The Authority is the future for each of us. In these difficult years, Mazov reminds us that strict measures are necessary for the survival of the human species. Only through unwavering obedience can we secure a future for our children.

However, there are dark zealots who claim that the Authority suppresses individuality and personal freedom. These views resonate with the most reckless elements of our society: criminals and extremists. The so-called “Jacquerists,” resorting to immoral methods unacceptable in our civilized society, seek to overthrow the Authority in favor of protecting their destructive ideas of so-called “freedom.”

It is the duty of every patriot and citizen to restore the climate of order and discipline disrupted by radicals and insurgents who have declared war on unity and cohesion, striving to impose their anarchic rule. Currently, Dacia is drowning in lawlessness and moral decay. The Ordinal has had to impose martial law and tighten legislation—all so that every honest citizen may breathe freely and continue to labor bravely for stability and peace.

Every citizen must remember that our strength lies in unity. Divided, we are vulnerable; together, we are invincible. The Authority offers all honest citizens the opportunity to participate in building a new society where order and stability are foundational principles.

Our valiant law enforcement forces continue the fight against crime and insurgency. Each unit acts with maximum efficiency, purging entire sectors of those who seek to destroy peace and security. Around-the-clock patrols are maintained, surveillance is intensified. No one will go unpunished.

We call on all citizens to remain vigilant and report any suspicious activity. Together, we can destroy the enemy. Each of us is an important link in this struggle. Unyielding service is the key to our collective success.

The Authority above all.

Frumușica is perhaps the most paradoxical city on the eastern edge of Dacia, marked by a deliberate disregard for its geographic peripherality, cultivating a reputation as a cultural and entertainment center that defies logistical sense. Despite systematic budget cuts from the capital, accompanied by the terse explanation “Lack of government funds,” the city thrives with infrastructure that less fortunate municipalities prefer not to recall. At the heart of it all is the Club, an establishment that provokes equal parts amazement and concern even among visitors from the capital’s districts, who lack such straightforward cultural leisure. Here, polished “Tsvil” boots of the Wolfhounds mingle with the faded caps of workers harboring dreams of recognition at different levels. The Club is run by a figure known as Klubnika — an open personality who welcomes guests with an unmistakable enthusiasm rumored to substitute for a salary.

Outside the evening’s aesthetics, the city maintains steady industrial and botanical activity, serving as a supply hub with a resilient logistical legacy born from battles between the Authority and the Yellow Uniforms, a history still echoed in every corner decades later.

The city latrine named after Grzesław Rubczyński is a figurative counterpoint: named for a local anarchist who once planned to impose tyranny on the city but instead earned the privilege of being hung upside down with rods in the square. Noteworthy are the well-read library, the theater, the gendarmerie headquarters (surprisingly detached from the command center, unlike the typical municipal layout), the city hospital, and, of course, the Mimi Palace — formerly the residence of the pre-revolutionary entrepreneur Dimitri Mimi, now repurposed as Frumușica’s administrative heart.

Architecturally, Frumușica resembles an album of forgotten styles: dominated by municipal materials from recent state programs, neighboring makeshift buildings (“bold ones,” as locals call them), and relics from bygone eras so ancient their dating rests purely on conjecture. This eclectic landscape creates a visual effect of temporal discord — as if the very idea of time were on vacation here. Beneath it all sprawls the Metrocrypt — an underground layer connecting sewers, mines, uncharted corridors, and what should be called a metro system. Built haphazardly and in stages, the Metrocrypt symbolizes architectural nihilism and is the nightmare of any administrator seeking to inventory it. People live, work, bury, craft, and steal there — sometimes simultaneously in the same place.

Frumușica is a city of idleness and disguises, a city where one can be three different people in a single day. It brings headaches to the elders and a kind of tender longing to its residents. All this is love expressed through an insoluble topography. All this is Frumușica.