As I turned the handle, the external cacophony swallowed me whole.
Camera flashes detonated first, followed immediately by a phalanx of microphones.
The journalists gathered there didn't have faces looking for a man; they were faces looking for a vacuum in leadership.
The absence of a head of state is always the fastest route to a headline.
I stood before the podium and cleared my throat once.
"Comrade John Russell collapsed in his office within the Central People's Committee building this morning. Medical personnel took immediate action, but... he did not return."
The word 'death' had not yet crossed my lips.
I knew the word was necessary, yet I intentionally delayed it by a single, calculated beat.
Once the word is uttered, it becomes an 'incident.'
And once it becomes an incident, the human being is inevitably pushed into the background.
I wanted to keep him standing here, in spirit, just one last time.
"He spent his body to the very end for the sake of the Union. He was a man of fatigue, and he worked fatigue into his very bones. Yet, he never offloaded that burden onto others. I witnessed that personally, from the closest of distances."
I saw the journalists exchanging glances.
Their expressions signaled that they had gained one more punchy quote for their articles.
I took a short breath and moved immediately to the next point.
"Regarding the cause, we await the official report from the medical team. However, I can confirm now that there are no circumstances suggesting external factors or foul play. Please cease all unnecessary speculation and rumors."
"Was it death by overwork?"
"Who will take responsibility?"
"Is the Centralist faction taking the blame?"
The questions bombarded me simultaneously.
I did not cherry-pick an answer; instead, I forcefully redirected the trajectory of the inquiries.
"Responsibility will not be sought from individuals alone. The Union was never designed to operate on the physical stamina of a single human being. Starting today, we will conduct an inspection to ensure the system's design is functioning correctly."
A follow-up question snapped back instantly.
"Then what about the power vacuum? Who is exercising the authority of the Chairman right now?"
I nodded.
It was a legitimate question.
For a man who had earned the respect of politicians like John but failed to capture the adoration of the masses, the public's concern wasn't mourning. It was whether their pensions would be paid on time or if the bread rations would arrive tomorrow morning.
"In accordance with the Charter's procedures, we have immediately activated the interim acting system. The Central People's Committee has already been convened in an emergency session, and the Supreme Soviet has been notified. Government functions will not cease."
"Who is the Acting Chairperson?"
When that question hit, I felt a subtle movement to my right before I even processed it.
The Chief of Staff, standing behind me, inhaled very slightly.
It was a signal that someone had my name in mind.
I feigned ignorance of the signal.
"The selection of the acting official and the scope of their authority will be finalized and announced by the end of the day. For now, this is a time for mourning."
The moment that last sentence left my mouth, it grated on me.
Even as I spoke of a time for mourning, I was already standing outside of it.
Mourning may always demand time, but a power vacuum waits for no one.
I bowed my head briefly.
"That is all."
The journalists' questions didn't stop, but I did. I had to.
If I stood there any longer, John's death would degenerate from words in 'my mouth' to 'my politics.'
The security detail ushered me inside.
As the doors sealed shut, the noise was cut in half, replaced by the long, heavy silence characteristic of the building's corridors.
Only then did my own breath escape in a long exhale.
The Chief of Staff spoke in a low voice right beside me.
"You did well."
"This isn't the sort of thing you say thank you for."
"Nonetheless, you did well."
He wasn't complimenting me.
He was evaluating my speech as a 'commodity.'
The moment I acknowledged that, I could have felt rage, but the energy for anger had been entirely depleted during the briefing.
I stared down the end of the corridor.
Portraits were lined up in a row.
It felt as though those faces were judging whether the words I had just spoken were sufficient.
We walked.
Back to the conference room.
Back to the calculations.
At the conference room door, a junior secretary whispered to me very quietly.
"Comrade, I've been curious about this for a long time... but if the All-Union Communist Party holds over 1,900 seats, why is there so much chaos?"
With my hand on the doorknob, I almost laughed.
Instead, a hollow breath escaped me.
"It's because we have 1,900 seats that there is chaos."
The Chief of Staff looked like he didn't understand, so I continued.
"In the Union, excluding local elections, a Communist victory is always a premise. The real struggle... happens within those ranks."
The door opened.
The conference room was more organized than it had been moments ago.
Mourning was over; the people here had already moved on to the 'next.'
I had no right to resent them for it.
I was doing the same.
The Centralist Floor Leader looked toward me.
He nodded wordlessly.
It meant the briefing was passable, and 'passable' was the highest praise one could receive in this room.
The Chief of Staff took a paper from the protocol officer and placed it on the table.
This time, it wasn't a roster of names, but a three-page document.
The header was written in bold:
'Scope of Authority for the Acting Chairperson (Draft)'
The moment I saw that title, I knew today's war had begun.
The question of who would become the Acting Chairperson was actually the secondary problem.
The first problem was what the Acting Chairperson would be capable of doing.
The moment the capability is defined, the person who wants to sit in that chair is also defined.
I sat down and spoke.
"Let's decide this first. Not the person, but the authority."
The representative of the Liberty League shot back immediately.
"Deciding the authority is essentially deciding who takes it. Didn't the Centralists write this draft?"
The Centralist Floor Leader replied stoically.
"The Secretariat wrote the draft. And it was written in accordance with the Charter's standards."
"The Charter is always a 'standard,' never 'reality.'"
The Liberty League representative threw the remark out and looked me in the eye.
That gaze was a question: 'How far are you willing to block us?'
The representative of the Social Revolutionary Workers' League snatched up the paper, read it, and pointed to a line with his finger.
"Budget execution rights are included. The members of the Finance Committee are still breathing, so why would an Acting Chairperson need this?"
The moment he pointed to that line, I knew it was the real blade.
Budgets and supplies were the leash of the Union. Whoever held those held the government by its throat.
The secretary for the Alliance for Hopeful Progress pointed to another line.
"What about audit rights? Even under an interim system, the independence of the auditing institutions must be maintained. Wasn't that principle agreed upon after Jenkinson?"
Jenkinson.
As that name was uttered, the air in the room shifted for a fraction of a second.
Someone's face hardened almost imperceptibly.
That name was still the greasy stain that dirtied us all.
The Liberty League representative did not miss the opportunity.
"Right. We learned after Jenkinson. Power corrupts when held in a single hand. That's why we said the dispersion of authority was necessary. And yet, you ground up another man and let him work himself to death. Why do you think Russell died? It was the structure."
Hearing those words, a part of my heart felt a prick of guilt.
It wasn't an incorrect statement.
But it was difficult to discern whether those words were sincere or merely for negotiation.
Especially in politics.
I let out a long breath and placed my palms flat on the table.
In this place, it wasn't the words that mattered, but what one held in their hands.
Who would grip which handle?
That was today's agenda.
The Centralist Floor Leader read my expression and spoke first.
"Let us finalize this. Since our Comrade provided the face for the briefing, we must establish the standard here."
The Liberty League representative snorted.
"Standard? Lovely. 'Standard' is the most dangerous word in the vocabulary. The one who sets the standard is the one who tailors the rules to himself."
The representative of the Social Revolutionary Workers' League folded the document entirely.
The sound of the paper folding rang out unusually loud.
"Let's stop talking in circles. No one in this room is ignorant of why budget execution rights going to an Acting Chairperson is a problem."
The Alliance for Hopeful Progress secretary gave a faint smile.
"That's why everyone is weighing 'how much' rather than 'who' right now. Just how much weight are we letting them carry?"
The Liberty League representative shot back immediately.
"How much? You say that while preparing to take it all. Once it's in your hand, you cover it all up with the word 'Emergency.' We've seen how that ends already."
He didn't explicitly say the name Jenkinson again, but the name ghosted through the room.
The Centralist Floor Leader said coldly,
"Is there another way? The vacuum must be filled right now. The journalists are already preparing headlines titled 'Power Struggle,' and the military and internal security are already calling for confirmation. If there is no announcement tonight, they will start acting on their own whims by tomorrow morning."
The Social Revolutionary Workers' League representative looked at me.
It was a gaze checking to see if I knew how to calculate.
"Well then, let's do this. We give the budget execution rights to the Acting Chairperson. In exchange, those expenditures must be audited. If we conduct the audit, wouldn't that grant some semblance of fairness?"
The Liberty League representative jumped in at once.
"Ha! Ridiculous! You want to gobble up the audit rights all for yourselves? Where did the progressive spirit of your League from Comrade Wrangel's days go?"
The representative of the Social Revolutionary Workers' League frowned.
Then, the secretary for the Alliance for Hopeful Progress tapped the edge of the document with a fingertip.
"Then how about this? If we're tearing up the budget authority, let's tear up the audits too. See? Simple."
The reactions were lukewarm, but no one stepped forward to object.
And then all eyes gathered on me.
Those weren't eyes of mourning; they were the eyes of a slaughterhouse.
They knew that the moment I said anything, those words could become a noose around my own neck.
I flipped a page of the document.
Then I spoke.
"Regardless of who becomes the Acting Chairperson, letting them hold budget or audit rights in a single hand is the end of us. That isn't just my position; it shouldn't be yours either. It is a 'temptation.' Whoever is intoxicated by it will fall the same way. So, let's create an 'Emergency Response Committee' instead. Four members. One from each of the four factions within the Communist Party."
The Liberty League representative glared at me.
"So you're setting the stage to become the Acting Chairperson yourself?"
I did not laugh at his remark.
Because laughing would have been seen as an admission.
Instead, I replied quietly.
"Does that... displease you?"
the Social Revolutionary Workers' League representative fell silent for a moment.
That silence was a silent signal that a deal was possible.
The Centralist Floor Leader pushed a piece of paper toward me without a word.
It was a gesture offering space to write the amendments onto the draft.
I picked up the pen.
"Fine. Then from this moment on, let's be honest with one another."
I stared at the paper.
The signature line was still empty, but strangely, my fingertips already felt as though they were covered in grime.
John Russell had ceased breathing, and in order for the rest of us to continue breathing, we were already measuring one another's throats.
Nevertheless, I did not put the pen down.
Because the moment I let go, I would be the one pushed aside.