Naijan: A small island nation in the North Sea

Capital of Naijan: Qayit

States of Naijan:

* Eraon, Birhan, Sien (Birhani states)

* Ishfana, Zanya (Zanyar states)

Capital of Eraon: Waimar

Capital of Birhan: Naimar

Capital of Sien: Sirvan

Capital of Ishfana: Weritlan

Capital of Zanya: Zealdan

Maralana: A neighboring country of Naijan. Maralana is four times as large as Naijan.

Capital of Maralana: Manganic

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Paperwork was not his forte.

Which, perhaps, was why he always found himself buried in it.

There were actual piles of real, honest-to-God, A4 sized sheets of paper on his desk. Piles upon piles of them rising high enough that he couldn’t see the walls of his office.

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You’d think that one of the most renowned research institutes in the country – hell, maybe even the world – would have digitized this entire sordid process by now.

But nope. No such luck.

Or maybe they had, and this was just a punishment the powers-that-be had devised specifically for Jehan, to try and bore him into being less fickle and tardy with paperwork.

If they’d asked him – which they should have, seeing as he was the world’s leading expert on himself – Jehan would have told them that this was a terrible idea. The piles of paper teetering on his desk didn’t make him want to work. They just made him want to commit arson.

Which, of course, was a clear indication of the fact that he needed more coffee. Jehan glanced down at the numerous circular stains on his desk, left behind by coffee cups gone by.

How many cups had he had? How long had he been sitting here? At this point, Jehan wouldn’t be surprised if he walked out the door to find that eons had passed by. Certainly felt that way in here.

He staggered to the coffee machine and poked morosely at the button that said tea, because that was the one that poured coffee, if any coffee remained to be poured. The machine whirred, and beeped, and purred, before finally spitting out a cup full of liquid darkness that smelled like heaven distilled.

Jehan reached for the cup, and almost crashed face-first into the still-groaning machine. The coffee splashed out of the cup, staining the counter and trickling over the edges, onto the floor.

And then came the deafening noise, a sound like a million thunderclaps going off at once.

Jehan whirled, his mind blank, one hand gripping the counter. Through the window across the room, he could see smoke rising into the evening air, curling into patterns before dissipating against the semi-darkness of the sky. The sound of sirens filled the silence of the evening, piercing Jehan’s ears like an army of needles attacking his brain.

The door opposite his desk burst open, revealing the silhouette of a tall, broad-shouldered man with an angular face and powerful limbs.

“God, Jehan,” Dileep exclaimed as he strode into the office, his voice tight and expression grim. “There’s been another one. It’s the metro this time.”