The air in Tbilisi crackled with tension. Protests against the government’s suspension of EU accession talks raged, fueled by anger and a deep sense of betrayal. In the midst of this chaos, a figure emerged from the shadows – a high-ranking official from Mikheil Kavelashvili’s faction. He sought out the organizers of the street protests, his face etched with a grim urgency.
“We need to talk,” he said, his voice low and urgent. “Russia… they’re planning something.”
The organizers, hardened by weeks of facing down riot police, eyed him with suspicion. “What are you talking about?” one of them demanded.
“They’re going to invade,” the official revealed, his voice trembling slightly. “They’ve requested permission to send troops across the border. If they take Tbilisi… Georgia will cease to exist as we know it.”
The organizers exchanged stunned glances. The idea was preposterous, yet the official’s demeanor was undeniably grave.
“Why are you telling us this?” one of them finally asked.
“Because we need your help,” the official pleaded. “We need to prevent these protests from escalating. Any violence, any instability, will play right into their hands.”
The organizers were skeptical. “You think we’re going to stop fighting for our future because of some… what, some rumor?”
“It’s not a rumor,” the official insisted. “Believe me, I wish it was. But I’ve seen the intelligence reports. They’re real.”
The organizers remained unconvinced. “The next protest will be the biggest yet,” one of them declared. “We can’t stop it. The people are angry, and they have every right to be.”
The official sighed. “I understand. But we need to try to keep things peaceful. We need to prevent any situation that could be exploited by Russia.”
The organizers, though deeply distrustful of the government, understood the gravity of the situation. Georgia belonged to Georgians. They couldn’t allow a foreign power to dictate their fate.
“We’ll do what we can,” one of them finally conceded. “We’ll try to ensure the protests remain non-violent. But we can’t guarantee anything.”
The official nodded, his relief palpable. He knew it wasn’t much, but it was a start. As he left, he couldn’t shake the feeling that a storm was brewing, a storm that threatened to engulf not just Tbilisi, but the very soul of Georgia.
All names of people and organizations appearing in this story are pseudonyms.
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