Black Revolution

[Alex]

In the early light of a bitter Mariupol morning, as frost still clung to the factory's corrugated metal walls, a small band of anarchists gathered at the massive gates of the Azovstal Iron and Steel Works—a sprawling complex of cylinders, cranes, railways, chimneys, and old brown buildings.

At precisely 6:30AM, as the sun began to pierce the winter gloom, the group, led by an older man named Serhiy, surged through the gates. Clutched in their hands were makeshift weapons fashioned from the tools of their labour and around their necks hung crucifixes—symbols of love that the church and state had long perverted.

"Brothers and sisters," their leader spoke, "remember that our Lord did not come to this earth to be a king, but rather to overthrow the tyrants. Let us follow the first Christians! Let us rid ourselves of tyrants! Let us rule ourselves! No more masters! No more chains!"

They stormed through the gates, forcing open heavy steel doors. The factory's corridors soon rang out with resounding cries. On the walls—both exterior and internal—were scrawled with words like "Christ and Freedom for All!" and "No Masters, No Chains!" From the roofs and windows hung a black flag with a white orthodox cross within a blood-red crown of thorns.

Within hours, armoured vehicles and riot police swarmed the perimeter of the factory. It was expected, this place was owned by oligarch billionaires, after all, and their money was being threatened.

They had expected an easy victory. Instead, they were met with the unyielding spirit of people who were willing to die for their ideals. As the police advanced, the workers formed makeshift barricades. In the din of clashing metal and shouting voices, Serhiy's voice rose one more: "Let us show these devils that the Kingdom of God will be usurped no longer!"

The battle was fierce. Tear gas and smoke filled the air, and the metallic clang of improvised shields and tools became a constant echo within Azovstal. The police, overwhelmed, found themselves retreating as each failed attempt to break thorugh only further fueled the crowd.

News of the occupation spread like wildfire. In factories, workshops, schools, and neighborhoods across Ukraine people began to seize control. In Kharkiv, Kyiv, and even the smallest of villages, anarchists and socialists and communists took to every street.

They named it the Black Revolution, refering to the black flag of the Azovstal revolutionaries.

Countering the revolution, far-right nationalists also took to the streets, clashing with people in Kharkiv, Kyiv, Donetsk, and Odesa.

 

[Owen]

​

At the Australian Embassy in Kyiv, which shared its premises with the Canadian Embassy, there would be 100 diplomatic and consular personnel working there from the Department of Foreign Affairs and Trade. 10 diplomatic security contractors would also be working there, almost all of them would be local Ukrainians. The Australian Embassy was eager to not have to use the security contractors or get into any clashes with the local Ukrainian population. Being a western nation, it was likely to be a target from an unregulated anti-capitalist, socialist movement eventually. The situation had taken them completely by surprise, so much so that Ukraine still maintained a "Exercise normal safety precautions" travel advice. The quick spread of the events in Mariupol to places like Kyiv and Kharkiv raised alarm bells and they quickly informed the DFAT Emergency Centre in Canberra about the unfolding events.

Canberra would give the order to begin reducing the amount of staff at the Australian Embassy gradually, based on logistical factors. They would still want to maintain a skeleton staff of 10 to provide consular assistance to Australians in Ukraine. The Ambassador, Bob Tyson, was asked to leave as well. All of the staff and the Ambassador were to temporarily relocate to Poland. They would be asked to take all sensitive documents with them. Some would take whatever available flights were left between Kyiv and Warsaw or Krakow. The others would travel by personal vehicles to the Ukraine-Poland border travelling via the E373 to the Dorohusk-Jagodzin border crossing with Poland. They would ask Canadian officials if they wanted to come with them out of the country, given the two missions were neighbours Nathan. They would show their Australian diplomatic passports to the Polish border officials at the border ManBear.

Ukraine would be placed under a "Do not travel" advice and Australian citizens would be urged to leave by any means possible.

Alex

 

[Bossza007]

Private and Encrypted​

Kongkiat Prommabuth had been serving as the Consul General of the Socialist Republic of Thailand in Kyiv since the last Ukrainian election. Even with the already scandalous accounts of Russian vote rigging and the subsequent re-election, nothing had prepared him for this. This was the day the Christian-anarchists of Ukraine rose, defying state power itself in their fervent pursuit of true fealty—to the Kingdom of God’s authority.

“This… this is unfolding, isn’t it?” He stammered, the words escaping him in the shared consulate office near Sportyvna Square. Around him, his local colleagues were mirroring his stunned silence, each glued to their own screens. Kongkiat scrolled frantically through social media feeds, a growing dread tightening his chest. *Close the consulate?* The thought surfaced, unbidden and unwelcome. He murmured, mostly to himself, “I really, really didn’t sign up for this posting.” A heavy sigh escaped him, the weight of the impossible settling in.

The silence stretched, each second amplifying Kongkiat’s unease, until finally, his screen flickered with a message from the Republic Embassy in Warsaw. He read it, and a slow burn of disbelief crept up his neck, settling behind his eyes. “Oh,” he murmured, more to the empty air than himself. “Okay. Solidarity with… the revolutionaries.” The words tasted like ash in his mouth. Supporting revolutionary movements in Europe felt like a precarious tightrope walk, especially with Thailand’s closest ally watching from the sidelines. “Artem,” he called out, sharper than intended, the word echoing in the sudden quiet.

“Contact the Ukrainian Foreign Ministry. Now.” He swiveled in his chair, expecting the usual brisk efficiency, the clatter of keys, the low hum of focused work. But there was only the sterile stillness of the office. He blinked, then again. Artem’s desk was bare, the computer screen dark. He scanned the room – empty chairs, silent screens, abandoned coffee cups growing cold. The consulate office, moments ago humming with nervous energy, had become a ghost ship, adrift in the rising tide of revolution.​

 

[Alex]

As Kyiv awoke to the sound of sirens and distant echoes, the city's oldest university became a new centre of this revolution.

The anarchists stormed the halls of Taras Shevchenko National University. Students and the occasional professor threw open the doors to the revolutionaries. Banners of black and red were unfurled from the windows, and in the vast, ornate lecture halls, prayers and calls of overthrowing the nation's oligarchs rang out.

At the centre of this occupation stood Dmytro, a philosophy professor who led the students and those who had stormed the university, addressed the crowd. "They promised us freedom! They promised to contain and remove these oligarchs! Yet the oligarchs remain in power, political prisoners remain in prisons, and we have a Russophile scum installed as our prime minister! Well, I say no more of these bastards! The first Christians knew no kings, they knew no masters—only the justice of God! Let us live no more as slaves, let us tear down this institution of liars, abusers, and tyrants!"

As he spoke, news arrived that the Patriarch of Ukraine, His Holiness Mykhailo, had emerged from the golden-done St. Michael's Monastery to address the people. Word spread quickly—he would speak on the Maidan. Thousands gathered, revolutionaries and military and citizens alike, with many more tuning in on radio and television as he ascended the steps before the Independence Monument.

Clutching a worn Bible, the Patriarch's voice was hoarse and could only be heard thanks to the microphone, carried by makeshift speakers. "My brothers and sisters," he began, "in the days of the prophet Samuel, the people of Israel cried out for a king, for they wished to be like the other nations. But the Lord spoke to them through Samuel and said, 'This is what your king will do: he will take your sons and make them serve in his armies. He will take your fields and your vineyards, your very labour, and give them to his officials. He will make you his servants, and on that day, you will cry out for deliverance.'"

The crowd listened in silence, absorbing his words, the sole sound between his words being that of the wind.

"Have we not lived under such rulers?" The Patriarch continued. "Have our sons not been taken to fight was for these oligarchs? Have our fields and labour not been stolen and abused by the powerful? Do we not cry out for deliverance?"

A murmur ran through the gathered crowd. The Patriarch, bound by his position, could not openly call for this revolution—but his words were a benediction upon the uprising. He was telling them: God was not with the kings, not with the oligarchs. God was with the people.

"Down with the tyrants!" Echoed the voice of a woman.

"Down with the tyrants!" Another echoed.

Soon, hundreds of voices echoed the call as black and red flags waved above them. Quickly, the Black Revolution spread through the streets of Kyiv, the government declared martial law. Troops were mobolised, and barricades went up around government buildings.

The Prime Minister, Moroz, had ordered the police to destroy this revolution by any means necessary.

With heavy hearts, the police took aim at the protestors...

 

[Alex]

...But not a single shot was fired.

Soon, Kyiv was drowning in protestors. Wave after wave of revolutionaries stormed the National Bank, the Presidential Office Building, the Trade Union Building, the Cabinet of Ministers, the Parliament Building, and the Ministry of Internal Affairs. Black and red flags soon hung from windows and waved off rooftops, signaling the city's liberation.

Switching sides, the police of Kyiv placed Prime Minister Moroz under arrest for ordering them to fire upon the protestors. Meanwhile, the President was evacuated by helicopter to Ivano-Frankivsk.

As the sun set over a city now in the hands of its people, the leader of the revolution in Kyiv, Dmytro, stood upon the steps of the seized Parliament Building. The crowd fell silent as he spoke.

"Today, we have won a great victory! We have taken back what was seized from us. No longer will we live under the rule of oligarchs! This is the dawn of a new day! A day of the people, by the people, and for the people!"

 

[Owen]

With the bulk of Australia's Embassy now departed from Kyiv and with the remaining 10 personnel at the Embassy, the remaining 10 would leave Kyiv. They would attempt to take whatever flights were available to go to Warsaw, if no flights available they would take land routes to Poland. Australia would officially close its Embassy in Kyiv for the time being, until it was fully clear what the diplomatic situation was with the new administration in Ukraine or how stable Ukraine would be in the future. The Ambassador to Poland would now be accredited to Ukraine. Australian citizens would still be advised not to travel to Ukraine and to leave as soon as possible.