Kazimir and Ikar stepped out of the White House. The two men began meticulously dissecting their next moves, each harboring his own perspective on Derral.

  To Ikar, the master of the White House was a shrewd man, a master of balance who made it difficult for them to gain the upper hand. At the same time, Derral had tacitly accepted their presence in America as a way to prevent China from encroaching any further.

  "Do you think Derral is hiding something from us?" he asked, turning to Kazimir.

  Kazimir rubbed his chin, quickly reverting to his usual self.

  "I don't care... but if he is, I suspect my thoughts on the matter would differ from yours."

  "Sigh... We just walked out of the White House. Well, at least we didn't start bickering the moment we left the room..."

  They reached the exit where the Mercedes stood waiting. The driver was already there with three umbrellas. He hurried over to hand two to the men, then held the door open for them.

  "Thank you..." Ikar nodded to the driver as he stepped toward the car, continuing his conversation with Kazimir. "We'll put the Derral business aside for now. The rest of the day needs to focus on how we handle Beijing next week."

  "Forget those guys in Sacramento(1) since last year. We don't need to feel inferior to Beijing. No matter the circumstances, I won't let the Mainlanders(2) have free rein."

  Though already outside, Ikar caught Kazimir’s words and replied with a touch of irony:

  "You really think you can stop Beijing from seizing Southeast Asia all by yourself?"

  Kazimir slid into the car, giving a slight nod to the driver. He turned to Ikar, who was climbing in on his left.

  "Don't overthink it... Today is a momentous day, after all..." He pulled out a pack of Belomorkanal and lit another cigarette. "I want to see how this new President intends to fill the shoes of our Leader..."

  As Kazimir lit the tobacco, white smoke swirled around his face like a veil, masking his expression.

  The car began to roll down Pennsylvania Avenue, gliding past darkened groves of trees and scattered groups of plainclothes security officers.

  Ikar drew the window curtain slightly to let the smoke dissipate, turning to Kazimir with an indifferent shrug:

  "It remains to be seen... but I wouldn't hold my breath for the next four years. Not for anyone."

  "Hahaha..." Kazimir gave a mocking laugh, taking another drag. "To have no expectations when the candidate was hand-picked by Leader Vostrikov himself seems like a waste... I've always been partial to young people with actual expertise."

  "Is that so? Rumor has it the new President is actually his daughter..." Ikar smirked, clearly poking fun at Kazimir’s line of thought.

  Kazimir didn't miss a beat, pointing a finger in mock warning:

  "Mind your manners, old man... or the people might toss you into the street, my friend..."

  "And you should straighten yourself out. Stop sleeping in the office all the time..."

  Both burst into laughter. This bond was not easily forged, nor was it easily frayed. In the diplomatic world, the names Kazimir and Ikar were practically synonymous.

  "Good grief... It feels like we're back at MGIMO(3)."

  Kazimir wiped away a stray tear—unclear if it was from the smoke or genuine emotion—and clapped Ikar on the shoulder while taking another puff.

  "We’ve known each other a long time... twenty, thirty years? Since the days we used to get into brawls together, right?"

  Ikar chuckled softly. "Yeah... It feels as though we’ve lived an entire, glorious lifetime already. I wonder when we’ll finally get to sit on the shores of Sankt Peterburg (Saint Petersburg) with a few bottles of vodka, trading jokes about the old days?"

  Kazimir narrowed his eyes, flicking his ash into the tray and resting his chin on his hand as he watched his friend ramble about the future.

  "We aren't old enough to be thinking like that yet," he said, sighing as he looked at his companion. "But we aren't exactly in our prime anymore, either."

  Ikar scratched his cheek, leaning back without looking at Kazimir.

  "We’re nearing forty... How exactly do you plan on finding a wife?"

  "Who knows..." Kazimir replied, staring out the window. "...Maybe someone younger. The type who knows how to keep their emotions and their work in separate boxes."

  Ikar pulled out his phone to check his messages, still replying:

  "Your standards are a bit high... try Facebook or VKontakte(4). Surely someone out there fits the bill."

  "Pffft... as if those meaningless photos are worth a damn," Kazimir grumbled, his voice thick with disdain. "People nowadays love showing off the shell rather than sharing the core. Worse, everyone mistakes the shell for the core."

  "Are you talking about others, or yourself?" Ikar smirked, not looking up from his screen.

  "At least I don't use a filter to hide my face when I'm talking about something serious," Kazimir shot back. "If I choose someone, it has to be the person who dares to tell the truth at a party full of thirty journalists, not someone who sends an emoji and then deletes the message."

  The car turned through an intersection, the rhythmic blinking of a red light reflecting off the glass like a vague omen. Ikar put his phone down, turning to Kazimir with a more somber look.

  "Do you think Russia is being too complacent? I’m no geologist, but even I can see how dire the situation is becoming."

  Kazimir looked at Ikar. His friend’s face was etched with deep melancholy. And he was right.

  In just five months, the entire border between Russia and the five Central Asian nations had begun to continuously subside. Geologists were utterly powerless to explain the phenomenon. The military and security forces were working day and night, dumping endless fill into the sinking zones to prevent them from spreading.

  It was the most baffling natural disaster in history. Since its onset, it had concentrated solely along the borders of Russia and Central Asia; the shape of the subsidence was so precise it looked as though the ghost of the old Soviet Union was manifesting itself.

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  Kazimir didn't answer immediately. He leaned back into his seat, eyes following the passing trees and utility poles. The traffic on the avenue flowed by as if time itself were indifferent.

  Finally, he exhaled a final cloud of smoke and crushed the filter into the tray:

  "Complacent? No. We aren't complacent. We are helpless."

  The words came out dry, like wind blowing over scorched grass.

  "Helpless?" Ikar repeated, not entirely surprised, but visibly shaken.

  Kazimir nodded.

  "I’ve read the full reports from NEDRI(5) and NMSG(6). Even after ruling out every seismic, geothermal, chemical, and biological cause, the result remains the same: inexplicable..."

  He paused for a long moment. Ikar noticed his hand was trembling slightly.

  "...We’ve never encountered anything like it. It isn't a tectonic rift, nor a geological collapse, nor the result of subterranean bombs or sabotage. It’s like a surgical incision: clean, precise, and... absurd."

  Ikar pondered this for a moment, then let out a lingering thought:

  "It’s as if... something is trying to excise us from the rest of the world..."

  Kazimir shot him a glance. His eyes sharpened, as if he had just heard a frightening truth he didn't want to accept.

  "You’re the sixth person to say that to me in the last three weeks. And it’s starting to scare me."

  "I won't go as far as to say that Russia and Central Asia are being split into their own separate continent... but it is a hell of a coincidence. The subsidence line encircles only our most vital allies."

  "I bet there's some cosmic entity with a strange obsession with the USSR," Kazimir scoffed, trying to steer the conversation away from the abyss.

  Ikar glanced at his messages, his brow furrowing.

  "That’s a terrible joke for a man your age. Maybe the hardliners would find it funny."

  Kazimir fell silent, sitting up straight to look at Ikar. He raised an eyebrow in a silent assertion.

  "At least I'm funnier than they are..." He glanced down at Ikar’s phone. "Checking the schedule again?"

  "Just seeing if there are any updates..."

  Ikar gave a dry smile, masking his slight annoyance at Kazimir’s habitual negligence.

  As Kazimir’s right hand, Ikar knew the man’s quirks all too well: falling asleep at his desk, forgetting personal appointments, and a myriad of other eccentricities. Generally speaking, that was simply the Kazimir way.

  A man who wasn't serious about life, but was deadly serious about work. To Kazimir, fulfilling a mission was far more important than his own well-being. His hands had grown calloused over the years from a mountain of signatures—from administrative forms to local decrees and state treaties.

  Ikar tightened his grip on his phone, his eyes reflecting a somber news headline on VK:

  THE SUBSIDENCE CONTINUES.

  The headline on the platform felt like a blade to the throat. Five months had passed since the first reports reached the Academy of Sciences. According to the data, the first sinkholes formed near Irkutsk, during the final stages of Operation Rolling Thunder to eliminate the terrorist organization MIR.

  Whatever the cause, the phenomenon was growing more extreme with no sign of slowing down.

  Accusations regarding Chinese geological projects had been hurled by some; others believed it was a new, misunderstood natural phenomenon. Many urged a calm analysis of the linking factors. Except...

  There was nothing to link.

  No known natural phenomenon could explain it. All road transport routes from Russia to Mongolia and China, or from Central Asia to the South, as well as the entire Western border, were now severed.

  The governments involved had issued press releases: temporary suspension of civilian activities in the danger zones and the establishment of a no-fly zone along the entire subsidence line. But these were "public reassurances" rather than actual solutions. As of this moment, no one—from the oldest academics in the Russian Academy to meteorological experts from allied nations—could produce a reliable predictive model.

  The situation had deteriorated to the point where the lines had connected out into the Caspian and the Sea of Japan; from the Baltic to the Sea of Azov and the Black Sea. As some online commenters put it: A Seventh Continent was being formed.

  Ikar put his phone down, his eyes strained. News like this put his brain into a state of high-alert stress. Any event affecting national security could not be ignored. If they could, they would gladly trade their interests in America to avert this natural disaster.

  "You know what I hate most?" Ikar rubbed his face, adjusting his tie. "It’s that everything seems to be conspiring against us."

  Kazimir watched Ikar silently, observing his old friend’s micro-expressions. If a man like Ikar felt the need to straighten his tie when it was just the two of them, his anxiety had to be peaking.

  "If 'everything' is against us," Kazimir said slowly, "...then it’s not just nature."

  Ikar frowned.

  "What do you mean?"

  Kazimir closed his eyes and lowered his head, crossing his arms as if defending himself against the relentless assault on their country. He didn't answer immediately, sinking into his own thoughts.

  He recalled a speech by Vostrikov regarding the state of the world:

  "...We have endured decades of change. The world has changed too, but not for the better. We have seen instability in the Western world, from Eastern Europe to the Balkans. The Middle East cannot defend itself from the 'Global Jihadist Kingdom.' America has lost its standing; they abandoned the Middle East to chaos and the hands of other powers, but they are not insignificant... We must take responsibility for world peace... America has its way, and Russia has its own. Russia may be misunderstood, but we will not lose ourselves because of it, for we are the Russians who have been reborn as a great and prosperous bear... That is why we still stand firm in an era of decay..."

  He opened his eyes, now slightly calmer, exhaled a long breath, and continued:

  "Everything... or rather, this entire era is against us. Think about it: why, since the 2000s, have we had to face off against the West 'once more'? Because of Georgia? Or Azerbaijan? 2008 felt like it shattered every forecast strategic planners had made for the next decade..."

  Kazimir slapped his thigh. It stung, but he didn't care.

  "...And then what? Intervention in the Middle East, Ukraine... I should have realized it back in 2007. I don’t deny our achievements over the years, but why did it have to go that far? Because of America? They started weakening in 2008... In the end, I compromised. So, the current instability isn't just because of terrorism or populism—it’s also because of us."

  "Easy now... I know you didn't like Vostrikov at first, but if not for him... what do you think would have happened? Let some nobody become President? At least he was a visionary, and that’s why the country has developed as it has."

  "No, you're wrong. I don't hate Vostrikov for making Russia more enemies... Regardless, even without him, we would still be facing off against the West. It just happened too soon... unnecessarily soon... and I still don't understand why."

  Ikar shifted closer to Kazimir, placing a hand on his shoulder and lowering his voice to offer comfort.

  Kazimir sat still, his eyelids drooping in a display of helplessness. He said nothing more, tilting his head back to look at the car’s ceiling. Memories of military reports and government actions flooded back. Whether those actions were right or wrong, the people had already decided.

  Andrei Vostrikov had built a new Russia, but it was a Russia that no longer had the time to make mistakes.

  The future remained uncertain, impossible to predict logically; it could only be understood and navigated day by day.

  Kazimir steadied his emotions, wiping away the tears that rolled down his cheeks—tears of pride mingled with regret. It wasn't for some grand reason, but because the shared goal of the nation had become a reality, even if it had to be paid for with the law of karma.

  Kazimir blinked a few times, forcing his emotions back behind his usual mask of composure. He reached out to roll down the window, letting the cold, damp air of the American capital drift in to soothe his reddened eyes.

  The wheels continued their steady roll. A light drizzle began to fall on the glass like tears from an unknown source. Both remained silent for the rest of the journey, until the car turned into the diplomatic quarter, where the Russian Embassy stood like a modern fortress in the heart of Washington.

  Inside, fluorescent lights spilled from the windows, casting a pale, bluish-white glow onto the road. Fully equipped Russian security teams in black coats stood guard at every entrance. One of them bowed as the Mercedes pulled into the courtyard, the automatic gates closing immediately behind it.

  Kazimir stepped out first. He stood under the eaves, looking up at the raining American sky. Then he turned to Ikar.

  "Is there a meeting with the British representative tonight?" He checked his watch; it was 15:56.

  "No, they moved it to tomorrow. They seem to be fumbling with the situation in the Southern Hemisphere as well."

  Kazimir nodded slightly, as if confirming something he had already known. He walked inside in silence, without another word.

  Ikar followed with his briefcase. He didn't want to make Kazimir’s mood worse, but he didn't want it to stay this way either. He started to think, but before he could finish, a phone call pulled his heavy thoughts back to reality.

  He looked at the caller: Foreign Minister Leonid Melnikov. Ikar raised both eyebrows, surprised by the sudden call.

  The moment he answered, a deep, commanding voice on the other end uttered a single, baffling command that gave even him pause.

  "Return immediately?!"

  Kazimir stopped, turning his head to look at Ikar with an expression of shock. He saw Ikar nodding repeatedly, his face grave.

  "What's wrong?" Kazimir asked.

  Ikar hung up, his facial muscles twitching as if he were about to snap.

  "Terrorists have closed in on the international exclusion zone and attacked the peacekeeping forces there. They’re using Chinese equipment... we have 12 hours to get back to Moskva."

  Footnotes:

  Sacramento is the capital of the state of California (in the story, the capital of the People's Republic of California), one of several states to declare secession from the federal government.

  MGIMO: Moscow State Institute of International Relations, under the Russian Ministry of Foreign Affairs. Founded in 1944 under Stalin to serve the specialized needs of wartime and post-war diplomacy.

  VKontakte (VK): Russia's largest social network, owned and operated by Russia. It serves as a popular platform for sharing posts, photos, and messages, and is a key part of the domestic tech ecosystem.

  NEDRI – National Economic Development and Reform Institute: Responsible for long-term economic planning and macro-level system durability analysis.

  NMSG – National Military Strategy Group: Responsible for doctrine development, inter-service coordination, and defense modernization.