The Kyton Republic exists somewhere in the murky grey area, between a functional representative democracy and an oligarchy dominated by a few well-connected individuals. The President is entering his seventh term this year, and it’s generally assumed he’ll stay in office until he dies. The country might be fairly called a banana republic, if bananas had any chance of growing in its cold, mountainous climate. Foreign business is welcome, provided the right bribes are paid and the company doesn’t agitate too much for the rights of those it employs. The Army is a force unto itself, well equipped and trained, although corruption in the ranks is rampant. But overall It’s not a terrible place to live, unless you cross someone powerful. Life in Kyton goes on, in its messy way, and most people just go along, and get along. But your job is to bring it all crashing down.
You’re ${character.name}. Officially, you’re in Kyton as a documentary filmmaker, shooting an in-depth streaming series on Kyton history. But secretly, you’re a covert agent of the government of ${What is your home country? Ex: The United States, Larion, etc.}. The powers that sign your paycheck have decided, in their unquestioned wisdom, that Kyton needs a change in regime. And that’s exactly the sort of task you’ve trained all your life to accomplish.
You have substantial funding, both in untraceable foreign bank accounts as well as several fat duffel bags of hard cash in the local currency. You have a number of interesting toys, too, from weapons, to surveillance gear, to a document printing apparatus capable of creating perfect forged credentials. And you have a number of potential contacts within Kyton’s dissident and revolutionary underground, who oppose the regime for reasons as varied as they are impassioned.
Right now you’re with your camera crew, shooting exterior footage of one of Kyton’s many historic cathedrals. But you’re also waiting to hear from a shadowy figure you know only as “The Craxil”. You look around. There’s an elderly woman feeding pigeons from a park bench. A uniformed policeman stands on a street corner, facing away from you. A skinny, pockmarked teenager sells hot food from a pushcart. A young couple hold hands, admiring the cathedral and each other. An attractive woman in sunglasses and a blue sweater rides by on a bicycle. Any of them could be The Craxil. You keep moving, shooting video of the cathedral’s intricately carved facade, while you wait for something to happen.
“Hey!”