Ffolkes,
Pasty faced goons marched across the square, eyes right, to view the diminutive man on the platform above them, at the head of the palace stairs. The short, obese figure of the Beloved Leader of Millions raised his hand in salute, continuing to watch the marching squads as they moved out of the square that fronted the palace. His eyes, surrounded by folds of flesh, peered with suspicion at the aged adviser on his left, then returned to focus on the soldiers, an expression of hunger on his face at odds with his pulchritude, for this was obviously a man who missed few meals.

As the final myrmidon passed under the archway leading away, into the city proper, the adviser turned to the fat young man, saying, “How did Your Eminence find the parade today?” Ignoring him, he turned and started indoors, his bodyguards falling in one step behind…