The Proclamation [SEPERATED]

Members of the [REDACTED]
The current [REDACTED] are
Wolfgang Schulz-Kampfhenkel
[REDACTED]

Wolfgang Schulz-Kampfhenkel
Kampfhenkel is a descendant of Otto Schulz-Kampfhenkel, a German expeditionary to Brazil (Real life) who instead of returning to Germany, decided to settle down in Brazil. He was born in 1967, just before the Day. He would live an uneventful first few years, until the Day forced his family to flee to the largely unaffected Acre. He would spend his childhood in Acre, before at 16, when his family decided to move to the blossoming city of Belsilia in 1983, shortly after the last Amber War ended. He would finish his childhood in Belsilia, where he decided to join the military. He was unusually intelligent, and decently strong, allowing him to officially join. He would spend 6 years in the military, mostly on Northern Patrol, until he gained an interest in politics. He would leave the military shortly after his 6th year in it, initially attempting to run as a neighborhood representative.

Politics
Kampfhenkel would manage to win the representative election, as his opponent mysteriously fell out of a window, killed himself, and drowned himself all at the same time. He would spend his representative years consolidating power, as he "negotiated" with those opposing him. He would eventually be ousted due to term limits, however. He had spent 18 years in both the military and representative positions. After this, he ran to become governor of the German District, which he would manage to win. His term would last for 3 years, ending in 2004. He had managed to become massively popular due to his populist characteristics, and would be nominated for a Council position in March 2005. Once again, his opponent mysteriously hanged themselves, shot themselves 4 times in the head, and drowned themselves in a nearby river, again at the same time. Since nobody else had built up enough of a popularity, he would run unopposed, eventually winning in December 2005. He is also the most recently added member of the Council, and the youngest, at 39. He would be described as center-right.

Assortment of Statements
"Are you insane? I'm not qualified for this kind of thing!"

"I'm not intelligent nor am I really... even prepared for this, at all. Why am I even here?"

"I never should've left Acre, this place is hell."

"What do you think I'll do if this fails? I'm royalty now, I'll just flee to somewhere like Manaus!"

"Let me tell you something about those damn elections. You really think that dude died naturally like that? I just assassinated him myself!"

Uh oh
Wolfgang walked in circles around his now personal office. It had been weeks since the Regency had been formed, and not only had his fellow council members disappeared since then, but he also still hadn't found a suitable candidate for monarch. He thought about his options now. He could either proclaim himself monarch, issue a jungle-wide search, or give up on everything. First, he knew he couldn't give up now. There was no turning back. Second, a jungle-wide search would be infeasible. They couldn't possibly have enough resources for that. Finally, the most drastic. He sat down and thought for hours. He had given so much for democracy, and was he really here thinking about couping his own government? He wondered where his fellow council members were again. It had only been a few weeks now; they couldn't have possibly gotten too far if something happened.

"No.", he said. He wasn't planning to say this out loud, it had just suddenly sort of bursted out of his lips. He couldn't figure it out. There were so many strange things going on now. First that crate, now the disappearance. He got up from his seat and looked around. "Nobody here.", he thought. "Of course not," he was speaking out loud again, "it's 4 in the morning.". He walked over to a small, random part of the wall, pulling out a mallet. He began furiously smashing it against the wall, until he could see what he was looking for. A rifle. He was never sure which kind, and he didn't doubt that it was just a random mashing of parts until it could actually work. He had been given it during his short stint as a mercenary, and he hadn't used it since his assassinations. He pulled it out of the wall and covered the wall back up, carefully fixing it as well as he could. He stood there now, rifle and mallet in hand.

Rage gripped him. They couldn't possibly think he could run this circus by himself, did they? Why had they left him all alone to manage this? He had no idea what to do now. After sitting there for a few more moments, he loaded his rifle and got ready to prepare his plan. He would get a monarch, no matter what. If nobody else was willing, well, he'd just have to do it himself. He walked to the balcony of the former Presidential Palace, now a palace for each branch of congress, the NAC, PP, and the Council, or what was left of it, anyways. He brought a chair with him and sat down, waiting for sunrise as he laid his mallet and rifle down. As he began seeing the sun rise, he thought a bit more. "No, I won't just sweep it all away. I won't give myself unlimited power or something, I just gotta control myself...". Finally, he prepared for his announcement to the people. As the sun fully shone in the sky, the people began waking up. He rushed to the belltower of the Palace, and began rapidly ringing it, calling out for all who could hear to come towards the Plaza. As thousands gathered, to his surprise, he rushed back down, anxious but ready to set his plan in motion.

"People of Belsilia! Today, I come with an announcement to you!" He gripped his rifle and picked his mallet back up. It was too late to turn back now. "For too long, ye have been trampled by the corrupt congresses! Today, though you have langured under this cruel system! Now, you hear the end to your perils!"
"What was he doing?", the people wondered. He wasn't quite sure what he was doing either.
"Today, I proclaim myself King of Belsilia! Of all Belsilias, from the furthest villages on its outskirts to this very plaza! No longer shall you suffer, not under tyranny nor slavery! I invoke the divine right of the Regency to proclaim myself this! Finally you shall have a voice!"
Out of nowhere, a shot rang out from the crowd. Luckily, whatever poor, poor man decided to do this had poor aim, and only managed to graze his ear, and the man himself was tackled down. He stood there for a moment, petrified. He was expecting this, yes, but if that bullet had a slightly different trajectory he would be dead. No matter. He continued on.
"Do not worry, for the current tyrannies shall not be replaced with new tyranny! Congress shall stay intact, and you shall keep your votes! With the passing of these moments, Belsilia shall live forever and a day! Glory to the people, glory to God, and glory to the King! For Friendship!"

He sighed. With that, his short proclamation had ended. Now he couldn't reverse this decision. He was now King of Belsilia. Now he had a lot to overcome. He retreated back into the Palace. Congress would have to accept; this was his right to do so. If they didn't? Well, he'd make his last stand in this very building. Today he himself had begun a new age. He just needed to lie down after all that. Tomorrow, big changes he would have to bring in. He was ready.

Not today
He was losing control and quick. The American and Native districts were already filled to the brim with riots, and he had to make multiple concessions to the military and Congress to keep them loyal. Now, he stood at the precipice of the final fate of Belsilia. Would it go down in flames or could he make it rise again? He hated the state of Belsilia. Filled with corruption, tyranny, and oppression. He would free Belsilia once and for all. At the very least, the PRRF was on his side, the bootlicking dogs that they were. As long as the rightist factions don't figure anything out about his plans, he was safe. He prayed to the one true Atomic God for just a moment of respite. It had only been a few hours and he had already had the busiest day of his life.

He knew what do to now. He rushed down to his personal motorcade, bringing his most loyal guardsmen with him. He drove to the American district first, and stepped out. This was unexpected by the rioters, who stopped to look at him. "I come in peace! I have come to negotiate!", he yelled out. From the crowd stepped out some random dude, proclaiming himself as the riot's leader.
A shot rang out.
Then a torrent of bullets.
Both Wolfgang and the riots leader had been shot. The riot leader fell dead on the spot while Wolfgang just barely managed to stumble back to his car, disoriented but managing to drive away before being killed. Nobody knew what happened. The guard swore they hadn't even loaded their guns and the rioters seemed more panicked and surprised than anything, dispersing as quick as they could. Luckily the rioters didn't know about the guard so they wouldn't blame it on him. After all, he was wounded as well. As he managed to get back to the presidential palace, he received immediate medical attention. After these few hours, he now had to rest in the palace's miniature hospital for a few days. He wondered who would do this. Two assassination attempts in only 2 hours or so was asinine.
De Silva and her cohort.
Them.
He would have his revenge, those traitors.
Now he had a lot more ahead of him.

Last line to the Darien
A few days had passed now, and he had finally recovered well enough to be actively moving around. He now sat in his actual new office, sitting at a sort of scraped-together presidential desk. Currently he was setting new tax rates, which he despised. While going through this, he thought of the missing 4. He thought about them for a minute, wondering if it was truly them who had attempted that. Why would they do that anyways, he wondered. It just seemed so convoluted to him if it was just a plot to assassinate him. Surely, they could've just bashed his skull in with an ice pick? He suddenly remembered something Johnson had told him, that Johnson would be heading north. He looked at his landline briefly and contemplated calling some old friends. Since Johnson would be heading north, he would be passing nearby both the Medellin and Darien Cartels. Belsilia had been secretly directly supporting the Darien Gap Cartel since the Americans had taken over Panama, or at least since Belsilia was founded.
He rang them. An old friend he had known personally, a Venezuelan man whose name he had mostly forgotten since it had been years picked up. The economy had been plummeting since the proclamation, mainly due to the near uprising in two districts and also due to the radical changes across Belsilia. He first asked for a hit to be set up on Johnson, not to get him killed but for him to be captured and sent to Belsilia. The man happily accepted this gift. He then said his goodbyes to him, and hung up.
Next would be Medellin. He had briefly met Pablo Escobar himself during his days as a mercenary, off in some foreigners land in Northern Colombia. He called Escobar personally, and negotiated a deal between him and Escobar where Belsilia would be given various types of drugs, and in exchange 40% of what was given's value would be returned by the end of the month. His plan was to transform Belsilia into some sort of drug kingdom to start its economy back up. Given this would probably only be short-term, he planned to end this deal soon.
Once it was done, he laid back, having finished setting tax rates during the negotiations. He then looked out of his window, and saw a small crowd of rioters, seemingly leftover radicals from the dispersed American one. He sighed, grabbed his rifle, and fired a warning shot at them. After that, he had an idea. Since the Riverboats already use copious amounts of drugs, why not give them to the BGF? Sure, it would result in some issues with patrols and such, but it couldn't go fully wrong. And then, he had another idea.
Time to begin.

The city is burning!
Somehow, everything had gotten worse. Those he had thought most loyal, the Brazilians themselves, had joined in the riots. Against 2/5ths of the city was in flames, and his only respite was the 3 hours of sleep he got spread across the day. Thinking about his options, he wondered if the Natives would accept negotiations. He decided to damn it all and rushed down alone, holding the same rifle he held during his speech. Getting into the motorcade he escaped from during the first negotiations, he drove one of the few functioning vehicles in Belsilia, reaching the district in around 16 or so minutes. Getting out, this time he was more expected. Calmly stepping out of the crowd again came the self-proclaimed leader, and thus began long and tedious negotiations. By the time these had ended, the sun was setting and the Brazilian district was in full revolt. Now, the city was truly burning.
He rushed into the motorcade as the Natives began calming down, heading into the palace and ordering a complete and total crackdown on the district. Only seconds after had he realized how bad of a choice this was, but it was already too late to change his mind. He realized this could easily be the end of his... 6-day reign. Walking back up into the balcony where he first made his speech, he looked out at the city. Two districts now were being rebuilt, one was in flames, and only two stayed under control, however Vandire had nearly been slain. The navy was off on some mission that he had forgotten, and only a few remained. Deciding to contact Vandire, he sighed and went to his personal office. Calling him, he inquired on the status of the German district, which was still surprisingly well.
He ordered Vandire to come. Now began the wait, as Vandire was likely in one of the most precarious and dangerous positions in all Belsilia. It would take days at the least.

The Exhausted and the Unwilling
Vandire, what a strange name. He would have a lot of time to think about it in private, considering Vandire would be stuck in the district for another 2 weeks at the least. Now... he just sat in his office, staring out, sort of blankly. A king without a crown. A mercenary without coin. A beggar without anything but a dream. Most of the military was only kept in line due to the concessions, though the First Battalion of the Scouts were surprisingly content with Wolfgang. Vandire as well was a personal friend, Wolfgang had met him in his days as a Scout. Captain Karel or whatever was away with a large chunk of the Fleet, though... it had been nearly a month, their scouting shouldn't have taken that long? That did not matter now, though, did it?
Soon, he heard the clanging of the new port bells. The Captain had returned! Finally! Now, he had the entire military back in Belsilia!
Another idea!
He rushed to his "library", little more than a small closet filled with Old World books. There was one made... well, he had no idea when, about some strange idea and group called the "Mladorossi". He began reading, just sitting in there for hours reading that entire book and forming a plan around it. What if... he adopted the ideas to support his new kingdom? Not all of it, that would be insanity, but maybe he could institute those sort of socialist policies?
He was exhausted, though. So exhausted, and this would take so long...
No matter, he would do it anyways. Now became the bridge between the New and Old. The old ways had already been rotting away, but this final bridge will seal their fate.
Only time will know if they will accept their demise so complacently...
On the precipice of two worlds
WIP
Our finest hour
WIP
Blessed are the meek, for they shall inherit the Earth
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The rejuvenated and the optimistic
WIP