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Unsatisfied with the slow and peaceful nature of legislative reform, a number of firebrands from the National Front of Patriotic Corsinians have come out in force in their black and tan uniforms to deliver hateful speeches calling for an immediate Gexit. National Front's membership has been slowly rising in recent times, though they remain on the fringes of the Getten political scene.
Clad in a black leather trench coat and jackboots, Benjamin Oswald steps up to a podium and basks in the raucous applause of his audience in a local pub. After a few moments of preening and posturing, he leans into the microphone and begins to scream in a shrill voice about the degeneracy of the foreign Agorament. His mannerisms and way of speaking would be humorous if his words were not so terrifying. His spittle coats the microphone just as thickly as his words coat his audience with hate. The small, but passionate, throng eats up his words gluttonously, starving for more.
"The foreign, degenerate, liberal, bourgeois intelligentsia have brought our Nation to ruin!" He pauses rattling off strawmen to take a breath,"Every day the greedy hands of foreigners take jobs from our factories, money from our pockets, and independence from our nation!" More frenzied applause is heard. "It is not enough to cast off our chains! We must break them as well! The only path to greatness is through Force! Direct Action is the only way to free our People!"
The applause is not quite as strong as before, but the infectious spirit carries the day. Audience members who are a bit on the fence about armed revolution have their inhibitions swept away by the tide of comradery exuded by the enthralled crowd. They form into parade columns and march proudly into the streets, chanting party slogans and intimidating passerby. They pump their fists and hoot and holler, finally reaching their destination: Panagora Square.
However, they are not alone. Staring them down from the other side of the Square are demonstrators in favor of the Agorament. They are more numerous, but the National Front is more organized. They form into ranks and jeer at the so-called "cucks" showing their support for the Agorament. A particularly violent NF member pulls the pin on a hand grenade, but it slips out of his hand as he tries to throw it. The blast kills him and three other NF supporters. The rest of the men on the Gexit side, however, did not see the grenade be thrown and assume that the Aggies (as they derisively called their opponents) had thrown it. This whips them into a frenzy, and the NF charges headlong into the Aggies' lines, who respond in kind. They meet in the middle of the square, some men even clashing in the fountain in the shadow of the cold, indifferent stone face of the statue of Mole. The Battle of Panagora, as it was to be known, had devolved into an all-out brawl by the time the police had marshaled sufficient resources to break it up.
The death toll stood at five for the NF, and three for the Aggies. Dozens had been injured on both sides, and hundreds arrested. Social media is ablaze with stories from all sides, and every TV was playing it's local station to find out the latest. The entire nation sat on edge as this unprecedented chapter of history unfolded around them.