Kyle Johnson
[3] Kyle tapped the numbers on the payphone desperately, holding his coat tightly with the other hand. He really hoped the phone would be picked up. This was big. Real big. One ring... Two rings. Kyle hated these type of payphones, leaving him in the cold. It was one of those freestanding ones, not like a booth which you could at least hide in. Three rings. Four rings.
The phone was finally picked up. "This you, Kyle?" said his handler, Rachel. She was probably at home now, drinking coffee, the TV turned down low, off-handedly reading a book. Kyle exhaled, his breathe turning into an icy mist in the chill of the night.
"Who else?" said Kyle. "There's a problem. You know that thing that moved in here pretending to be a revolutionary?"
"Yeah, the Burner of Hope." said Rachel with recognition in her voice. "The one you were after. What's up?"
"We've got bigger problems. There's something wrong with Tejekov, something wrong with the country itself. It's... Hard to explain, but I've got this book here that might give us some clues."
"Kyle, what's going on? Give it to me straight, none of this 'hard to explain' bullshit."
"There's a potential Level 8 entity residing in Tejekov. It's either the country or an ingrained part of it."
"... You're not joking are you?"
"I wouldn't joke about this Rachel. This is too big for that. We're in trouble. This is really really bad. I need to stop this thing, but I need food first."
"Why food and not just a really, really big gun?"
"Listen, you just dumped me in the middle of a famine-struck country filled with goddamn insane rebels and a massive ongoing civil war without any food. I need the food or I'm going to die here."
"Just get some food from one of the houses, there's plenty of abandoned ones. Now, I need you to tell me what this entity is."
There was a short section of dead air as Kyle thought of how to phrase what he had learned, seen, and experienced.
He said "It's called--"
There was a short series of beeps, and a robotic voice with a vaguely Orwellian tone said "This conversation has been terminated by the Automated Unadvised Speech System. Please wait at your place while we send a political officer over to interview you. Your conversation has been recorded for training purposes."
He silently fumed, then slammed the phone against the payphone. Then he let go of it and let it hang, as he began to walk away. Kyle could have dismissed it as a false positive by the machine, or it could have been an actual positive, but Kyle had been taught from the day he was recruited to never think about dismissing those paranoid thoughts, those horrific thoughts, that irrational fear. It's your brain telling you the facts, even if your modern mindset can't take the implications.
Kyle had a feeling that he wasn't on steady ground. He wasn't just in a hostile country, he was in a country where the ground itself hated his guts and wanted him dead. He felt very small, and scared.
How did you discover this new horror?
Batzuso Gatson
[2] Batzuso woke up to the sound of chanting and the marching of feet. He could feel the warmness of her body next to him. In their apartment, everything seemed to be okay. But then again, it really wasn't. He pushed the duvet off him and got off the bed, heading towards the window. Outside, a crowd marched with three people. He tried to imagine some other innocent purpose this could have, but he couldn't think of any.
He shook his head. He could deal with the civil war. There was some family jewels set aside for paying for their flight out of Tejekov in the drawer on their bedside table. He would be away from this suffering in no time. But... Three people were about to die. Batzuso couldn't ignore that. He didn't know the context, but he knew that mob rule was never fair. He walked over to the closet, opened it, then took out a pair of shoes, trousers, a shirt, and a coat. As he dressed, Monica began to wake up.
"Sweetie?" she said from the bed. "What's wrong?"
"Nothing, dear." he said. "Just going out for a walk."
"... Batzuso, what's going on?" she sat up and looked at him with piercing blue eyes that reminded him of the eyes that gazed at him one lonely night at the ration hall.
He sighed. "There's a mob dragging three innocent men to their deaths. I think they're going to be killed. I have to do something."
Monica got off the bed and stood up, glaring at him. "No. You aren't going. We're only a few days from leaving this place. We can't give up now because three more people are going to die!"
"Please, Monica, I need to--"
"You don't need to! Please, Bats, this horror is almost over... We'll be able to have the baby in peace, no war. We'll have a family." her eyes shone with tears. "We'll have a home."
"This is our home. Tejekov is where we were born. I can't let this atrocity happen when I could stop it."
"Please, you can't do this!" she walked over and grabbed the lapels of his shirt. "The people out there are insane! They won't just kill you, they'll cut you to pieces and torture you and god knows what else..."
Batzuso embraced Monica in a hug. They stayed like that, in peace even when the crowd screamed for blood outside and there was gunfire in the distance. "Monica... I won't do anything stupid."
"... Promise, you piece of shit..." she said, very quietly. "Promise."
"I do."
She let go of him and looked at him, tears now falling from her face, shining in the morning light. "Get back here as soon as you can."
Batzuso nodded. He kissed her on the cheek, whispered "I love you," then walked out of the apartment, shutting the door behind him. It was a small, but resolute click. Monica sat down on the bed, staring at her feet. That was the last time she ever saw Batzuso, and the second the door closed she had a feeling that it would be.
How were you planning to get out of Tejekov?
Gunnar Whitkinson
[4] The palace was a large, grand sprawl of spiraling corridors, gold and silver paneling, and almost tacky decoration. It was imposing, glorious, and the last thing that remained of a dictatorship that was rapidly being torn apart by it's own citizens. Outside, Gunnar could hear shouting and gunfire as the revolution began in earnest. Inside, the national anthem of Tejekov was playing incredibly loudly, as if the music could stop the revolution. They certainly had no chance otherwise: for some reason, there was not a single guard around.
Tejekov, united in fear,
our death is clear,
We will die alone in the dirt.
Fighting for a cause that can only hurt!
Gunnar never realized how incredibly depressing the Tejekov National Anthem was. He kept walking down the corridor.
Rise Tejekov Rise!
We raise our hopes in the darkest skies!
We stand united against the sweetest lies!
Rise Tejekov Rise!
The girl was around 18, maybe 19. She was leaning against a door looking like she was ready to leave, with her coat tightly wrapped around her and a wide-brimmed hat pulled down low. She had blond hair that could have reached down to her back, but she tied it all in a very tight -yet barely constrained at the same time- bun. She looked at him then did a little motion to one of the loudspeakers.
Fields of fertile land,
grown by the invisible hand!
Swamps choked by the blood of a thousand men,
The day we die, that is when
Tejekov will be pure!
"He's been playing that on a loop for the last few days. It's been driving me up the goddamn wall." she said.
"It's sad for a national anthem." said Gunnar.
"Yeah, and a chair's smaller then the sun. Where's the stuff?"
Gunnar took out the small package and handed it to her. She opened it, then looked at the vials of cyanide. There was enough there to kill a small sperm whale. She took one out and held it to the light and examined it. She nodded, as if she was an expert on these matters.
"What are you planning to kill with that?" asked Gunnar. "An elephant?"
"I'm not taking any chances with him." she said.
"Okay. So, money?"
"Hm?"
"If you want to keep that, I want my money. That's sort of how buying things works."
"Jesus, what can I pay you in? The Tejekovan ruble, as you can guess, is going to be fucked in half because of this revolution and I don't have any other currency. I'll pay you back."
"That's not how it works, miss. I need my money now or you don't get it. My business is very based in the now."
"You wouldn't make an exception for a lady trying to overthrow a dictator?"
"No."
The girl frowned, then she sort of smirked in a very desperate manner, which Gunnar imagined she hoped looked 'flirty'. "I can pay by exchange of services..."
"... Tempting, but no. I'd prefer to have something I can walk off with in my pocket without a blender and a lot of patience."
Her eyebrows went down, and she showed teeth. "You bastard! You think I can't get you arrested? I could call the guards and get you detained."
Gunnar had felt uneasy in the huge, empty palace. Maybe they were just waiting for someone to call them in? It all felt too risky. He could lose the cyanide, he just didn't want to get killed.
"Okay, okay... You can have it." said Gunnar. "Just let me out without killing me."
The girl nodded slowly. "We have an understanding. Good. Now get out of here."
Gunnar did as she asked, leaving the constantly repeating anthem and the palace in all it's deluded grandeur all by itself.
Why did you sell cyanide to the concubine?
Stephen Bridger
[3] Stephen felt like he was alone in the park, but he knew that someone was watching and waiting for him. He just wished the person would get it over with. The waiting always took forever, in the dusk. After a while, another stepped out of the bushes and lit a cigarette. Stephen could never see his face, it was always too dark to see even with the fading light. The man wore a long coat, a ushanka, and a black suit that was sharper then a knife.
Stephen had no clue who he was, and he didn't particularly want to know.
"Stephen." said the man in an accent that was not Russian, Ukrainian, Tejekovan, Georgian, or Belarussian, but it definitely never left Eastern Europe. It was charming enough. "How are you on this night?"
"Okay." said Stephen.
"... Never change, will you?" said the man, taking a drag of the cigarette. "Now, Stephen, I have something for you to do."
He felt nervous. The last mission nearly got him killed. "What is it? Is it dangerous?"
"Slightly. You need to get me the Palace's blueprints from the architect's apartment, Yevok Smirkoff. It's definitely in his house."
"... Why do you need the blueprints? The Glorious Leader killed himself, the palace is a derelict."
"Great men never die, Stephen. They just stop, then they come back."
"The Glorious Leader was not a great man by any stretch of the imagination."
"Really? You're saying that to maintain total secrecy on yourself, to the point where you can rule a completely communist country seven years after the Soviet Union collapsed, which pisses off the Americans to no end, and no-one even knows your name? I call that greatness."
"I call it being evil."
"None of us are evil. We all do what we can. Now, Stephen, do you accept?"
"Of course. How can I not? I'm at gunpoint."
"Not a bad place to be. At least you know where you stand."
"You stand at gunpoint."
"You're rather uncreative, aren't you?" said the man, tossing his cigarette butt to the ground. "You're also cynical. I'm letting you go after this."
Stephen raised an eyebrow. "Really?"
"Yes. You've served your purpose, did it admirably, and now I'm letting you go."
"Does that mean in a 'I'm going to kill you' way?"
The man merely laughed. Stephen sighed and looked around, then said "Jesus Christ, I never know where I stand with you." When Stephen looked back at where the man was, however, he found the man had disappeared. He stared, grumbling to himself irritably.
How are you held at gunpoint, and what mission did you do before you met the man?
Vincent Aspitos
[5] Vincent kicked down the door and shouted "Go, go, GO!"
He rushed inside the tenement, backed up by Fresov, Welchek and Jaako. They all had AKs and body armor, and were ready to take on whatever surprises waited for them inside the tenement. Vincent thought he could hear someone upstairs yell "Oh shit, it's a raid!". He grinned and rushed up the concrete stairs, and headed for the apartment he guessed the shouting came from.
He stopped at the doorway and motioned to the sides of it, making the gesture for his men to pile up. They did so, and he placed his boot on the door, looking for weak spots.
"Flashbang, sir?" asked Fresov, holding up a grenade hopefully.
"Make it so." said Vincent. He found a weak spot, and withdrew his boot in preparation. "On three... Two..."
There was a loud cracking sound, and Vincent looked away as the flashbang was tossed in. BANG! He rushed in, waving his AK in all directions. The apartment was a sparsely decorated apartment that could have been two rooms including the bathroom, maybe three. A man was desperately trying to flush down bags of what was probably drugs.
Vincent yelled "Get on your knees now!"
The man spun around. He was shirtless and shoeless, only wearing briefs. He stared, then kneeled down, holding up his hands. "Listen, man, this isn't my apa--"
"Shut it!" Vincent yelled, taking out handcuffs. He grabbed the mans hands and brought them behind his back. Slapping the cuffs on, he noticed Fresov and Jaako emptying drawers, flipping beds, and generally causing a ruckus, while Welchek brought up the rear.
"As you are a criminal, all your rights are now stripped of you." said Vincent. "You will be held in a cell until the Ministry of Formative Justice determines you to be innocent or until the universe ends, whichever comes first. You have the right to remain silent, but you do not have the right to speak. If you attempt to break the right of silence, it will not be looked upon favorably by the Ministry."
The criminal remained silent, as that was basically all he could do. Fresov held up a bag of yet more illicit substances. "He's pinned boss! He'll be stuck in the gulag until he's dust!" said Fresov.
Vincent nodded. He twisted his head as he heard a door open. Jaako turned around and aimed his gun at the intruder inside the apartment. A rather attractive woman in lingerie stared at the men, then stepped back. Jaako fired off a five round burst, all of which hit their mark in her chest, stomach, arms and head. She fell backwards, and hit the ground with a large thump. Vincent stared, open-mouthed.
"... Jaako, the fuck was that?" he heard himself yell as he shambled in shock over toward the corpse. She was bleeding badly, and was probably already dead. Hell, she would have been dead before she hit the ground.
"She surprised me sir." Jaako said.
"You killed her." he said. "She's dead."
"She surprised me. I thought she was an intruder. She was probably a prostitute anyway."
Vincent could see the criminal mouth "Linda". That must have been her name. He looked back at her corpse. She wasn't get any less dead. "Jaako, this...You killed her." said Vincent, unable to parse it.
"Vincent, leave it." said Fresov. "We won't get implicated."
"Who cares if we get implicated?" said Vincent, turning around to face Fresov. "What matters is that she's dead, and an officer of the law killed her."
"So?" said Jaako.
"We shouldn't kill innocents."
"She wasn't innocent."
"What happened to 'Innocent until proven guilty'?"
"She was on the scene of a raid. That's pretty guilty."
Vincent shook his head. "I can't believe this. This is... This is wrong. This is so wrong."
"This is how it goes, Vincent..." said Fresov. "We aren't in a hollywood movie. In Tejekov, people just die. That's how it goes."
"Why in Tejekov? What makes us different?" asked Vincent.
"Kill one man, others watch and learn how to kill."
"Jesus Christ!" yelled Vincent, shouldering his AK. "That explains nothing! Every day, another innocent dies! Every day, more blood on the ground! Why does it have to happen? Why do we have to do it ourselves? This is utter madness."
"If God wills it, then it shall be done." said Jaako.
"God didn't will this!"
"Then who killed her?"
"You did, you son of a bitch!"
"I just pulled the trigger. I'm not part of this." Jaako nodded with the air of a theologist. "It's fate. It's destiny. If it wasn't me, it'd be Fresov who shot her, or you."
"No, no... You're insane, that's not how it works."
"If everyone's insane, the only sane man is insane." said Fresov. "Give it up, Vincent. She can't be innocent if she was here."
"Goddammit, I'd just like it if we actually fucking knew that!" said Vincent. "Asking questions, not just fucking murdering people straight off the bat! I can't believe this. I thought this country could be redeemed! I really thought it, I really goddamn thought it! But I guess not! I guess it's just too bloodstained to even bother with! Fuck this country, fuck everyone in it, and fuck you two!" He ripped off his badge and threw it to the ground, and stormed out of the apartment.
Fresov, after Vincent was safely out of earshot, asked Jaako "You really think it was fate that shot her?"
"Yeah." said Jaako.
"It wasn't." said Fresov. "It was justice."
Why were you on a raid?
Sanya Degtyarev
[1] Sanya separated the money into neat piles of American dollars and counted them, a lantern next to her. There was slightly less then usual. It made sense: Tejekov was in a civil war. The money came from a variety of criminal pursuits. Tejekov was a great staging point, almost as loved as the Atlantis Isles. For one thing, the border guards were absurdly awful at their jobs.
They'd approve you if you came with fifty bound and gagged sex slaves, a truck full of AK47s, and a suitcase full with enough drugs to terrify Hunter S. Thompson. You could hide the stuff basically anywhere in the countryside since there wasn't a lot of people checking around for that sort of shit. Plus, airport - a grand title for what was basically a shack, a single cargo airplane and a dirt runway - with again, abysmal security.
There was less money then usual. It'd pick up again, she thought. Now Tejekov was not only a staging point, but a place to score money. People needed drugs to put their mind off the horror, guns to kill the others with, slaves and illegal mercenaries to fight for them. Tejekov was now a double-whammy of criminal possibilities.
She leaned back and looked at the ceiling of her apartment. It was lit with candles, as the power had run out days ago. Her younger brother, Dan, slept on the couch and was almost hidden under the duvet. Apart from him, there was no-one else. She sighed, thinking about the future. Even if she had money (money right in front of her, at least), the economy was still fucked and she didn't have enough money to leave yet. She wouldn't like to leave and end up dirt-poor when she could have been rich enough to survive.
Besides, who would need an illegal accountant in America, Britain, Australia, Germany, wherever she went? That niche was filled. But Sanya was the best in Tejekov. The Wasps loved having her around, to do all the boring stuff while they shot up seedy bars and robbed houses. She got paid well. She had her place and that was here.
Too bad her place had to be Tejekov. No-one wanted to belong in Tejekov. If you could leave, you did. Living in Tejekov wasn't an honor, or even tolerable; it was like you were being punished.
Sanya stopped thinking about it, beginning to stand up. Her back ached from slouching in a chair for hours. She walked awkwardly over to Dan, and sat down on the arm of the couch. She began to rub his short, mousy hair. Was he all that was left of the Degtyarev family? First dad, then mother, grandfather, uncle, Karla, now all that was left was Sanya and Dan.
Sanya inhaled and closed her eyes. Under her breath, she whispered to Dan "I won't let you die. We'll get out of here. I promise."
She hoped she could uphold that promise.
There was a loud, banging knocking at the front door. She wondered who it could be, but then realized that it had to be him. Malcolm. For her sins, she just had to deal with Malcolm. Funny how they were on the same side only a few days ago. The revolution changed a lot, but really Tejekov was right back at the start, at it's birth: when it was a crushed nation that was constantly in a state of banditry and death.
Famous saying in Tejekov: a revolution is a 360 degree turn. There is no other definition.
She grabbed Dan's shoulder and squeezed it. Dan opened his eyes and murmured "What?"
"Ssh." She said quietly. "Dan, I need you to do something for me."
"What?" asked Dan, looking worriedly at her.
"Get your backpack, and take all the money off the table. Go out through the backwindow, like I taught you, then go to a man named Gunnar Whitkinson's house. He'll help you. Ask him for a way out of Tejekov, then hand him the money. He's at 330 Lenin Avenue. Got that?"
"... Yeah? Why do I--"
"Repeat it."
"330 Lenin Avenue. Why do I have to go there?"
"You know I love you, right?"
"... Yeah, I do, sis."
Sanya tried to avoid crying. She merely hugged him, then held his shoulders as she left the embrace. In a slightly shakey tone, she said "You better go."
The knocking was louder now. Dan looked at the door, and looked like he understood. He quickly got up, grabbed his military rucksack, put on his olive-green hoodie, pushed all the money into the rucksack, then climbed out the back window. Sanya watched him, and stood up. She went over to the cabinet and took the pistol out, then piled up at the doorway where Malcolm would be coming through.
He kicked down the door, and walked over towards her. She had only fired the pistol once, and she hoped she could use it properly. Malcolm walked in, and that's when she fired. She hit him in the leg, at which point he fell over. Malcolm was... Well, Malcolm, but he didn't deserve to die. He didn't scream, he just snarled.
Sanya jumped over him and ran through the doorway, heading out the front door, slamming it behind her. She just hoped she could catch up with Dan in that cold, long night that was waiting for her. She'd get food as soon as possible, but she had to get to Lenin Avenue or else she was going to be left behind.
What did you do to Malcolm? How do you know Gunnar?
Aidin Dunevant
[6] Uncle Dmitri was not there for the first part of Aidin's life. Then he was, and that was that. Uncle Dmitri did not smile and he worried Aidin's parents until the day they were gone. Then Uncle was the only one. They walked alongside each other in the park. Uncle was dressed in a red coat that was faded and dull from age, and he was wearing a pair of camouflage cargo pants. Aidin was hungry.
"I'm hungry." he said.
"Get used to it." said Uncle Dmitri.
Uncle Dmitri stopped at a tree and took a bottle of vodka. He took off the cap and took a long drink of it. After a while he stopped for breath. Screwing on the cap again, he tossed it back into his backpack. Aidin sat down on a nearby bench. Dmitri raised his eyebrows.
"Who told you it was time to slack off?" Dmitri asked.
"I thought--"
"You thought! A miracle in and of itself." said Dmitri. "Hell, let's take a break to allow your mind a rest."
"Hmph." said Aidin.
"Don't you hmph me."
"I didn't say anything."
"You did. You just didn't say it in words."
Aidin just couldn't win with Dmitri. Tiredness was scratching at the back of his eyes. He hadn't slept in a long time. They had been walking for millions of miles, at least as far as Aidin could tell. Nothing changed, it was all concrete buildings and rain. The park was the only thing that was different.
"Why do we have to walk so far?" asked Aidin. "We aren't going anywhere."
"You're important, you know. We can't let you stay here." said Dmitri.
"You say I'm important, but you keep bossing me around and calling me stupid."
"That's because you are."
"I don't like you."
"The feeling is mutual."
They both looked away and folded their arms. Neither of them were getting anywhere with each other. Aidin took a book about Yuri Gagarin's trip to space and began to read. He had already read it five times over, but it only kept getting better every time. Apparently four Tejekovans were involved in building Vostok I. Aidin had to smile at that. His own countrymen worked on a space ship! That went to space!
Plus, the book had pictures of the flight instruments and Vostok itself and Yuri Gagarin doing various things. Including lying in Vostok I whilst in space. That was a really low quality photo. Did they spend all the money on the spaceship and have to skimp out on the cameras? That would make sense.
Dmitri said "It's getting dark. We best go find somewhere.". With that, he walked away from the tree and down a path that lead onto the street. Aidin stuffed the book into his pack and half-ran, half-jumped over to Uncle Dmitri. He followed along beside the adult who was close to four times his size. It was funny how, despite being his uncle, Dmitri looked nothing like Aidin or his family.
There was a gunshot in the distance. Dmitri spun around, taking out his pistol, and shielded himself in front of Aidin. Nothing responded.
"Stay here." he said. He ran off, leaving Aidin all alone.
Aidin sniffed, and turned to the buildings beside him. There was a store there, covered over with wooden boards and metal shutters. There was an alley leading behind it. He began to walk through the alley. He stopped as he saw a little hole in the corner. Too small for anyone to fit in... Except a seven year old boy who hasn't eaten for days.
Aidin kneeled down and managed to squeeze himself inside. And inside... something smelt very very good.
Why does Uncle Dmitri think you're important?
Author
Topic: Roll To Remember [A Momento Style RTD] (Read 6395 times)