Chương 27: The Puppet Master’s Strings

Regina's fingers brushed against the mysterious object in her pocket, its presence a constant reminder of the shadowy encounter.

"What is this?" she muttered, keeping it hidden in the deserted hallway. A stiff drink would be welcome right now. How had her life unraveled so completely? Since the takeover, she'd been pushed aside. Male agents, far less experienced and skilled, now outranked her. Making her way to her cramped cubicle, she mused that at least under Brakewater's leadership, there had been some semblance of order. Sure, there were still the glass ceilings in some respects, but at least there were chances to break through them.

Now… now if you were a woman, they weren't made of glass, they were concrete and steel. At one time, she commanded her own regiment with a ten-person team. Now she was stuck sharing space with fresh recruits from the academy, all fumbling and clueless. She regretted not taking the severance package when it was offered. She never thought that someone with her credentials and outstanding service record would be reduced to this.

As a Chameleon goblin, she had the rare ability to change her appearance at will, making her perfect for this mission: infiltrate the heart of Fairy Central, unnoticed. Secondary mission objective: Gather further intelligence on the fairy operation. Directive: retrieve the baby. Now, according to Mordak, any baby would suffice. Blackwood's head of Covert Operations had emphasized that finding the fairy Seraphina was the key to finding the child.

Regina had done as she was instructed to do, but that lead, in her opinion, was as dry as the croutons in last night's salad. She had found Seraphina, but it had yielded no results. The run-in with Seraphina's supervisor, that ass-hat, Simon Bud, still left a bad taste in her mouth. Her meeting with Blackwood and Tusk had left her with a rock in the pit of her stomach. The idea of executing an innocent child horrified her. She couldn't, in good conscience, comply with such orders.

The moral decay of the administration was alarming. Red flags were virtually everywhere, each one bigger and brighter than the last, yet no one seemed willing to stop the madman steering the ship. Sure, at first there was resistance. There always was. Then, inexplicably, rather suddenly, everyone fell in line. Why? The question kept Regina up at night. Despite the opposition prior to the election, top officials were suddenly doing all they could to appease Blackwood.

They were tearing apart the nation they were sworn to protect, especially when they named him High Chancellor… for life. How had he amassed such power? How had he managed to disregard the law and silence dissenters all in one fell swoop? Truth was a casualty, replaced by Blackwood's propaganda. Except for a few platforms, government-sanctioned ones, of course, social media was muzzled.

When the Pay As You Post mandate came to fruition, fewer and fewer goblins took to their feeds, creating an eerie silence on the message boards. The Positive Reporting Act, instituted by Executive Order, made it a crime to express anything that contradicted the administration's official stance or policy, whether it be verbal, written, or digital. So much as a whisper of anything that cast the administration in a negative light was punishable by prison time and fines.

News outlets lost their licenses for failure to conform. Public information was blacked out. Under the guise of maintenance, crucial systems shut down, shuttered, never to be restored. Unauthorized tale usage: if you spot this story on Amazon, report the violation. Since Blackwood's appointment as High Chancellor, Executive orders flew out of his office like snow. Some were utterly egotistical, like redefining the spelling of baby. Others, far more sinister in nature, reshaped Falotopia in terrifying ways.

Regina had watched helplessly as colleagues were fired, or worse, arrested. Agents investigating Blackwood's dealings were systematically eliminated, discredited, or detained. She couldn't fathom how doing your job and doing it well could lead to self-destruction. Though she had not been part of the investigations into Blackwood's crimes, her position made her privy to information not readily available to the public.

It was all there, page after page of evidence, painting a disturbing pattern of outright disregard of the law. Agents had uncovered damning evidence against Blackwood, revealing a web of corruption: funneling charity funds into personal ventures, conspiring with foreign entities, fraud, sexual misconduct, bribery, and falsifying financial records. That was just the tip of the iceberg. Yet all investigations ceased post-appointment. As if a magician had waved a wand, the evidence vanished.

DOME, the Department of My Excellence, ensured nothing remained. They arrived with boxes, filled them to the brim, then dumped the contents onto a celebratory bonfire. DOME wielded power that eclipsed even the most formidable agencies, slashing funding and closing doors. They fired staff who complained or resisted, all while waving an anti-fraud and waste banner, insisting it was what needed to be done. Regina had never witnessed anything like it.

It was surreal to watch high-ranking officials arrive at their offices, only to discover their keys no longer unlocked anything but disappointment and outrage. DOME slashed funding to essential services like Goblin Health, Food Assistance, and Education. Any program that supported the poor, disabled, elderly, or disenfranchised was systematically eliminated. Those relying on these services were sent to "treatment centers," only to vanish without a trace.

During Blackwood's first tenure, he appointed officials eager to do his bidding. After losing his first re-election bid, his people waited silently in the wings. Now that he had regained power, they rubber-stamped every decision, no matter how unjust. To them, he was the High Chancellor, and his word was gospel. No one dared to push back, question policies, or refuse compliance. When Blackwood lost the High Chancellor Chair to Frederick Brakewater, it was Blackwood who cried foul.

He accused Brakewater of somehow cheating, with fake ballots, missing ballots, and faulty machines. According to Blackwood, there was no way he could have lost. His numbers were just too high. He demanded recounts, contested the results, and perpetuated conspiracy theory after conspiracy theory to hold on to the chair he believed he was entitled to. Every claim was investigated, every ballot recounted, but no evidence ever came to light substantiating his claims.

As Brakewater's term came to a close, Blackwood campaigned hard, using smear tactics, lies, and deceit. His followers believed every lie, every false promise, every assurance that under his leadership, Goblins would flourish. It worked, barely, and he was elected to the High Chancellor position once again. Shortly after the swearing-in, prices soared to levels only the ultra-rich could afford. Goblins were losing homes, businesses, and livelihoods nationwide. Blackwood's solution?

Assign them jobs within his own companies and those of his associates. He promised shelter, food, and free healthcare. All of it would conveniently be deducted from their salaries. Oddly, no one earned enough to cover the deductions, leaving them in debt to the company, in debt to him. When the next election loomed closer, the Council passed Mandate 4761, The Sovereign Continuity Act, appointing Mordak Blackwood as High Chancellor for Life. There would be no election, not this time, not ever.

The object in Regina's pocket grew heavier with each passing thought. Someone was always there, always watching. Every office and workspace was bugged. They listened to every word. Saw even the slightest movement. Grabbing her jacket off the chair, she hurried out the door. Whatever the mysterious figure had given her, it couldn't stay here, not in this place, where even shadows had eyes.