Sarah Kent was fretting over a long, jargon-laden document titled "Draft Electoral Rules for the Transitional Parliament (Third Edition)" on her computer screen. Allen stood beside her, marking several key paragraphs with a red pen.

"Look here, the candidate qualifications require preliminary review by the existing local councils' nomination committees. What does that mean? It means those old men in the county councils now have the power to decide who can run for the new England Parliament. Will they let someone truly representative of the community through?" Allen's voice was calm but piercing in its accuracy.

"And here. 'Electoral districts follow the existing Westminster Parliament constituency boundaries.' Those borders were drawn decades ago, and they can't reflect the current population and community distribution; it's all to benefit the two major parties!" Sarah angrily tapped the table.

The phone rang.

It was the liaison officer from London's "Preparatory Committee", speaking politely yet distantly: "Lady Kent, regarding the compilation of community proposals you submitted, the committee places great importance on it. It has been forwarded to the constitutional drafting team for reference. Additionally, for next Wednesday's public hearing, please prepare a ten-minute speech on the topic of 'the balance between local autonomy and central coordination.'"

Again "reference," again "prepare a speech." Sarah felt a wave of helplessness. They were included in the process, but like a drop of water in the ocean of bureaucracy, diluted, regulated, stripped of all sharpness and power.

"We need more direct action."

Sarah hung up the phone and said to Allen, "We can't just be spinning within their rules. Tell all local branches to organize a 'Constitution Watch Group,' to monitor every electoral district nomination process, recording all injustices. Meanwhile, start nominating our own 'shadow parliament' candidates using our own rules, directly electing representatives from within the community. Even if it's not officially recognized, let everyone see that another method is possible."

Allen nodded: "We've already done it in several pilot communities, and the results are pretty good. But we need more resources, especially legal support and media exposure."

"Media..." Sarah recalled the recent focus of the news seemed to have shifted again, "What are international news reports saying lately? Still about the UK's disintegration?"

Allen moved to another computer, quickly browsing the news briefs, his brow gradually furrowing: "Balkans... Republic of Serbian Bosnia is taking armed actions. The European Union and NATO are very tense. It looks... not like a small matter."

Sarah also leaned over to look.

The screen flashed a brief note: "Bosnia and Herzegovina tensions escalate, Serbian Armed Forces occupy key positions, may trigger a chain reaction." Though unfamiliar with the Balkans' complex history, she could sense a familiar, unsettling atmosphere from the words—a smell of blood when old wounds were torn open.

"The rest of the world," Sarah murmured, "isn't peaceful either."

Scotland, Shetland Islands, newly built "Storm Watch" radar station.

The wind here was strong enough to blow a person away, the chilly air carrying the North Sea's unique salty scent. The radar antenna slowly rotated beneath the gray sky. Inside the control room, McTavish was dressed in thick windproof clothing, watching the screen displaying the airspace and maritime situation.

Calum McDonald walked in, breathing out white steam, holding a fax: "Angus, the second phase compensation of 2.5 billion from London has arrived. But it came with conditions—requiring us to 'commit clearly' to granting 'permanent preferential tax rates' on the England segment of the North Sea oil and gas pipeline, and 'suggesting' that our future sovereign bond issuance should prioritize underwriting by London's financial institutions."

"Suggesting?" McTavish scoffed, "It's an order. The money's given reluctantly, yet they still want to grab us by the neck."

"The 'advisors' from Mexico also offered a new plan." Calum lowered his voice, "They're willing to provide a low-interest loan to help us pre-pay part of the debt owed to London on the condition that... the exploration and development rights of the new gas field near the Shetland Islands are entirely given to a Mexico joint venture company, and we allow them to expand a 'dual-use' deep-water port in Stornoway."

McTavish walked to the observation window, looking at the gray ocean waves outside. On the left was London, still wanting to bind us with money; on the right was Mexico City, wielding bigger financial offers and more advanced weapons, wanting to trade treasures underground and passages on the sea.

"What's our own assessment? What's the real value of that new gas field?"

"Initial exploration data looks good; it might be the largest discovery in the North Sea in the past twenty years. To fully develop it ourselves, we lack funds and technology, at least five years to production. Cooperating with Mexicans means the earliest in two years, but profits will be heavily divided, and..." Calum hesitated, "Once that deepwater port is expanded according to their standards, it'll be not just our patrol boats docking there."

McTavish was silent for a long time. The sound of wind was howling outside the window.

"Tell London, preferential tax rates can be negotiated, but it must be exchanged for the England market completely opening up to our whisky and agricultural products. Delay the sovereign bond issue." he finally said, "As for the Mexicans... tell them cooperation on the gas field can be discussed, but Scotland must hold 51% in the joint venture company; port expansion is possible, but wartime command authority must entirely belong to the Scottish Self-Defense Army. Additionally..."

He turned, eyes sharp: "Secretly reach out to the Norwegians. They have technology too, also developing the North Sea, and historically our relations aren't bad. See if they have an interest in jointly developing the gas field. Don't let the Mexicans think they're our only choice."