Quebec

“DELIVER HERE, AN ENVOY WILL ARRIVE WITH YOUR COMPENSATION.”

Quebec does not speak to the world. It watches it. Behind immense stone walls and layered border zones lies a nation that calls itself the Free Democratic Peoples Republic of Quebec. Outsiders hear the title and laugh. Those who have stood beneath its watchtowers do not. Quebec is an insular state sealed by fear, doctrine, and deliberate isolation, ruled not by law or faith but by certainty enforced at gunpoint.

From beyond its borders, Quebec appears inert. Trains arrive heavy and depart light. Lights burn behind high walls. Patrols march exact routes at exact hours. Nothing enters freely. Almost nothing leaves. The land beyond Kesagami grows quiet in ways that unsettle even seasoned travelers. Leylines thin. Compasses drift. Sound itself seems swallowed. Quebec insists this is prosperity.

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Quebec is autarkic by design. It produces what it needs, regardless of efficiency or cost. Agriculture is mechanized and rationed. Industry is devoted primarily to arms, fortifications, and surveillance apparatus. Innovation exists only when it reinforces isolation.

Shardisite is present, but tightly controlled. It is not displayed. It is not exported. Its use is reserved for infrastructure, weaponry, and projects the state refuses to acknowledge publicly. Foreign trade is denounced as corruption. Smuggling is punishable by erasure.

Anyone who crosses the border may be detained or imprisoned without any notice or mercy. Others could be hired to perform for the highest of state officials and quickly expelled after payment is tendered. State paranoia runs thicker than blood as its top brass all believe everyone is trying to extract information that Quebec refuses to release or to sabotage projects the state claims do not exist.

Failure here may not mean death but it will almost certainly mean disappearance of yourself and every living generation of your family. Quebec does not conquer. It contains. It does not expand. It fortifies. And whatever it is protecting, it has decided the world must be a part of it.

Quebec is ruled by the Supreme Chairman, supported by an inner party whose authority is absolute and unquestioned. Every institution exists to reinforce the illusion of democracy. Elections are held. Councils meet. Banners proclaim liberty. None of it changes who holds power.

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Citizens are judged not by action, but by loyalty. Surveillance is constant and public. Propaganda is not subtle. It is everywhere. Songs, murals, broadcasts, and ritualized celebrations reinforce the same message: Quebec is perfect. The outside world is diseased. Doubt is treason.

Re-education is framed as mercy. Disappearance is framed as relocation. Most citizens accept both.

Kesagami is a citadel city of stone, fog, and precision. Its architecture favors symmetry, repetition, and intimidation. Broad plazas exist for parades, not gathering. Speakers broadcast state messaging day and night. Clockwork beacons track movement through the streets.

Foreigners do not walk Kesagami. When they are permitted at all, they are escorted, observed, and removed quickly. The city’s rail terminals are vast, yet nearly empty. Goods move inward constantly. Information does not.

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Some claim Kesagami is far larger beneath the surface than above it. No one who knows has ever confirmed this.

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Religion in Quebec exists only as state-sanctioned symbolism. The Choir is acknowledged as abstract principle. The Legion is denounced as external corruption. Neither is worshipped openly. Faith that does not serve the regime is suppressed quietly and efficiently.

The state itself is the highest authority. To believe otherwise is to invite correction.