ЦАРЬ KAISER - A Race to Conquer (Countryhumans)

Game

"What do you mean, you didn't get anything?" I almost screamed in frustration. It was one of those dreary days where one would want to sleep all day and never wake until the sun shone again. Instead, I was having a heated argument with my insolent son, who refused to give me the information I sent him out for. 

"I told you," he rasped. "I don't have any information for you."

"You must have something,"

"Of course, I have something," he said, twiddling with a spoon. "But you might not like what I say."

"The worse it is, the more valuable the information," I rolled my eyes. "Just give it to me."

He regarded me for a while. "Hm, no." 

"Just tell me what happened, then."

"No, you'll be mad at me," he kept on, just like an annoying toddler. 

"I can't be madder at you than I am now."
  
"He didn't say much," Third Reich started. "If you haven't noticed, Soviet Union won't talk to me a priori. He was extremely suspicious of what I had to say to him."

"So he challenged you,"

"Who wouldn't?" He said defensively. "And getting the actual information was like pulling teeth. I got three times as many questions back as I asked!"

"So you've failed, is what you're setting me up for." I started to turn around and leave to get some peace and quiet.

"No," he smiled. "I'm not letting you get your hopes up too high." He pulled out a notepad of paper, full of scribbled notes. I could immediately discern that this was not his writing.

"Whose are these?" I looked down at the paper. It was a detailed full conversation of two people, who were in a heated debate. The notes were dated back a while, first extremely obscene and angry,  but then less so. Towards the end, I began to see a lot of little strings of facts that I sorely needed. This booklet was priceless.

"Oh, that's Hungary's notebook." He explained. "He's my therapist and he let me take his notes for reading. I promised to give them back, but he knows I won't."

"He trusts you, hm?"

"No, he doesn't. He's just patronising. He once told me that I developed 'Peter Pan Syndrome'. I didn't pay attention enough to know what it meant, so you'll have to search that up. He acts sort of like my dad, not to offend you, but he said you did a terrible job."

"He can keep his thoughts to himself," I said absently, leafing through the notes. Although from Third Reich's description the man was opinionated and placid, he was very diligent and precise, with all his notes dated and marked neatly. I could discern everything.

"Genius," I breathed.

"I know," Third Reich sighed. "All my ideas are great."

"No," I interrupted him. "This is genius. Writing down consecutive conversations. You know how much information you can milk out of here?" I brandished the notebook. 

He looked at it sourly. "I suppose so." he paused. "You could call me a genius for bringing it. I wouldn't do it if I didn't want to." 

"Can you get more of these?" I ignored his banter. 

He looked at me sourly. "Maybe. But will I get any credit for what I do?" 

That I could answer easily. "Of course! Honour and a feeling of family duty." I said.

"That' s very dry." he started to whine. "Will I get something real?"

"You mean materialistic?"