Cine del Imperio: Furia y Ladron

[Madvillain]

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||Villa Sephardi, Planet Crete - Some Days Later||

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The scent of old rum and burning cedar clung to the air of the villa’s drawing room. Buonocore leaned back into his chair, swirling what remained of his drink, savoring the moment. Across from him, Cesar Gutierrez had not moved much, save for the slight twitch in his jaw as he listened to the silence stretch between them.

Buonocore grinned. "Si, mi amigo. The gears are in motion. Deterrence didn’t even know about that hangar. They will not be a problem. Carmen guaranteed me as much." Cesar exhaled sharply through his nose, his eyes drifting toward the dim ceiling. "This is stupid, Juanez. If Elder Rodriguez finds out-"

"If?" Buonocore interrupted with a scoff. "It’s only a matter of time before he will sniff something out. But by then, we’ll have the cinematic-moviefilm-trailer ready, muchachos will be talking. The Corsair spirit will be too fired up to stop. And what will Alberto do? Tell the people they can’t have their heroes? That they shouldn’t be proud? No, Cesar. He will either ignore it or be forced to praise it! .... I think he will like it, once he sees the result."

Cesar shook his head, his expression unreadable. "Juanez, you sound like a hombre desperate to relive past victories. The days of storming the Council of Elders with Alberto, Ladron, and me at your side are over. We have walked our own paths since then. Tell me, is this about the Brotherhood, or about you, Juanez? Are you making this film for the Empire… or for yourself? And what is with this obsession over Ladron, give it a rest already."

Buonocore scoffed. "No matter his choices... Ladron is one of the last real warriors Crete ever had. An intellectual, a visionary, and por las señoritas, an icon of desire. He lives as a Corsair should: free, unchained by council decrees and elder politics. He led men to victory, and when opposition in the Council tried to erase him, he vanished into the dunes rather than bow. And look at us now, Cesar. Drowning in bureaucracy, in treaties, in hesitation. If Ladron walked into this room right now, he would laugh of what we’ve become."

Cesar’s eyes darkened, his grip tightening on the armrest, clenching his knuckles white. "Ladron went mad trying to please everyone! Branded a traitor to the Council of Elders, to the Brotherhood. Then he abandoned his duty, his people. And you want to put him on a pedestal? You insult every Corsair who bled to keep this Empire alive." Buonocore leaned forward, his voice quiet but sharp. "I insult no one. I remind them of what we were before we let the Empire turn soft. If we cannot have Ladron himself, then we will give the people his legend. And when they remember what it means to fight, they will follow."

Cesar’s eyes narrowed. "You speak about him as if he’s dead. He’s not. Mismanage him and he’ll become a problem... just like your... ‘guest workers’? Bretonian and Libertonian film crews won’t come willingly, Juanez. You’re talking about slavery."

Buonocore shrugged. "We’ll make them comfortable, of course. A bit of persuasion, some fine Cretean hospitality. Who knows? They might even decide they would like to stay here." Cesar snorted. "You mean they’ll get too scared to try and run from your pet project. You are shameless! It -is- slavery!!"

"Semantics," Buonocore replied with a dismissive wave. He downed the last of his rum and set the glass aside. "Cesar, listen to me. This is bigger than some hobby, some side project. We are crafting history. This is a tool, a weapon.... A weapon that will bring our people together and remind them of their purpose. We cannot allow Crete to rot in stagnation. War, blood, and glory: that is the Corsair way."

Gutierrez stood up from his seat, pointing a finger at Buonocore. His voice rose. "You cannot rekindle times past, Juanez! We have faced loss after loss, not only when you were here, but especially when you went on your little pleasure trip around Sirius and left us all to hang! You insult every Corsair who bled to keep this Empire alive."

Buonocore leaned forward again, his voice like a blade. "I insult no one. I remind them of what we were before we let the Empire turn soft. If we cannot have Ladron himself, then we will give the people his legend. And when they remember what it means to fight, they will follow."

Outside, the winds of Crete howled through the cliffs, carrying with them the echoes of life in Nova Magerit, the never sleeping capital of an empire that refused to fade into the past.

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