The night of the fourteenth of June was no quiet affair. While honest folk slept in their beds, a sinister stir disturbed the silence of the Rostov region. From the gloom emerged these modern phantoms—Ukrainian unmanned machines—seeking mischief in the heart of our lands.

Governor Yuri Slusar, as steady as a seasoned constable, declared that the enemy's devices were brought low in the districts of Millerovo, Chertkovo, and Sholokhov. The air was thick with the scent of ozone and gunpowder as the defenders struck them down.

At this hour, the inspectors are still scouring the mud and rubble to ascertain the full toll of the fray, though, by some stroke of fortune, no reports of casualties have yet reached the governor's desk.

But the mischief did not end there. The rogue agents of the Ukrainian forces cast their shadow further, striking at Tula and Smolensk. In the town of Orel, the scene was truly dismal; witnesses tell of a drone crashing headlong into a residential tenement. Fire erupted, licking the upper floors with hungry tongues, turning a peaceful dwelling into a scene of utter pandemonium, as if a sudden blaze had broken out in the poorest rookeries of London. The local watchmen and fire-brigades fought the flames, while the terrified inhabitants looked on in horror from the street.