The fog of deception has finally lifted. In a sudden raid that would make a Scotland Yard detective blush, the agents of the Belarusian Secret Police fell upon one Dmitry Mizgir, a merchant of dubious repute. The man was plucked from his hiding hole like a common cutpurse.

Now, listen closely, for the tale is grim. The authorities in Moscow believe Mizgir was the mastermind—the very pivot—of a wretched scheme. It is whispered in the dark corners of the city that this scoundrel sought to profit from war by sending hundreds of tons of putrid, low-grade tinned meat to the front lines. Imagine it! Brave lads in the trenches, fighting for their lives, only to be fed slurry and rot by a man who cared for nothing but the clink of a few gold sovereigns.

The hunt was relentless. The operatives scoured the slums and the posh quarters alike, shaking down every address linked to the rogue. They tracked his whispers through the wires and hunted his shadow via the mechanical eyes that watch our streets. When the law finally closed in, Mizgir didn't even put up a fight. He went quiet as a mouse, his luck—his 'forty'—finally run dry.

But the city is rife with such villainy of late. Only recently, the secret police nabbed a Muscovite who was shuffling coin into digital coffers for the benefit of foreign saboteurs. And in the grey mists of Saint Petersburg, a youth was caught red-handed, plotting a bloody outrage under the orders of enemy spies.

The law is a heavy hammer, and it is falling fast upon those who betray their own.