Russia moves in with the same playbook as the old empires—pretend it’s about protection, then draw new borders in blood. I saw this in Mogadishu before the warlord years, same lies, same quiet before the trucks roll in. Occupation always wears a rescue suit when it lands. The weak get warnings, the strong get consequences. I’ve heard diplomats talk for twenty minutes on sovereignty while a mother counts bullets in a basement. Talking heads don’t ride cabs in East Kiev—they don’t hear the real fear, just the echo in the studio.