𝔖𝔫𝔬𝔴𝔤𝔯𝔞𝔳𝔢
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End of the Second Weltkrieg, October, 1945. The forces of the Union of Britain and the Commune of France had finally caved in to the weigh of the Entente and Reichspakt. In the east, the war with Russia had ended in a stalemate...
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The smell of... Coal. That's what life was since he was a child. The Working Class of Türkiye spread out through many sectors. Business, Agriculture, Foreign, Industrial. Majority of CTW's childhood was spent in the mines of the Industrial sector, mining out caves for coal or other mineral goods. As far as he could remember, the only family he had was him and the other workers working for minimum wage. He, his friends, their shovels and pickaxes together forming the Union of Syndicalists. It wasn't a party as much as it was a simple group of people advocating for Syndicalism in their country. CTW remembered the days in the mines when he, and his other fellow workers would gather in a corner, light a fire and talk for hours on end. Life wasn't the easiest, but it was fun... They'd smuggle in Milk and yogurt when the guards weren't looking and freeze that and call it Ice cream. That was the life of a Syndicalist, defying every order they gave you.
They're resolve was only strengthened once the news of the Commune of France and the Union of Britain's revolution hit news headline. It proved that perhaps such a future wasn't impossible. That revolutions and unions can be successful, that a red future wasn't impossible. The Caliphate begged to differ. Unions constantly suppressed, Workers fired, or in the worst of cases, charged for treason. The Ottoman government was scared. Scared that the Unions will bite back like they did in Britain and France. They weren't gonna take chances. CTW remembered the tyrades of shouts, gatherings and speeches outside of the mines. Quickly silenced by a police officer with orders to do so. Union and wage protests were especially brutal. Workers throwing stones at the police officers, and the police officers retaliating with fire. Both side shedding their own kinds blood over petty politics.
Even so, CTW still saw this place as home. It deserved to have the right to express freedom of speech. It had the right to express protest without firing down protestors. But everything changed, when the second Weltkrieg happened..
1945, The Commune of France and the Union of Britain, alongside with the rest of the Third Internationale lost. Forever immortalized as 'Syndie scum'. It wasn't just French, British and Italian Syndicalists that were persecuted. German, Canadian, American and... And Turkish Syndicalists fell victim too. The Caliphate had it's excuse to execute the Syndie Scum all it wanted. Worker, Politician, Man, Woman or child. CTW himself somehow survived... His comrades. His comrades that he practically spent his life with... The same people he shared his minemade Ice cream. The same young faces he still remembered after all these years. He remembered the names "Hamza." "Eren" "Ahmet." "Asli." "Sasha." He remembered the marching of boots into the mine, the gunfire, the shouts, the last shot of outlawed alcohol they'll ever share.
He remembered.
He remembers....
He...
Remembered the smell of coal.
He snapped out of his thoughts. It wasn't 1945. It was 1950. 5 years after the Incident... He somehow found himself a place in Izmir. Going into hiding was easier than expected. What wasn't easy was maintaining this new identity.
