An interrogator - clad not in a mask or the impermeable fatigues of the guards but rather dressed in black slacks and a doctor's apron - stood behind the seat with a warm yet-insincere smile. The man walked around to the front of the seat as the guards removed Julio's cuffs and shoved him into the chair. He noticed an assistant in the back of the office assembling something on a desk in the back.

"Senator Zuraban." The interrogator greeted with mendacious warmth. "What a pleasure it is to have you here."

"The pleasure has been all [i]mine[/i]." Julio snarked, wincing as the guards restrained him too tightly to the interrogation chair.

"I'm glad to hear it." The interrogator dismissed the guards with a tacit wave of the hand, who shut the door behind them. "You, Senator, are one of the more interesting characters I've had the pleasure of having a... [i]discussion[/i] with. When I received word that you were coming... why, I could hardly believe it. We are quite interested to know what you know."

"So I've heard. But you're going to be fairly disappointed - fair warning. You'll not get anything out of me... nothing that matters to you people at least."

"I'll be the judge of that, Senator." The interrogator turned to his assistant, who procured for him a long syringe. Julio's eyes widened as the syringe came to the light.

The interrogator gently flicked the hypodermic needle with his middle finger, and then turned to notice the former senator staring nervously at the syringe. "Well. Not so cocksure now, are we?"

"I'll bite," Julio spoke up, doing his best to feign composure and calm. "What is that you're going to shoot into my arm?"

"This, Senator, is what is going to put me out of a job in a decade."

"I'm curious, has it crossed your mind, Julio, just how the [i]Oficina[/i] came to know where to find you after so many years? How the [i]Oficina[/i] is privy to seemingly everything that might happen in the world? Take my word, both you and I would be positively astounded - you moreso than I - to know the full extent of the intelligence collected by the [i]Oficina de Inteligencia Militar[/i]." The interrogator extended his hand toward Julio's face and showed him the syringe vial. "This, right here, is responsible for a great deal of that collected knowledge."

"And it is fascinating stuff." The interrogator continued. "Now, I'm not permitted to know the exact composition of chemicals and components in this liquid nor do I particularly care to. Complicated and tedious chemical formulas, I'm sure. What I can say, however, is that it is a melange of precise proportions of powerful barbiturates, sodium amytal, pathway inhibitors, et cetera. What that means, for us layfolk, is a truth serum."

"More like a placebo." Replied a dubious Julio.

"I expect you'll change your mind soon enough." The interrogator inspected the syringe as the assistant wheeled in an old cardiograph on a cart from the back of the room and wrapped pulse bracelets snugly around his left wrist. As the device was flipped on, the device gave a muted beep for every one of Julio's heartbeats. The beeps immediately came through at a quick pace - maybe one and a half to two beeps per second. Julio's anxiety was apparent for all to hear.

"What the Hell is this thing for?" Julio complained.

"That, senator, is to ensure we don't kill you prematurely." The interrogator, satisfied with the syringe, handed it back over to his accomplice, who stepped around the back of the chair. Julio's eyes followed him nervously every step of the way.

"You wanted to know what we were going to put into your arm, correct? This compound is not applied to the bloodstream. To maximize its efficacy, it must be administered directly to the Central Nervous System. Into the brain stem preferably."

Julio's heart monitor spiked immediately, and he began wrestling against the manacles.

"And, from what I understand, the application is [i]extremely[/i] painful. Mind where you place your tongue; it wouldn't be the first time I've had someone bite their tongue off."

The heart monitor beeped wildly as the assistant drew a padded headstrap across Julio's thrashing forehead. His head had been secured, and the interrogator gave his assistant a nod of approval.

A deep sting pricked his neck as frozen steel slid between his vertebrae and skull. Julio cried out as the needle embedded itself into the spinal cord. He knew immediately when the syringe was emptied. Liquid fire squirted out and erupted into his very brain. He screamed as the chemicals spread forth from the needle and soaked his brain and spinal cord. It felt as if his brain had been drenched in gasoline and lit.

"One more thing, senator." The interrogator added through the screaming and the beeping. "Prolonged exposure will result in permanent brain damage. The sooner you tell us what you you know, the sooner we can administer the inhibitor."

"So go ahead, Julio... tell me everything."

[b]Port Fuad, Egypt[/b]

For the second time in a little under two months, massive waves slammed against the retaining walls as a convoy of warships steamed through the mouth of the Suez Canal. All along the concrete embankments, and on rooftops and balconies near the waterfront, the people came out by the thousands to witness history sail past their city once again. When the Ottoman fleet sailed through the canal, it brought with it uncertainty. Ottoman rule of the Levant and beyond was crumbling, and Egypt's fate under the imploding sultanate was dim. The arrival of the Armada, however, promised a future of chaos and devastation; perhaps only for Eastern Africa, maybe for the entire planet.

They were Spanish warships - something altogether distinct from the rusting Great War relics the Ottomans drove down the Red Sea before them. Spain's fleet of angular warships, with fresh coats of clean graphite grey paint and bristling guns, was one of modernity. And they came in numbers much greater than that of the Ottoman flotilla. A vast column of more than fifty warships entered the channel one by one. A seemingly-endless train of military might passing through the heart of the city. All activity halted as the citizenry of Port Fuad gathered alongside the canal. And the Spanish upon the decks and bridges of their ships stared back to them. Among them was Admiral Santin, who admired the twin minarets of the Por'fuad Mosque passing him by on the bridge of [i]La Ira de Dios[/i] - the larger of the Republic's two aircraft carriers.

A gigantic swell of water rose up along the bow the aircraft carrier and left tremendous waves rippling through the channel. The swells washed up over the concrete embankments and rolled over the heels of gawkers - sending them backing away hurriedly from the waterfront. Small cutters and patrol boats of the Canal Authority bobbed wildly about helplessly in the floating behemoth's wake with all the helplessness of bathtub toys. The Egyptians - defenseless against the might of the greatest blue water navy in the West - could do nothing but stay out of the way as the Armada stormed through the canal without warning.

Santin watched proudly through a monocular spyglass as the city took in the spectacle the Armada's passing had generated. Directly ahead of the [i]Ira[/i], her escort destroyer - [i]Cimarrón[/i] - flew the yellow and red of the Second Republic with pride, as did every other vessel in the column. There would be no doubt as to the identity of this fleet - nor its intent.

"[i]Alférez[/i] Navarro," Santin spoke up as he scanned the skyline of the city through his telescope.

"Aye, [i]Almirante[/i]?" The bridge's naval officer acknowledged.

"Get into contact with Madrid. We'll need to inform Rubiroso and the Prime Minister that we've reached the Canal and that we shall stay the course to Djibouti unless I am to receive orders to the contrary. We'll allow Sotelo to decide what we are to do... now that the world knows we come for Ethiopia."