[Greater Díenstad] Ghosts in the Fog

by **Tnemrot** » Thu Mar 02, 2023 10:49 pm

OOC: Ghosts in the Fog is a writing project that goes back to 2015 when I first attempted to tell the story of the nation of Tnemrot. However, due to a lack of direction, the thread petered out after only 14 posts. The concept itself morphed and changed into a second attempt, titled Ghosts in the Fog: Redux in 2016. This one had legs but after 41 posts, again it was cut off as the story had wandered beyond the original intent. So here we are, hoping that the adage "Third time's a charm" holds true. This thread is largely closed, intent on being a narrative detailing the complex history of a new nation named the Corporate Republic of Vokhodia. Vokhodia itself is the metamorphosis of Tnemrot, a more mature idea cursed with a campy username. Thus, I hope you enjoy what's to come.

Ghosts in the Fog

The masses never revolt of their own accord,
and they never revolt merely because they are oppressed.
Indeed, so long as they are not permitted to have standards of comparison,
they never even become aware that they are oppressed.
(George Orwell Nineteen Eighty-Four, Part II, Chapter IX)

Background
The Corporate Republic of Vokhodia (Vokhodian: Korporativnaya Respublika Vokhodiya, KRV) is a totalitarian country located in northern Greater Dienstad. The country is an international pariah with an all-pervasive government that elevates "the State" above all aspects of society. The Vokhodian people are taught that "the State" is infallible and that to question "the State" is tantamount to treason. "The State" provides for the people of Vokhodia, as is its duty, expecting unquestioning and unwavering loyalty.

The Vokhodian government promotes a State ideology called Doroga or "The Road." Doroga is a variation of corporatism with certain aspects of communist and fascist ideologies. Under Doroga, "the State" wields all of the power and all of the authority and "corporate groups" are tasked with carrying out their duties handed down from "the State." Doroga requires that "the State" provide for all of its people meaning everyone is given a residence, an education, a job, clothing, and food without cost. However, "the State" does not provide this without limit and Vokhodians receive only what is considered necessary. Employment does pay a wage that Vokhodians may use, within reason, to purchase additional amenities above the minimum provided by "the State." Doroga is also deeply skeptical of foreign influence and takes a very strong, even draconian stance towards internal security, essentially creating a totalitarian police State. Doroga does not push for isolation or a closed country but it does call for strict and thorough review of foreign nations and people to ensure that they will not compromise Doroga or the society of Vokhodia, remember there can be no challenge to "the State."

Vokhodia is a bureaucratically heavy State but the most important bureaucracy for the purpose of this thread is the Ministry of State Security or the Ministerstvo Gosudarstvennoy Bezopasnosti, MGB. It is the task of the MGB to oversee all domestic and foreign intelligence gathering and analysis, domestic law enforcement, courts and prisons, and protect the State at all costs. The MGB is a gargantuan bureaucracy, the largest within Vokhodia, and it maintains a sizeable military force dedicated to internal operations. The Ministry of Defense or the Ministerstvo Oborony, MO, is charged with defending Vokhodia from external threats. The militaries of Vokhodia are strong and powerful but only in respect to their mission and within the confines of those missions. This means that the MGB's forces are focused on internal defense and are ill-equipped to fight against a foreign aggressor while the MO's forces are tasked only with defending the borders and territories of Vokhodia and is almost purely defensive in its capabilities, meaning that it is geared to respond to an invasion or an attack versus initiate one itself.

A major aspect of Doroga is a theme that centers around "the narrative." What this means is that Doroga dictates what people are taught to believe about not only "the State" but also "the State's" history. Doroga applies a revisionist approach to history and is responsible for the general theme of all education in Vokhodia. The emphasis is on a history that "the State" determines to present itself in the most positive light possible, with the aim of suppressing dissent or any notion of "life on the other side."

[More will be added as the story progresses]

Synopsis
Ghosts in the Fog intends to take the reader inside of Vokhodia and behind the eyes of a loyal agent of the State, Major Arkady Bykov. It will present, through narrative, a glimpse into the everyday society of Vokhodia and delve further into the philosophical and political themes and dilemmas of the country. Our main character will become a character in the very history that Doroga seeks to suppress as he unravels truths that have long since been suppressed forcing him to make a choice. Can he achieve freedom? Will he perish at the insistence of the State? Ghosts in the Fog will pose questions but it won't give answers. It's up to you to figure out those answers yourselves. The story is set to the theme of the Fear Factory album Obsolete, a fitting story in and of itself.

Characters

Vokhodian State
- Major Arkady Bykov
  - [Photo]
- Ryadovoy Ravil Ermakov
- Starshiy Leytenant Zinovy Kalinin
  - [Photo]
- Ryadovoy Zakir Zuyev
The Resistance
- Alina Kharitonova
  - [Photo]

Chapters

Chapter I: The Fear Factory
Chapter II: [To be posted]
Chapter III: [To be posted]
Chapter IV: [To be posted]
Chapter V: [To be posted]
Chapter VI: [To be posted]
Chapter VII: [To be posted]
Chapter VII: [To be posted]
Chapter IX: [To be posted]
Chapter X: [To be posted]

by **Tnemrot** » Thu Mar 02, 2023 10:50 pm

.:.
Chapter I
The Fear Factory

• • • † • • •

Monday, December 5^th, 2022 | 22:10 hrs
Chernodrinsk, Vokhodia | Sector 14B, Industrial District | Major Arkady Bykov

M

ajor Arkady Bykov looked at the temperature gauge on the console and the mere thought of those numbers sent shivers up and then back down his spine. Twelve hours earlier, he'd been in the director's office, standing at attention, having been summoned by armed guards to the 39th floor. Sure that he'd committed some transgression, Bykov was admitted while the director was still on the phone and, as such, been ordered to stand in front of the man's desk and waited in total silence. The director, Polkovnik Vladimir Zubarev, was saying nothing as he held the phone's handset to his ear but he was sure listening; and for his part, Bykov stared at a spot on the wall a meter behind the director. Standing there in a freshly pressed uniform, a pillar of the prim and proper appearance standards required of a man who worked in the State Security Directorate, Bykov couldn't help but feel his heart begin to race. Who was the director talking to and were guards about to come and take Bykov away? Bykov began to notice almost everything but what stuck with him most was the temperature. The air in the director's had been significantly warmer than where he was now, for the director had his thermostat set to 24°C, two degrees above regulations, though who was going to lecture the head of the Third Directorate's Counterintelligence Division about temperature regulations.

Bykov's eyes opened as the vehicle turned and he refocused on the temperature gauge that now read -25°C. It was a temperature that no one could get used to, despite being born into it. He looked up and out of the thick, armored-plated, front windshield to see nothing but a curtain of whiteness, which was hardly surprising given they were moving through whiteout conditions. The vehicle struggled in the coldness, despite being rated for operations at even lower temperatures. The windshield wipers beat furiously, useless against the ice fog that had enveloped the area, which only sapped heat from the vehicle's steel hull. The heat generated by the diesel engine could do only so much and even with as many people in the vehicle as there were, no amount of body heat or engine heat could keep up with the laws of thermodynamics in -25°C temperatures.

"Major," the director finally said - as Bykov's mind went back twelve hours again, as if it were a living memory that was occurring simultaneously to the freezing cold present. The director had put down the phone and picked up his glasses, placing them gently on his face before bending forward to open a folder. Bykov didn't look directly for any man who was a major had long since perfected the art of using his peripheral vision. He saw his name was on the cover of the folder and he could see that it was his employee record, which the director now sat reading. "We were just reviewing your file," he continued, finally addressing the fact that a second man was in the room though far in the back, seated by himself in a chair, a cigarette burning between his fingers. The man had acknowledged Bykov's entrance with only a look and had been silent since, even taking great care not to disturb the director between drags.

The we part worried Bykov, though he did his best to stow his concern. The air, thick with warmth and the caustic smell of cigarette smoke, pricked at his exposed skin like needles. The fact that he'd been brought here by armed guards had been the first measure of concern, the presence of a second man the next, and now the final measure, his employee record. If he'd done anything, it was too late and there would be no use playing dumb, even if he wasn't aware of whatever he'd done. Bykov knew how the State worked, knew how they were infallible. The director leaned back and left the cover to Bykov's file open.

Whatever was coming was about to befall him and though he knew that he would admit culpability, though he wasn't going to volunteer his guilt just yet. He wanted to hear the charges first. "Your employee record," the director continued, "is exemplary. I've spent two hours going through your career and your evaluations. You are a model officer in this organization. How do you feel about that Major?"

"Correct," the director smirked. Bykov began to wonder if he was really in trouble at all. The unusualness of the situation confused him. In all his years, he'd never heard anyone hauled before the director via armed guards being made to do so for compliments. He knew he wasn't up for a promotion and so the mystery pecked at his brain. "It is because of this that we have a special assignment for you," there it was. The we continued to confuse him. Who was we unless the director specifically meant the State. It was an unusual word choice, to say the least.

"I am ready to serve sir."

"I bet you are. Let me ask you, have you ever heard of the term 'Fear Factory'?" With those two words, everything clicked. Bykov's mind suddenly stopped time, processed everything up until then, and instantly he knew that he wasn't in trouble, he wasn't there for compliments, he was there to make history. It was his time to shine and so he would.

"Yes sir, I am familiar with that term." As a counterintelligence officer in the Third Director, shining and standing out was no easy task. Though Vokhodia's enemies were numerous, they were kept at an arm's length and despite what the news propaganda said nightly, there were few enemies within the country's borders, largely thanks to extremely rigid - or rather hostile - tourism and immigration policies, which heavily discouraged any travel to Vokhodia. International sanctions and the status of a pariah State meant that few were banging down the doors hoping to winter or summer within the nation's borders. The country was not full of spies, though the news said otherwise, and Bykov knew this. The overwhelming amount of vermin that the SSD dealt with were of a criminal nature and that was the purview of the First Directorate, not the Third Directorate, which solely handled almost all intelligence and counterintelligence matters, the exception being technological surveillance, which was handled by the Fifth Directorate. The Fifth Directorate also handled cyber criminals, which was a rather boring job, given how thoroughly the internet was censored by the "Great Vokhodian Firewall," as it was known.

In the twelve hours since Bykov had heard those words and stood in front of the director, a lot had changed. He'd gone from the comfort of his desk and the confines of the SSD to the front seat of an armored personnel carrier moving at crawling speeds through ice fog, a vehicle with the bare minimum of insulation and little in the way of "creature comforts." He willed for every bit of warm air possible to come through the vents, specifically his vent for in this coldness even the best of humanity was selfish. Now slogging its way up a hill, the blowers barely registered as the driver coaxed the vehicle through its gears, the engine using all of its power for traction rather than the heating system. Behind Bykov, the gunner sat in the turret, rubbing his hands together, barely focusing on the sighting system before his face, ignoring any likelihood that there were any hostile forces ready to ambush them. The gunner rightly reasoned that it was simply too cold for an ambush and even if it weren't, the thick fog would make seeing anything impossible. The thermal sights showed nothing and for him that was good enough. Bykov didn't see a point chastising him.

Bykov turned further around and looked at the eight men seated along the vehicle's walls. Huddled together, though they had their backs to the hull walls, they were significantly warmer than he was for each of them was huddled close to one another and wearing over twenty kilograms of body armor and equipment, along with thermal clothing. These eight men, along with the driver and the gunner, were from the Sixth Directorate, responsible for staffing the Action Teams, as they were called. These men were the heavy hitters, the ones who stormed flats and homes for criminals and traitors of the State. They were the muscle behind Bykov's assignment, which was the destruction of this Fear Factory, the first such instance of one in nine years. His mind returned yet again to twelve hours ago, when he was first briefed on its existence.

The director took Bykov over to a table where the other man joined him. They stood and looked down at a map of the city and the director pointed right to a spot on the map and spoke the words that Bykov would never forget, "There is a Fear Factory in this sector," his finger hovered over Sector 14B in Chernodrinsk, the capital of the nation no less. "What do you know about Sector 14B?"

"Nothing sir, I've never been there nor have I had any cases there," Bykov answered.

"I'll let Kovalev explain," the director said. It was then that Bykov recognized the man. This was Podpolkovnik Ruslan Kovalev and his reputation was well known throughout the Third Directorate even if few people had met him one-on-one. He was only a podpolkovnik because he preferred to still work in the field, and any promotion to Polkovnik, the same range as Zubarev, meant that he would never work in the field again. Kovalev largely worked in foreign intelligence, which meant that Bykov and he had never crossed paths. It was curious, to him at least, why a foreign intelligence officer would be involved with a domestic matter but he knew better than to ask any questions on the matter.

"It's largely abandoned Major, very industrial. It would make sense that a Fear Factory would exist here but not one as developed as this is," Kovalev snuffed out his cigarette in an ashtray and lit another one for the man was a three-pack-a-day chain-smoker. "First Directorate has swept through here a few times in the past year, the last time just three months ago, largely picking up vagrants and other non-desirables hiding from their civic duties. It's not surprising they missed it though. It's not surprising any of us missed it really but we wouldn't expect the policemen to pick up anything now, would we?" No one laughed but it was meant to be a joke. "Remarkably though, they managed to strike some gold three months ago. They arrested fourteen people and one of them just happened to reveal details of the Fear Factory. Naturally, they turned this individual over to us. We put her back into the sector and we've been watching her since."

"Her?"

"Yes, her name is Alina Kharitonova. Have you heard of this name?"

"No."

"Neither had we. She's no one but we've turned her into a CI for our purposes. She's under the impression that if she cooperates, we'll reduce her sentence from ten years of hard labor. She's expendable, more so now that she's fulfilled per purposes to us."

"Major," the director cut in, "we would like you to lead the raid on this Fear Factory. You'll have no shortage of resources from the Sixth Directorate available to you. They need the kind of leadership your file says you can bring to the operation. As for the girl? It would be suitable that she not survive the raid."

"Do you have a photograph of her?"

"Yes I do," Kovalev procured it from a folder on the table and handed it to Bykov. It was a photograph of her in an interrogation room and even under the duress, she looked completely at ease, as if she was carrying out some plan and her capture and subsequent interrogation was just a piece of it. Her face had become burned into his memory since. She was younger than he was, perhaps only twenty-five. She had brown hair, which was braided along one side, typical of women of her age. Her eyes were hazel and the paleness of her skin proof that she was a resident of the capital, which the sun refused to shine upon on all but the rarest of days. She didn't look frightened, which was perhaps the most intriguing aspect of her face. She wasn't afraid. Everyone was afraid but not her. Bykov found it haunting.

• • • † • • •

by **Tnemrot** » Sun Mar 26, 2023 7:25 pm

• • • † • • •

Monday, December 5^th, 2022 | 22:30 hrs
Chernodrinsk, Vokhodia | Sector 14B, Industrial District | Major Arkady Bykov

Bykov snapped back to the present when the driver announced over the vehicle's intercom, "Sir, we are seven kilometers to target," doing so as the vehicle crested the hill and the heater blower came back on with full force, the air significantly warmer now thanks to the extra strain on the engine from the vehicle's hill climb. Almost instantly, the blast of hot air slapped Bykov in the face and traveled down his collar and inside of his uniform where he felt his skin prickle and the warmth absorb right into his body. His was the lead vehicle in a ten-vehicle column and one-by-one, each of them crested the hill and relief of a similar nature was felt by everyone else. Within each of those vehicles was eleven men, a driver, a gunner, a vehicle commander, and an eight-man assault team from the Sixth Directorate. The assault teams had no formal names but they were colloquially referred to as "goons" by those like Bykov, who preferred to use their brain and skill over their brawn to handle matters. Yet, Bykov had to concede that a raid such as this one in particular needed as much brawn as it had brains.

Not answering the driver as he was under no compulsion to do so as the lead officer in charge of the operation, he simply stared ahead out of the armored plated glass that provided a window for him. Under his direction, 109 men had boarded these ten armored personnel carriers and set out for Sector 14B. Eighty would lead the assault on the Fear Factory, their mission being to neutralize it, capture its leaders, round up the workers, and then call in the mop up crew to sift through the evidence, cart away the prisoners, clean up the dead bodies, and bring the leaders to their interrogation chambers in the basement of the 165-meter-tall SSD building. It would be their job to catalogue everything that they could find, bringing it back to the laboratories and forensics tables for processing and examination. The goal was always to find out what the resistance was up to and to uncover not only the next Fear Factory but unravel the ranks of the resistance. Bykov's job was simply to lead the raid, to ensure it was a success, and to execute Alina Kharitonova, personally.

His mind wandered back to her photograph, back to her face and its lack of fear. It haunted him and the counterintelligence officer in him wanted to know why she wasn't afraid. Bykov had done hundreds of interrogations, so many that he'd lost count, and all but a select few were rapt with fear when Bykov loomed in front of him. Bykov always had a special interest in those who weren't. Of course, it didn't matter in the end, if just because Bykov represented the State and the State never lost but still, it always irked him. Those who didn't show fear held onto something and he'd never truly know what that something was. He watched men off to the execution chamber who'd never once shown him fear and he knew that each one who didn't had defeated him and, by proxy, the State. Those who didn't show fear didn't for a reason and he wanted to know what that reason was each and every time. Kharitonova was no different, at least in this regard. She'd shown no fear just like some of the others over the years.

He'd watched her interrogation video several times, looking for any clues or hints that she was running her own counterintelligence operation. She described the Fear Factory and its location but not without significant effort. He wondered if she'd held on because this was all going to be an ambush, a thought that had gone through his head plenty of times. Yet, as he looked at her face during that interrogation, he didn't see any clues or hints suggesting that she was laying a trap for them. She was confessing but she wasn't broken, on the contrary, she had significant strength still inside of her. For whatever reason, she'd been broken on this regard but she held onto too many other secrets firmly inside of her, secrets that his - as he saw them - "lesser capable colleagues" didn't recognize. He wished that he'd been the one summoned to interrogate her because he wanted to pick her brain apart, to see what other secrets she was hiding from the State. Her face continued to bounce around within his brain as if it were a pinball in an arcade machine.

Outside of the window, the fog had grown even thicker. As a Vokhodian, Bykov was more than used to the cold and the ice fog but he'd never gone through ice fog as thick as he was today. Chernodrinsk was at a higher elevation than many cities of the world, which contributed to the coldness and the harsh, inhospitable weather. The temperature was above freezing only five months of year from May to September and now it was December and the dead of winter with many more months to go, including February, which was the coldest of the months. Temperatures routinely dropped to -40°C in February and the coldest temperature that Chernodrinsk had ever recorded was -65°C, just nine days after Bykov's birth. Even as cold as it was at -25°C, this still represented the "warmer side" of winter, though December had only just begun.

"Go slowly," Bykov ordered as the fog reduced visibility to mere meters. Switching channels on the radio, Bykov pushed the transmit button to his headset and said, "Lead to all vehicles, we are entering Sector 1-4-Bravo. I want all gunners sweeping their sectors. We are not positive that the enemy is unaware of our presence. Be prepared for combat." One-by-one, the vehicles checked in, acknowledging his order. "All right, bring it down to twenty," he further ordered the driver who did so, slowing the vehicle to 20 km/h, a crawl. The heat increased as the vehicle's engine used even less power to maintain its forward movement and though Bykov enjoyed the extra blast of hot air, he hadn't given the order for that reason.

He looked over at the driver, a lowly private, young and barely old enough to shave. Yet, he handled the vehicle like an old, seasoned professional, a testament to the Sixth Directorate's training regimen. The private himself could go far, that is if he maintained his discipline, though he would only ever go so far. He could never become an officer but that was fine for most of them. For them, the senior sergeants were the gods of any uniformed service and this was their best aspiration, even if it would take two decades to get there. For Bykov, as a major, he was beset with his own limits. He could easily make it up to polkovnik on his own by just doing his job but he couldn't get any further without something big in his favor. If he played his cards right and this raid was the type of resounding success that his superiors wanted, he could parlay it into a lifelong career progression that could see him rising to the one-star rank of general-leytenant. Though only one rank over polkovnik, having a single star on his shoulder would open up an entirely new world to him, one that few men ever saw. He would have influence and a position well above anything he could have ever hoped to achieve.

This raid would make - or break - his career with the SSD. If he failed, he would be torn down like a ruined poster, discarded in a rubbish heap as if he were nothing more than a used napkin. The SSD would fault him for everything that went wrong and punish him accordingly. They would hang failures on his neck for years to come, likely throw him in jail and accuse him of treason. Yet, if it went right, Vokhodia awaited. Thus, he had everything riding on this raid, on the operation as a whole, and despite all of this pressure, all he could think about was the photograph of Kharitonova and the lack of fear in her eyes. Why aren't you afraid? He asked himself yet again, a question he'd asked himself at least six dozen times already.

"One and a half kilometers," the driver said and Bykov forced the thoughts out of his head. He needed to concentrate on the raid, not about the existential dilemma of why Kharitonova showed no fear when sitting in the interrogation chamber surrounded by the true power of the State.

"Understood private, press on," Bykov answered before flipping the radio channel and pushing transmit once more. "Lead to all vehicles, we are one-point-five out, maintain separation and commence assault as briefed, we are 'Go for assault,' I repeat, 'We are go for assault!'" As the other vehicles acknowledged, Bykov flipped around in his seat and looked to the very back of the vehicle where the team leader was sitting against the door. "Serzhant, are you ready?" He addressed the man by his rank, chiefly because he didn't know his name. He didn't know the name of anyone in the vehicle, which was common amongst the Sixth Directorate when dealing with anyone outside of their ranks.

The team leader flipped a thumb's up to Bykov and in unison, so did the other seven men. Instinctively, they all reached down and began to check not only their gear but one another's gear as well. Six of the eight of them were armed with carbines while the other two carried assault shotguns designed to put a lot of firepower onto a close-range target in as little time as possible. "Target is ahead sir," the driver called back over the intercom and Bykov turned back around to look through the windshield. The fog was still just as thick as it had been since they entered the sector with one difference. In the approaching distance, the outline of a significantly-sized structure appeared to take shape. Even through the fog and the darkness of the night, it was impossible to hide the imposing building that was their target. Once a factory that was used to manufacture industrial construction equipment, it was anything but small.

The power to the entire sector was off and it had been off for years, ever since it had been abandoned as part of a revolving five-year-plan that seemed to stretch on for an infinite number of five-year increments. That made the darkness even darker. "That is the target," Bykov reassured the driver as they drew closer, "distance?"

"One kilometer."

"Okay, remember the briefing, close to four hundred meters and then commence the assault."

"Yes sir," answered the driver as he looked at the digital map on the console. Without the map and their satellite uplink, there was no way that they could know where they were through all of the thick fog. Driving with their lights off, the ten-vehicle convoy slowly crept forward, still maintaining just 20 km/h. As big, as large, and as heavy as the convoy was, moving this slow they made almost no noise.

"Gunner, do you have anything on thermals?" Bykov called up to the gunner who was now alert in his seat, staring through the sighting device that enabled him to spot and engage targets.

"Nothing sir," he answered.

"Keep watch, we're very close."

"Yes sir."

The vehicles continued forward, closer and closer, finally closing to just four hundred meters when Bykov, having flipped back to the main channel for all of the vehicles, felt the APC lurch forward. "Commence assault!" He shouted after mashing the transmit button, his heart now racing faster than it had gone in a very long time. One-by-one, the vehicles shot out of the convoy and sped up rapidly, maneuvering around the building to set up a perimeter. The building was vast but not so vast that ten tactical teams couldn't cover it. Eighty men hitting this building would be more than enough, especially since they knew every nook and cranny of the building, having been studying the blueprints and rehearsing the assault since Kharitonova was first let go and returned to Sector 14B, long before Bykov had been told of its very existence. He'd been brought along at the last minute and put into the commander's seat but, in truth, the assault was going to happen without his direction. The Sixth Directorate men knew precisely how they were going to hit the building, all they'd needed from him was to give the order to do so and sign the paperwork when it was done, which he'd be more than happy to do.

• • • † • • •

by **Tnemrot** » Tue Mar 28, 2023 8:07 pm

• • • † • • •

Monday, December 5^th, 2022 | 22:44 hrs
Chernodrinsk, Vokhodia | Sector 14B, Industrial District | Major Arkady Bykov

The driver halted the vehicle just fifty meters from the building, slamming to a stop. Everyone and everything lurched forward but the assault team, already prepared for this, only swayed slightly in their seats. The team leader slammed the button that opened the ramp and the moment the ramp touched the ground, out he and the rest of his team went, leaving it open as they formed up outside of the vehicle. Inside, Bykov ordered over the intercom, more like shouted, "Ramp!" The driver, already reaching for that very button, did so and the ramp raised back into position, seemingly at half of the speed that it took to lower. In the short time that the ramp door was open, all of the warm air that had taken so long to build up and sustain rushed out with tornadic-level strength. The heat from the blowers continued to pump out hot air but the longer it took for the ramp door to seal, the more air rushed out to the frigid outside. It was only when the ramp door was sealed in place and the hot blast of air hit Bykov in the face did he realize just how cold it had gotten inside of the vehicle.

Heart continuing to race, adrenaline coursing through his veins, Bykov tore off the headset that connected him to the vehicle's intercom and its radios and instead switched to his personal radio, which was clipped to his belt. The earpiece that he had previously snaked underneath his uniform shirt he now put in his ear as he simultaneously flipped on the radio, just in time to hear the raid commencing.

Having moved quickly, more so to defeat the cold than the enemy, the tactical teams were already in their designated positions around the building. Some would be going through doors and windows while others would be going in through the walls. Charges were set and a last second check was made by each of the ten teams. The "Go" command, "Execute, execute, execute," echoed over the radio net once the last team was in place, and in rapid succession, over a dozen charges detonated around the building, some only designed to defeat a door lock, others designed to blast a two-meter-wide hole in a concrete wall. Just as had happened when the ramp dropped, the sudden opening of the building to the elements would suck whatever warm air was trapped inside of it right out into the coldness of the Vokhodian night.

"Now we wait," Bykov said to no one in particular before reached for the vehicle's headset and put it back to his ear, switching sides now. "Gunner, what do you see?"

"Nothing sir, just the team entering. Explosions washed out the thermals, nothing to see."

"Well if anyone comes out who isn't friendly, make sure you hit them."

"Yes sir," the gunner answered, swinging the barrel of the massive, 30-millimeter cannon to aim directly at the hole made in the wall. By that point, all ten teams were already inside, where visibility improved drastically since they would no longer have to contend with the thick fog. Seconds later, the first gunshots echoed. In overall time, from the moment that the rear ramp to Bykov's vehicle dropped to these first shots, barely three minutes had elapsed.

At first, it was only a few shots and then it rapidly grew into a crescendo as the assault teams encountered armed defenders. Over the radio, Bykov listened as team leaders identified targets and called for grenades, flanking maneuvers, or suppressive fire. They leapfrogged over one another to get into position, moving in pairs or in groups of four, the bodies racking up as the defenders, ill-equipped compared to the assaulters, stood little to no chance. Those who were smart enough to use cover to defend their positions lasted only long enough for the first grenade to go off near them or, if they were lucky enough, withheld a little longer before a flanking maneuver exposed them and they were cut down.

Throughout the entire time, Bykov remained in the vehicle, protected from both the cold and the firefight. He listened as team leaders reported clearing rooms, marking their progression on his mental map of the building. Unlike the maps that the assault teams had studied, Bykov's mental map wasn't nearly as developed since he'd only had a few hours with the blueprints. The assault teams had weeks with them and they'd committed that map entirely to their memory. In contrast, Bykov had done the best he could in the small time allotted to him.

As each minute passed, the ferocity of the firefight remained steady until finally, and without any warning, the gunshots began to peter out, the reports of armed hostiles dropping until finally, there was nothing but silence over the radio. All-in-all, from end-to-end, the raid took twenty-seven minutes but it felt like an eternity for Bykov, who'd stayed on the sidelines, listening to his earpiece, saying nothing, waiting for the end. When finally that end came in the form of an "all clear" from the last tactical team, the overall commanding officer of the Sixth Directorate forces came over the net, "Major Bykov, the scene is secure. We're commencing prisoner roundup now."

"Very well," Bykov answered. "I'm coming in, have a man meet me at the entrance for Alpha Team."

"Yes sir," came the response and Bykov put down the vehicle's headset. Now it meant venturing out into the cold, if even for the short walk into the hole that had been blasted by the assault team.

"Keep the heat on," he ordered the driver as he opened his door and was immediately greeted by a fistful of frigid, frozen air. He went through the hatch and down onto the pavement, shutting the door behind him with a slam. On the ground, he shivered against the cold as it enveloped him and traveled up from the ground, through his boots, and into his legs. Instinctively, he pulled his coat tightly against his body. It didn't seem as if the garment was going to be warm enough, despite what he'd been led to believe, and by the time he reached the open hole in the wall, his face, the only exposed part of him, had gone numb. A soldier dressed in tactical gear stood at attention and saluted him as he approached. Bykov returned the salute, despite the fact that his bones and his muscles had gone completely stiff in the fifty meters that it took to walk to the entrance.

"Sir, I am your escort," the man responded from underneath his balaclava.

"Efréitor," Bykov said, looking at the insignia on the man's chest, "escort me through here and give me a synopsis as best as you can, then take me to the prisoners."

"Yes sir," the efréitor or corporal said as they entered the building. "Sir, our team breached here and we moved through his corridor and into the next room beyond there," he pointed to a door at the end of the corridor that appeared to be half off its frame. "We encountered no resistance in this corridor until we breached that door and entered the next room," they walked into the next room now, in silence. "Inside here, we encountered three armed men there, there, and there," he said, pointing out the bodies of the three, armed men, each of them shot in the chest.

"Good work."

"Thank you sir. We moved from here into the next corridor down there and encountered one hostile, as you can see at the end of the corridor. He was not armed sir." The body of the person was slumped over against the wall, half blocking the door. He'd jumped through the door quickly as the assault team was moving down the corridor and a well-placed shot to the chest by the point man dropped him less than a meter into the corridor.

"A hostile nonetheless," Bykov remarked.

They walked the length of the corridor, about forty meters, before entering what seemed like it had once been a storage room and it still was for it was filled with pallets of paper. "We found all this here sir."

"Yes, I suppose this is where they store the paper for their leaflets. You're aware of what they do, right Efréitor?"

"I am not sir."

"Efréitor, well let me tell you, a Fear Factory," Bykov walked around the pallets, "is a propaganda machine run by foreign agents that employ treasonous citizens. It is here that they print leaflets of lies that they then spread illegally to the people of Vokhodia. They aim to start a revolution against the State and utilize their written and printed lies to affect that outcome. Do you follow?"

"Yes sir I do."

"What we've uncovered here is the first Fear Factory in nine years," Bykov smacked one of the paper reams triumphantly, surprised by how thick it was. "These pallets, how many are there? Thirty?" He did a quick count.

The corporal counted as well, "Thirty sir."

"Thirty pallets could produce millions upon millions of leaflets. They could spread their lies to half of the population of Vokhodia. There's nothing more dangerous than the lies of a Fear Factory Efréitor. Okay, what's next from here?"

"Well sir," the tour continued, "from here we encountered no resistance and moved through the next corridor. We would have gone through those steel doors," he pointed to them, "but did not have access. We planned for this possibility during training. The next corridor led to several rooms, which are all bathrooms. These are unoccupied. We moved from here into what appears to be a large common area. This is where we encountered the heaviest resistance sir."

"How many total?"

"Eight sir, all of them taken down."

"Very well, let's head there," Bykov said with an approving nod and off they went, past the bathrooms, which Bykov peeked into just to see for himself. "They probably collect precipitation from the roof and convert it to water within the building. It's warm in here, relatively speaking at least," he remarked as he saw the bowls all full with water.

"Yes sir, it feels as if the temperature here is indeed above freezing though not by much, enough to prevent the water they use from freezing."

"Compared to the outside, we might as well be on the equator," Bykov joked, uncharacteristic for a man in his position but a joke nonetheless.

"Yes sir," the corporal answered with a respectful chuckle. "All right sir, here is the common room. It's also where we're rounding up the prisoners."

"All right then we'll wait here until all of the prisoners are available."

"Yes sir," the corporal said, relaying the information to his team leader. Bykov broke away, strolling around the area, hands clasped behind his back, surveying the dead bodies and the construction that the occupants had made to develop this into a common area. Of the bodies, there were eight of them just as the corporal described, each one sprawled out on the floor where they'd fallen and died. Their weapons had been kicked away from them, just in case any of them stood up and attempted to shoot the assaulters in the back. It was obvious though, from the wounding patterns, that none of them were alive, or could have made such a bold attempt. Multiple bodies bore the signs of headwounds while others had more than a few shots to the chest, almost all of them within the "ten-ring," as the center of the chest, where the heart is located, is called on practice targets. The assaulters of the Sixth Directorate were excellent shots, as was clearly evident by the wounding patterns on all of these corpses, and all of the other bodies that lay strewn throughout the Fear Factory's interior.

As Bykov walked past each body, he inspected the face, comparing them to the mental photograph of Alina Kharitonova. He was hoping that she'd died in the assault, that she'd been brave enough to pick up an assault rifle and defend the Fear Factory, hoping that she'd died at the hands of an assaulter so that he wouldn't need to do it. Bykov, for whatever reason he could not pinpoint yet, had reservations about her execution, reservations he'd never felt before about any of the countless men he'd executed or ordered executed in the past. As he checked each of the bodies, he saw plainly that none of them bore a resemblance to her face. Still, there would be many more to inspect. "Efréitor," he called from a distance, "how many killed?"

"At least fifty sir, we're still doing a count," the corporal answered with a shout.

"What about us, any wounded or killed?" Bykov closed the distance now between him and his escort.

"Three wounded sir, no one killed."

"I trust they are being seen to medically?"

"Yes sir they are, we have a triage station set up deeper into the building, where our medics are treating all of the wounded."

"All right, let's go there while they round up the prisoners. No sense standing here waiting."

"Yes sir, right this way," the corporal led Bykov through a series of corridors and rooms until they came to what seemed like another storage room where a central aid station had been established. The medics were tending to all three soldiers, one of whom was seriously injured while the other two remained ambulatory. Seven prisoners were being tended to as well, one of whom was in bad shape and would ultimately die before Bykov left the room.

"Gentlemen," Bykov came over to address the wounded, "you have done a great service. We'll get you evacuated from here and on the mend in no time." Nods came in place of responses as the men, wounded and in pain, focused less on the major and more on their own problems; after all, being wounded was just "part of the job" to them. The medics remained focused on their patients, perhaps a little annoyed that Bykov had decided to come through while they were in the middle of working, instead of at a later time.

"Sir," the corporal broke his attention away, "the first set of prisoners are arriving now."

Bykov nodded, "Lead the way Efréitor."

• • • † • • •

by **Tnemrot** » Sun Apr 02, 2023 1:05 pm

• • • † • • •

Monday, December 5^th, 2022 | 23:26 hrs
Chernodrinsk, Vokhodia | Sector 14B, Industrial District | Major Arkady Bykov

Starshiy Leytenant Zinovy Kalinin was the second-in-command of the operation and had been riding shotgun in the rearmost vehicle, which meant that when the operation began, his positioning was almost directly opposite that of Bykov's. However, unlike Bykov, he had not looked to enter the building that the moment the "All clear" had been sounded. On the contrast, he waited until Bykov had a chance to go on an initial tour before he left the safe confines of his own armored personnel carrier, which was not out of character for the senior lieutenant. The son of an upper cadre official, his assignment has second-in-command had been made a week earlier, while SSD leadership was still reviewing Bykov's candidacy. Kalinin was, to anyone within the SSD who did real work, a spoiled brat. He lacked the fortitude and the intelligence that so many of his peers possessed and even in menial tasks, his performance was underwhelming.

When Bykov learned that Kalinin had been appointed his second-in-command, he'd done everything he could to stifle the disappointment, fearing that giving any hint of disagreement might not only exclude him but get back to Kalinin's well-placed and very powerful father. Such would be a career-killer for Bykov and, for the SSD and the Vokhodian State, a waste of a talented professional in favor of the country's very real but not often abused patronage system. Unfortunately, the checks and balances in place to prevent men like Kalinin from getting anywhere had failed in the SSD thanks to a combination of weak leadership - at the time - and his father's personal appeals. Thus, Kalinin entered the SSD and rose through the ranks like anyone else, despite being unqualified to organize a filing cabinet, let alone be second-in-command of this operation.

In truth, had something happened to Bykov, Kalinin would be in command for all of a few microseconds before the Sixth Directorate took over operational leadership. That had already been worked out, not with Bykov's knowledge but amongst the leadership of the assault teams. Had Bykov known, he would have tacitly approved though he could not say so as this would be a major break in the protocol of the SSD and even though it was the right thing to do, he couldn't assent to it, which was precisely why he hadn't been told. In truth, the Sixth Directorate was well apprised to Kalinin's uselessness. From the moment of his appointment, they shut him out of any planning meetings by giving him a series of time-consuming, menial, but mildly important tasks to keep him out of their hair. Their efforts had worked and Bykov, upon learning of Kalinin's lack of contributions, couldn't have been happier.

Now, as he arrived back in the common area, Bykov noticed Kalinin milling about, surely hoping to gather material for his gloating sessions where he proclaimed himself, "part of the command team that took down the first Fear Factory in nine years." Bykov rolled his eyes as he approached from behind Kalinin, sure that his gesture would not be seen by the man. Yet, his footsteps were hard to dismiss and Kalinin, hearing them approach, turned around and snapped to, saluting sharply, "Major! We have done it sir!"

"Yes we have, at ease," Bykov returned the salute, continuing to roll his eyes though now only in his mind. "We have three wounded, none killed."

"Excellent sir, we knew they'd stand and fight."

"Yes we did Leytenant," Bykov answered, dismissively. It was then that he opted to light a cigarette, knowing that Kalinin - which was unusual for a Vokhodian - abhorred the things. He reached into his coat pocked and removed his cigarette holder and the lighter, popping one into his mouth and lighting it while Kalinin, who had yet to be dismissed, stood in front of him. Beyond annoying Kalinin, the cigarette would provide some semblance of warmth for Bykov. As the building remained open to the outside air more and more of its warmer air was being sucked out thanks to the laws of thermodynamics. Bykov turned away from Kalinin and surveyed the scene before him. The prisoners were brought in and put onto the floor, their hands restrained behind their backs. Much to his chagrin, Kalinin feel in line with Bykov, as would be expected of him. Despite being useless, Kalinin was keenly aware of what was expected of him and how he should act in situation such as these. Itching to address the prisoners himself and "get in the game," Kalinin knew he could not speak unless given the opportunity. Bykov, on the other hand, wouldn't allow it. Walking past the kneeling prisoners, Bykov looked at their faces, searching for Alina Kharitonova. She wasn't there, yet. "Good evening," he said aloud as he let out a long puff of smoke into the air above him. Kalinin, shorter, would not get the smoke in his face but could be seen visibly cringing if just a little.

"Please allow me to introduce myself, I am Major Bykov of the Third Directorate. You've all been found in the employment of an illegal Fear Factory operation and, as such, you will be remanded into custody of the State Security Directorate where you will be tried for high treason against the State and the people of Vokhodia. You can expect severe sentencing by our judicial system, which will match the severity of your crimes.

"Should any of you be discovered as a foreign agent and not simply a traitorous citizen of our great State, I can assure you that the Vokhodian government will not negotiate with your 'home nation' for your release. You will be executed for crimes against this State as that is the only acceptable punishment for foreign agents." Bykov strode past the line and continued to look at each face. Three groups of prisoners had been brought in and her face wasn't amongst any of them. He wondered if she'd even been in the building or if she was one of the many corpses he had yet to see. "Efréitor, what is the count?" By now, Bykov had dismissed the presence of Kalinin, even though Kalinin clung to his heels.

"Confirmed sixty-two killed sir, including the one who died in our triage area. We have ninety-one prisoners," the corporal answered, having only just been given that update moments earlier.

"Ninety-one," Bykov whistled as he looked out at the prisoners kneeling before him. He did a mental count and could see that a good number remained missing still, "Efréitor this is a magnificent evening, wouldn't you agree?"

"Yes sir I would."

"And you Leytenant? Would you agree?"

"Yes sir," Kalinin said, clicking his heels together, standing at attention while he answered Bykov's question.

"Leytenant, I have an important task for you. Please call in the mop up crew and make sure they get here. You will need to guide them. It is your priority to ensure they clean up this scene thoroughly and carefully. I am putting the trust in you to oversee this operation."

"Yes sir," Kalinin responded, his chest somewhat puffed out before him. He saluted sharply before turning away to exit the area, having been given his charge. His radio had been left in the vehicle and so he would need to go and retrieve it, which more than pleased Bykov. It was a subtle detail that Bykov noticed quickly as he first surveyed Kalinin. There was no characteristic bulge in his jacket where the radio would hang from his belt and he lacked the earpiece in his ear. Thus, it was convenient to give him this task, if just to get him out of sight.

Bykov returned his attention to the prisoners as another group was ushered in and he scanned each and every one of their downturned faces as they were led in and forced to kneel in a neat row behind those already there. It was in this group that the pale, slightly hypothermic face of Alina Kharitonova finally presented itself. And there you are, Bykov thought to himself, somewhat saddened that she was still alive and that it would be up to him to put an end to that life. What a pity to waste something so beautiful, he thought again from afar as he studied her face. It was different, starkly different, from what he'd seen when she was in the interrogation room. Here she was scared, downright terrified even, afraid to even look up at her captors, instead seeming too afraid to look at anything other than the ground in front of her. Why now? Why the fear now? What were you hiding? He asked himself as he studied her. Bykov, as an interrogator, was truly a master of human body language and behavior and just as he knew from watching the tape he knew now, she had been hiding something in the interrogation, something that had given her strength. Now it was gone and he wanted to know why.

Bykov was about to move forward towards her when the leader of the Sixth Directorate's assault teams appeared, a burly sergeant major who barked at the prisoners, demanding to know, "Who's in charge here?" There was no answer, everyone trembling from a combination of fear and from the coldness of the environment traveling up their knees and into their body. They'd all been stripped of their warm coats before being restrained, partly to ensure they weren't hiding anything but also to make sure that if they did make a run for it, they wouldn't get too far. The sergeant major barked again, "I asked! Who is in charge here!" Bykov looked around the room and once again saw no answer.

"Starshyna," Bykov interrupted, "I believe I know who is in charge here. You must understand, I am uniquely gifted in the art of interrogation. Body language is everything Starshyna."

"Sir," he answered, not having realized that Bykov was in the room. He snapped to and quickly apologized, not because he was embarrassed but rather because it was required, given the variance in their ranks. "My apologies sir."

"It's fine Starshyna, you're doing your job and I cannot fault you for it. I believe though that she is in charge," Bykov said, pointing directly to Alina. The starshyna snapped his fingers and a private standing guard nearby abrupted grabbed her and yanked her to her feet, walking her over to where the sergeant major and Bykov were standing. The sergeant major had meant to execute her in front of everyone as a means to terrify the other captors into answering his questions and as he reached for his pistol, Bykov shook his head, "Starshyna, I think we can learn something from her before we can make an example of her, don't you think?"

"Sir, if you believe so," he stopped reaching for his pistol, "she is in your custody."

"Thank you Starshyna," Bykov put his hand on Alina's arm and she recoiled almost immediately at his touch, "I think we need to have a conversation. Would you kindly come with me?" Bykov asked as politely as anyone could and she nodded, not that she had a choice otherwise. "Starshyna, I have Starshiy Leytenant Kalinin bringing in the mop up crew. Please ensure that the prisoners are properly logged and then staged for transport. The Starshiy Leytenant may require your experience for assistance in the matter."

"Yes sir," the sergeant major said, snapping into a salute, fully understanding what Bykov was telling him. He began to bark orders as Bykov led Alina out of the room. Alina, in those brief few moments figured that her life was over, that Bykov had stopped the sergeant major from executing her not to interrogate her but rather to do it himself. In a way, she was partly right as that had been the charge given directly to Bykov from his superiors. She knew she wasn't the leader and wouldn't be able to give any information.

• • • † • • •

by **Tnemrot** » Fri Apr 28, 2023 7:58 pm

• • • † • • •

Monday, December 5^th, 2022 | 23:33 hrs
Chernodrinsk, Vokhodia | Sector 14B, Industrial District | Major Arkady Bykov

Bykov led Alina away from the commotion and the sight of everyone into a warehouse area where boxes of leaflets lay on sorting tables. Once destined for disbursement, now they were destined for the incinerator. Bykov surveyed the scene and led Alina over to one of the tables and patted a stool, "Please sit," he said finally taking a hand off of Alina's arm. "So Miss Kharitonova," he began, stepping a meter or so away from her and surveying the area further, "you know as well as I do that you are not the one in charge here but you and I both know that you know who that is. So, I'll ask nicely, 'Where are they?'" Alina remained silent but she wasn't as fearless as she had been in the interrogation room, Bykov could clearly see that from the way she sat on the stool, the way she looked around the room trying to avoid eye contact, the way she was breathing.

Bykov left the question hang in the icy air before moving closer to her, "All right Miss Kharitonova, allow me to introduce myself to you. I am Major Arkady Bykov and I specialize in counterintelligence, specifically interrogations. Now at a risk of sounding cliched, we can do this the easy way," he held his palm open and up as if offering this to her, "or the hard way," he emphasized this by making a fist. "I would prefer the easy way, it's a bit cold here to do things 'the hard way' but I am a master of my trade. Now, let's let you think about this for a few moments, I will give you some time," he began to walk around the room, looking at the boxes and the leaflets scattered around. Each station would have been manned by someone from the Fear Factory. Some stations would be for sorting, others for collating. Others would be to box up the materials for transport and so on and so forth, all of the necessary operations to take leaflets of paper, make them into effective bundles, and ready them for transport.

"This is a manual operation, is it not?"

"Yes," Alina answered, her voice weak and unsure.

"Impressive. There are so many stations," he reached over and grabbed a leaflet from the table. He read it over while she sat on the stool, contemplating his question, "Such creativity," he mused as he turned the paper over to ready the back.

"It's true."

"Of course it's true," he laughed, "of course you believe it's true. Now, allow me to ask you again. Where are the leaders? Did they escape?" She nodded her head and Bykov thought to himself, Good, the easy way! "Where did they go?"

"You'll never find them," she answered somewhat defiantly, mustering some courage.

"I do believe we will Miss Kharitonova. You see, there's only so many ways out of this building and teams are sweeping the tunnels, the sewers, all of the auxiliary shafts, the tertiary exits, et cetera, et cetera, et cetera. It's not a matter of if but when we'll find them. What do you think?" Tears started to come down her face. "Miss Kharitonova, do you know why I know your name?"

"Because I'm an informer," she looked to the ground, ashamed.

"Because you're an informer," he repeated, "yes that is right. Do you know what we do with informers?" Silence followed. "Well first we use them until we get what we want. In your case, we have gotten what we want. Then, well have no use for them and they're still traitors to the State. Moreover, they're traitors to their own cause. So, what do you do with a traitor? Why you execute them." Her complexion began to gray as the color rushed out of her face, or rather what little color there was amidst the frigid air. She started to feel a little lightheaded too. "Interesting," he picked up another leaflet, "so let me ask you, hypothetically. Suppose this is true," he shook the piece of paper in the air and she looked up from the ground, "let's see. The 'Zimovyian Genocide,' yes, a popular conspiracy theory amongst the resistance. Suppose this is true."

"It's not true," she shook her head, struggling to find words in between her tears. "It's fake. It's all fake."

"It's fake, well," he answered, coming closer to her so that he could practically whisper and still be heard, "is it really fake?"

"Yes," she gritted her teeth and Bykov saw anger flash across her face, "why don't you just do it already instead of this torture."

"Miss Kharitonova, my orders are indeed to execute you," he tapped the pistol on his waist, "but I have a few questions for you first. Will you cooperate?"

"Why should I?"

"Precious few moments of life perhaps? Maybe it'll give you more time to think of an escape plan though, I must advise you, the chance of success there is infinitesimally small. Maybe because you aren't ready to die yet but who is." Something registered across Alina's face and Bykov didn't quite pick it up but he continued speaking, "So shall we begin?"

"Fine."

"Allow me to say then my questions before you answer. I want you to think about them because I want the truth, not some hairbrained nonsense. As you can see, the 'gig is up,' so to speak. Nothing more is gained from trying to obfuscate the matter. I can tell you don't know where the leaders have gone. Why would you? Why would they trust anyone but themselves? Just know that they are cowards. They have fled while you all are captured. I wonder how they sleep at night, probably just fine I imagine. I doubt they have a conscience for this. Regardless, let me ask my questions. First question, I want to know why you let yourself be captured. I have reviewed your interrogation tapes and do you know what I saw? I saw someone without a speck of fear in them and that to me tells me that you weren't captured unwillingly. I see you now; I see the fear. You had none! You let yourself be captured by those First Directorate policemen only to be brought into interrogation and 'flip to the side of the State.' I do not believe it for one moment. This was all a ploy wasn't it?" She nodded her head. "Is there an ambush?"

"No."

"Then why did you lead us here?" To this, she didn't answer. "Miss Kharitonova, I will find out the truth, I hope you understand. Let's take a walk," he put his hand back under her arm and lifted her off of the stool and brought her back to the common room where the prisoners were currently being organized into groups.

"Starshyna, please give me your radio," Bykov said as he came into the room with an outstretched hand. His radio was still on the master channel while the sergeant's would be on the frequency that the tactical teams were using. Once handed the radio, Bykov pushed the transmit button, "All personnel, this is Major Bykov. The leaders of this Fear Factory remain at large, having escaped our raid. Be sure to make strict search of this building. They may have used secret tunnels unbeknownst to other individuals here. We must find and capture them if we're to be successful today!" He handed the radio back and the sergeant snapped to as Bykov ordered, "Make sure they are found Starshyna, I'm putting you personally in charge of it, rather than anyone else."

"Yes sir, and should I add her to these groups?"

"No Starshyna, there's more to learn from her and so long as she's alive, she will have valuable intelligence for us. After all, she's provided so much already." In doing so, he outed Alina to the entirety of those present. The looks she would receive as Bykov led her out of the building would be more damning than he could hope to achieve himself. Alina Kharitonova was no friend, she was a traitor and while the prisoners were being shuffled off to their certain death, she was being walked out by the officer. Her betrayal and their contempt would almost immediately alienate her from not only the Fear Factory but the cause too.

Her feet had grown concrete blocks on them and Bykov pushed her forward towards the frozen expanse of the outside world. Ignoring salutes as he led her along, Bykov emerged into the outside world and led her the short distance to his armored vehicle. When he got to the rear of it, the ramp door was already lowering, the driver having seen him exit. Bykov waited in the miserable cold for the ramp to come to a stop. He was cold but not nearly as cold as Alina was. The cold itself was yet another tool in his arsenal. Over the howling wind, he brought his mouth to her ear, "If you wish to be warm inside that vehicle, you will continue to answer my questions. If not, I will leave you out here to die in the cold. It won't be as quick as the bullet. Nod if you understand." She nodded and Bykov pushed her slightly up the ramp as he followed behind.

"Gunner, keep an eye on her," Bykov said as he put her into a seat and buckled her harness so that she couldn't escape. With her hands restrained behind her back still, there was no chance she would be able to escape the harness. Bykov climbed back into his seat and picked reconnected to the vehicle's intercom in one ear. In the other was still the earpiece for his own radio. "Kalinin, Bykov, do you read me?"

"Yes sir," Kalinin answered almost immediately.

"Give me a report."

"Mop up teams will be here in twenty minutes sir. They were pre-staged as directed."

"Good work. Ensure that all of the prisoners are loaded accordingly. The leaders of this Fear Factory remain at large and the assault teams are currently searching for them. I am positive that they will find them. In the meantime, I am putting you in charge here for the remainder of the mop up operation. I have in my custody an HVT that I will be removing to a special interrogation site. I believe this individual knows about the leaders and will be able to help us."

"Yes sir!"

Bykov cracked his neck and spoke now into the intercom. "Ryadovoy, what is your name?"

"Ermakov sir."

"Ryadovoy Ermakov, are you familiar with Sector 33-X?"

"No sir."

"Good because it is a restricted sector. Within that sector is a special interrogation facility, Site Two-Two-Three. Have you heard of this site?"

"No sir."

"Well, Ryadovoy, you're about to drive there."

"Sir, what about our assignment?"

"I'll handle that, we'll leave in a few minutes once I speak with your commanding officer and ensure the cleanup here is underway. Ensure that the prisoner remains within the vehicle and unharmed."

"Yes sir," Ermakov answered before Bykov opened the door and returned to the cold world outside. He'd be gone another twenty-five minutes before he returned, once again entering the vehicle from the rear ramp only this time, he did not go to his seat immediately. Instead, he sat down across from Alina and connected into the intercom system there.

"All right Ermakov, let's get moving."

"Yes sir."

"Gunner what is your name?"

"Zuyev sir."

"Ryadovoy Zuyev, as we depart from this sector you can consider the threat to be minimal. You've remained vigilant this entire time and that reflects well on your training, your discipline, and your unit. I will be sure to inform your superior of your good work here this evening."

"Thank you sir."

"Ermakov, we're looking at a bit of a lengthy trip, have you been able to input the location into the navigation system?"

"Yes sir."

"Do you have sufficient fuel?"

"Yes sir."

"After we depart from this sector, please be sure to turn off the vehicle's transponder. Our presence in Sector 33X will not need to be recorded."

"Sir that is against our orders and our protocols."

"That is noted Ermakov," Bykov expected this much. As privates, neither Ermakov nor Zuyev had any authority to disobey orders whatsoever and they'd been drilled and trained never to do anything other than follow orders. "Sector 33-X is a restricted zone and that comes with additional protocols, protocols that you would not know because of the restricted nature of the zone. Should anyone ask, you may say that I ordered you to turn off the transponder. You will give my name and direct any further inquiry to me."

"Yes sir," Ermakov answered before releasing the brakes. The vehicle lurched backwards as the brake shoes disconnected from the wheels. In the coldness, the brakes themselves had stuck to the wheels, releasing only from the force of the vehicle's forward movement. Ermakov turned the vehicle around and shifted through the gears as he exited the area around the Fear Factory. In the back, Bykov looked to Alian and pulled out his pack of cigarettes. "Do you want a cigarette?" She shook her head and so Bykov removed a cigarette, put it between his lips, and lit it, savoring the first drag before looking back at her only to see that she was shivering uncontrollably. "I suppose we should have gotten you a jacket but then you might have been inclined to run away. Move over a little to your left if you can, the heater vent will get you directly." Without a word she did but she didn't stop shivering.

"Where are you taking me?" It was tough for either of them to talk over the noise of the vehicle so Alina was almost shouting.

"I have a few questions for you Miss Kharitonova. It's best that I ask them in a proper facility rather than here." Bykov watched a fresh wave of fear flash across her face, "If you're thinking that I am going to torture you then perhaps you should understand something. The State extracts information from people by any means necessary. Personally, I have used what people, especially your ex-friends, might describe as torture on multiple occasions. Sometimes it has yielded the information I want and sometimes it has not. Each and every prisoner is different and each and every interrogation is difference. I already know that torture would not be necessary with you. This is to say that, should you prove to be difficult, I will have to do what is necessary, do you understand?" She nodded her head again. "I have simple questions for you Miss Kharitonova, if you give me straightforward and honest answers, I will ensure that your death will be quick and painless when the time comes. If you wish to be difficult, when we are done with our session, I will strip you naked and make you stand outside until you freeze to death. Just as I promised before. I suspect you do not want to die in such an undignified and horrendous way, do you?"

"No."

"No," he repeated, "then cooperate with me and I shall be merciful to you." He took another drag of his cigarette and leaned his head against the headrest. "Are you sure you don't want a cigarette?"

"I don't smoke," she answered. Bykov shrugged in a manner that said, "Suit yourself" and relaxed as the vehicle cross the barrier out of Sector 14B and from the driver's seat, as instructed, Ermakov flipped the transponder switching to "OFF" and called out to Bykov that he had deactivated it. "Good work Ermakov, you are performing exceptionally well. Keep it up and I shall have nothing but praise to provide to your commander officer just the same. Perhaps a promotion is warranted for you both."

"Thank you sir," Ermakov said from the front as he wound his way through the roads and away from Sector 14B towards Sector 33X.

• • • † • • •

by **Tnemrot** » Mon May 29, 2023 11:29 am

• • • † • • •

Tuesday, December 6^th, 2022 | 01:40 hrs
Outside Chernodrinsk, Vokhodia | Sector 33X, Restricted District | Major Arkady Bykov

For the better part of the past two hours, Bykov, Kharitonova, Zuyev, and Ermakov were silent in the armored personnel carrier. Ermakov, fighting off fatigue, overfocused on the road and the map as he navigated the vehicle out of the Industrial District and into the main outskirts of Chernodrinsk where the weather cleared and the roads became easier to navigate at higher speeds, though it wasn't long before he was back on the steep, windy roads outside of the city. Zuyev slept, having no need to monitor their surroundings for threats. Bykov slept too but like he always did, his senses on high alert to startle him awake at the first indication of danger. Kharitonova, on the other hand, couldn't sleep. Restrained but harnessed to the seat, she couldn't go anywhere if she tried and the discomfort grew the longer that she was pinned there with her arms behind her back. The discomfort made it impossible for her to do anything but fidget and even when Bykov suggested she sleep, she couldn't. Of course, he refused to loosen the restraints either on her body or her wrists and thus, she was forced to sit there, uncomfortably as a prisoner.

Just over two hours later, Ermakov began to see the signs warning against ingress into Sector 33X. Access was by one road only, which was cut off by a series of vehicle barriers involving not only ramps but bollards as well, which could easily stop any car or truck. Against armored vehicles, such as the armored personnel carrier that Ermakov was driving, or perhaps something more formidable, like a tank, there were other defenses in place but those were presently hidden. Furthermore, anyone attempting to run the barriers would find themselves rapidly dispatched, regardless of what type of vehicle they drove. Th warnings began a kilometer before the gate entrance, advising anyone who wasn't supposed to be there to turn around immediately, lest they face serious penalty and consequences.

The weather there was significantly different than it had been in Sector 14B. For starters, the temperature was a few degrees warmer and, being at a lower elevation, wasn't covered in the dense, ice fog that had blanketed that sector. In contrast, a thin layer of snow had fallen throughout the evening and, as it was late, the snowplows had yet to reach the area. The snow was of little impediment to Ermakov though as the heavy, armored personnel carrier, crunched over it and maintained its traction easily, the byproduct of having eight wheels.

As they approached, Ermakov hailed back to Bykov, who stiffly ambled back to the commander's seat in the vehicle, just in time as Ermakov stopped short of the gate and waited. Bykov, expecting one of the gate guards to come out and check their identities, quickly found himself waiting longer than he deemed acceptable. Patience was this man's forte but not when it came to insubordination, and after three minutes, he opened the door and stepped out of the vehicle's warmth. Here, away from the ice fog, on flat terrain, the vehicle's interior was practically a sauna, the heater having gotten as much power as it could handle. Thus, stepping into the cold instantly irritated Bykov and he marched right up to the guardhouse and opened the door, letting himself inside without an invitation. For effect, he slammed the door shut behind him and bellowed, "Who's in charge here!" No one was manning the desk but, from a room in the back, Bykov could hear two men scrambling, likely because they were asleep.

When they materialized, Bykov saw everything he needed to know. The first of the two guards appeared with his shirt untucked while the second wasn't even carrying his sidearm. Both were privates and Bykov looked at them, narrowing his eyes so that he bore a hole in their faces as they stood at attention, unkempt and unprepared. "Who's in charge?" Bykov asked again, his voice much lower and calmer and yet, somehow, significantly more frightening.

"Starshiy Serzhant Tretiakov," untucked shirt said, his voice quivering as he set his eyes upon Bykov's rank insignia.

"And where is this Starshiy Serzhant Tretiakov?"

Before either of the privates could answer, a voice boomed from the room, "Who the fuck wants to know?" Tretiakov's arrogance came through in his voice and Bykov could tell precisely who he was dealing with, which instantly filled Bykov with ire as he waited for the man to appear solely so that he could unleash his wrath upon the arrogant sergeant. Finally appearing in the doorway, the man was easily a quarter of a meter taller than Bykov and quite heavier too. He had a cigarette in his mouth and he was just as unkempt as the other two.

"Are you Starshiy Serzhant Tretiakov?" Bykov asked and Tretiakov nodded, not even having the sense to stand at attention in front of the major. " Starshiy Serzhant, I am Major," Bykov emphasized his rank, "Arkady Bykov, Third Directorate." In an instant, all of the color drained out of Tretiakov's face and he moved to speak but Bykov shook his head as if to say, "You will keep your mouth shut until I say so otherwise you will be in the biggest world of hurt ever." Bykov moved forward and squared up in front of Tretiakov and looked right into the man's eyes, despite the height difference. "Is this how you address a senior officer? And with a cigarette in your mouth no less? Unkempt, undisciplined. Your men were what? Sleeping in the back? Not manning their post?" Bykov had yet to raise his voice since his entrance and he didn't have to, his rank did it for him. "Look at this," he walked over to the two privates, "this one doesn't even have his sidearm. Suppose I was a foreign agent? Well, I would have just killed all three of you without so much as breaking a sweat. Is this how you run this outfit Serzhant?"

"Sir, I…"

"That was not a question for you to answer!" Bykov bellowed back at him, his voice now booming and echoing off of the concrete block walls. "Serzhant, from this moment on, consider yourself on report. Discipline is lacking here and I see why. These two ryadovyye are merely following the example of their superior. Who will pay for this? Them? No! You will Serzhant. Perhaps you need to be a ryadovoy again, perhaps you need to learn that core discipline that you seem to have so easily forgotten up here. What? Do you think that because you are at a remote posting that you do not need to maintain proper discipline, decorum, or respect? Interesting Serzhant! Very interesting. I would hate to be you right now."

"Sir…"

"Did I give you permission to speak? This is twice now that you have interrupted me. Do it again and I will make you escort me, on foot, as you dressed in this moment, to where I am planning to go. Do I make myself clear? Tretiakov didn't respond and Bykov refrained from laughing at the fear that he saw in the man's eyes. "You may answer now Serzhant."

"Sir, I understand."

"Good, now you will record my visit and my destination per protocols. Where is your logbook?"

No sidearm snapped to and grabbed it along with a pen, quickly scribbling down Bykov's name and rank, as well as the time and the date. "Sir, what is your destination," he stumbled over every word.

"Site Two-Two-Three."

"How many are with your sir?"

"That is classified but you may put that it is I and a single prisoner."

"Yes sir. Please sign," he handed the book and pen over to Bykov before snapping back to attention.

"You are a joke here," Bykov returned to berating them. "Where is my identification? Did you check it? Why does a major need to instruct you how to do your job?" No sidearm began to stumble for the words and Bykov snapped his fingers and pointed right at no sidearm, "Not a word." He signed his name and put the book and its pen down onto the countertop with a loud slam. "Now, open the gates and you had better remain alert, awake, and vigilant for the remainder of your shift. So help me, if I come back this way and find you how I found you now. As it stands, you're all on report, you better not add a few years of hard labor to this punishment!"

"Sir," Tretiakov said in response and all three rendered a salute, which Bykov did not bother returning. He exited the guardhouse and return to the vehicle. As he did, the gate began to raise.

"It would appear we are lacking in discipline here," Bykov said as he got comfortable in the seat and watched as the gates raised and the bollards lowered. "That is in stark contrast to what I see from you two."

"Thank you sir," responded Ermakov. Zuyev had awoken but did not acknowledge the comment. "The gates are clear."

"You may proceed. Our destination will be difficult to find. Follow this road for approximately eight hundred meters until you see a fork. At that point, you can follow the left fork and you will see the site another kilometer past that on the left. It is the only site on the left fork."

Even in the dead of the night, it was easy to see that Sector 33X was largely undeveloped. The single road that wound through the sector, which would eventually fork, was lined on either side by a thick wall of tall, spruce trees that maintained their needles even during the winter's bitterness. A light snow began to fall as Ermakov navigated his way down the road, which was lit only by the vehicle's headlights. Sector 33X was undeveloped on purpose for it housed several secret installations of the SSD, including two training facilities, a secret prison, an armory, a satellite uplink facility, and the special interrogation facility that Bykov referred to as "Site 223."

Finding Site 223 was hardly difficult, especially given the directions that Bykov offered and, when Ermakov pulled up to it, the young private was surprised to see just how well protected it was. The building itself was merely a nondescript rectangle, windowless and set back two hundred meters from the road surrounded by three rings of fences, each one topped with razor wire and - if the signs were to be believed - electrified. There was a hundred meters of open terrain around the building making any attempt at escape a suicide run. Ermakov's first impression of the site was that it was abandoned, though Bykov's direction quickly dispelled that theory. After pulling up to the first perimeter fence, Bykov got out of the vehicle and walked over to a keypad. He touched a button and it lit up red though this quickly changed to green after he entered a six-digit code. Automatically, all three gates opened successively and Bykov climbed back into the vehicle.

Driving slowly, Ermakov drove the vehicle up to the building in what was a designated parking spot. Stenciled above the door was "FACILITY 223" and underneath it, the words "RESTRICTED ENTRY" in bold, block characters. Bykov directed Ermakov to shut off the vehicle and hook up the engine block heater to keep it warm. Because of the overabundance of diesel-powered vehicles and because the weather in Chernodrinsk was so cold, electric, engine block heaters were available at virtually every military and state-run facility. It was the only way that these vehicles would turn over after sitting off for any period of time, especially on the coldest days of winter. Still, even this was only so effective. On the worst days, the vehicles would have to be left idling while parked.

As Ermakov went about this, Bykov climbed into the rear of the vehicle and lowered the ramp. Looking at Alina, he said, "I trust you will recognize just how cold it is out here and how you will not get past those fences. The quicker we get into the facility, the warmer you will be." It was a warning not to try anything but once the coldness of the air hit Alina, escaping was the last thing on her mind. Bykov let Zuyev exit the vehicle first and then handed Alina off so that Zuyev could escort her to the building. Bykov checked the vehicle to ensure it was in proper order and let the ramp return to its closed position before leading everyone to the facility's front door.

Site 223 was regularly unmanned, typically only used for special interrogations, such as high-value, foreign agents or the leaders of resistance groups. Alina hardly rated on that scale but Bykov needed a place that was "off-the-grid," so to speak. Site 223, like all those within Sector 33X, was not connected to the main network of the State and thus existed on something of an island. The facilities were of course connected to power, heat, water, et cetera but their cameras were all closed-circuit as were their other monitoring devices so that grid controllers could only see that there was activity in the sector but nothing further.

At the front door, Bykov brushed the snow from the keyboard and pushed yet another button. As before, the keypad lit up in red and Bykov entered a different, six-digit code. The keypad turned green and with an alarm, the door itself opened automatically. The alarm was to alert anyone inside that someone had gained entry, regardless of whether they were friendly or not. The four of them stepped inside and Bykov closed the door behind them and pushed a button on the interior keypad, instantly locking it. "The only way into or out of this facility is via a code. Thus, there is no escaping this place. Ryadovoy Ermakov, Ryadovoy Zuyev, there is a control room here," Bykov pointed to a door with big, block lettering identifying it as such. He entered yet another code before instructing Alina to remain where she was. "Please find yourself inside. This facility can run itself automatically, you only need to engage the boot up sequence and there is a manual available. It is a simple task; you can find a small room in there," he pointed to a closed door behind the control room, "that can be used as a rest quarters. Ryadovoy Ermakov, since you have driven throughout this time, I implore you to rest while Ryadovoy Zuyev engages the boot up sequence. Change shifts every four hours."

"Yes sir," the two men repeated, sharply standing at attention.

"I will be taking the prisoner into one of the interrogation rooms. You will not have audio or video access during my interrogation, which is a matter of secrecy. I want to advise you of this because you may think this is a technical glitch and become nervous. There is no glitch. I assure you; however, that the audio and video is being recorded but onto inaccessible blocks of memory so that they can be accessed in the case of postmortem review or other purposes. This should set you at ease, should something go wrong but also warn you that, should you act inappropriately, it will be recorded. Do you understand?"

"Yes sir!" The response came in unison again, this time even sharper than before.

"Good, Ryadovoy Zuyev, commence the boot up sequence and Ryadovoy Ermakov, you shall set your watch to four hours from now. Enjoy your rest, you have done me proud today. I will be speaking very highly of you to your supervisor. If you continue in your behavior as you have done thus far, I shall be proud to hear you both referred to as efréitor." The men offered a sharp salute, which Bykov returned. As he turned on his heels to leave the control room, he could hear the door open and Ermakov and Zuyev doing exactly as they were told, their brains certainly spinning from the prospect of being promoted.

Taking Alina by the arm, Bykov walked to a door not more than a few meters away from the entrance. The double doors of the facility ensured that if someone managed to escape from the interrogation rooms, and the inner areas, there were still opportunities to stop them before they escaped from the facility. Like every other door, this one had a unique code, different from all the other doors, different from the entrance to the facility, and different from the entrance to the site. Bykov entered it, pulling the code from his memory banks, having memorized each code for this facility since he had used it before for high-profile interrogations. The door opened into an L-shaped corridor, lined on either side with numbered doors, the interrogation rooms.

Alina kept quiet, the silence of the facility coursing through her ears like the rush of water, making her all the more nervous and petrified that Bykov, despite his assurances, was being dishonest with her. For his part, he said not a word, merely leading her with a gentle hold on her arm, more to direct rather than to lead her. She found it somewhat disarming and, in the same vein, terrifying. Bykov was not the "amateur interrogator" that she first faced. She knew that had she faced him, things would have been different. The look was on her face, a look that Bykov saw and read through instantly for he'd seen it plenty of times before. He had the position of power over Alina and he intended to make good use of it as he stopped in front of ROOM 3. Entering yet another code onto the keypad, he stepped slightly back and to the side as the door unlocked and opened outwards, all on its own. Doors didn't open inwards, lest a prisoner use it for cover to attack a guard. "In we go," he said quietly to Alina and, as they stepped through the threshold, the lights flickered on and the entire, concrete room came into view. Letting go of Alina, Bykov reached back and shut the door, listening to the locks engage the moment that the door shut. In the control room, a light lit up on the panel showing that ROOM 3 was "IN USE." Zuyev took note of it.

The interrogation room was spartan, to say the least. The room contained nothing more than a fixed bed, a toilet, a table, and two chairs. There was a neat pile of linens on the bed, nothing more than a small pillow not unlike the one campers used, a mattress pad, sheets, and a wool blanket. Alina looked towards the bedding and Bykov walked over to remove the handcuffs, "I assure they are clean. They won't be comfortable but they are clean. The room may be cold now but the heat will come online shortly. The boot up sequence is not instantaneous. Now a warning before I remove these handcuffs. This is your home now. The cameras are recording, as I assured our escorts. From the control booth can be controlled the lights, the temperature, the water, everything we want. Translation, that means if you do not cooperate, I will assure that you sleep in the cold, that the lights always remain on, that the water does not work, and so on and so forth. This is not a comfortable home but it doesn't have to be entirely miserable; if you understand."

"Fine, I understand," she answered, her breath creating a cloud in front of her face, "how long until the heat comes on?"

"Soon," he unlocked the handcuffs and she immediately went to rub her wrists. Her skin was marked where the cuffs had dug in but they had not been too tight as to cut off circulation, they had merely been uncomfortable. "Please sit," he offered her the chair. "I get food and a cup for you in a moment. It won't be much but we can talk while you eat," he didn't bother sitting down as he went back to the door and pushed the call button, speaking into the speaker box that was fastened into the wall. "Ryadovoy, would you please unlock the door?" In the control room, Ermakov looked around somewhat frantically until he saw a button for the door. It was only a few seconds but he felt that he would need to apologize when Bykov returned, if just because he did not hit it immediately.

Bykov returned to the control room and didn't think of dressing down Ermakov, despite Ermakov's fears. When Ermakov went to apologize, Bykov waved his hand, dismissing it as unnecessary. "Is the facility online?"

"Yes sir, boot up sequence has completed."

"Good, then continue to do what you are doing. In this pantry are meals. This is not a long-term facility so while there is enough to sustain a fully populated facility for one week, there is not more. I do not intend to be here that long but do take care not to go overboard." Ermakov nodded and Bykov grabbed two paper cups and a meal packet.

Back inside of ROOM 3, he put them down on the table and implored Alina to both fill the cup with water and eat. While she did the former, he sat down at the table. The heat was coming up to 15°C, colder than "room temperature" but much, much warmer than the outside air. Compared to the outside, 15°C was a tropical sauna. It was designed to prevent the prisoner from getting too comfortable and designed to make the prisoner want more, thus giving an incentive to answer questions. "The heat will take some time to come up to its stable temperature. This facility was in standby mode and it is not very small, despite its external appearance. Come and sit."

"Why am I here?" Alina fired off quickly before she finished filling up the cup with water. She was parched and would go on to down three full cups before sitting down.

Bykov had seen it all before and continued to talk to her back, "You're here for two reasons. First and foremost, I have questions for you and second, because if you weren't here you'd be dead. Quite simple really. As I said before, there are cameras and microphones, they are recording, but the recording is inaccessible except to certain people. I can wipe them clean without anyone knowing the wiser and I intend to do so when we leave this facility," he stood back up and removed his long trench coat, draping it over the chair. His pistol holster dangled underneath his armpit and Alina's eyes went right do it, "If you think you can get that pistol before I can, I invite you to it." She shook her head, "Shall we proceed? Please eat, do not let me stop you, we can eat and talk at the same time."

Alina sat down and grabbed the bag but somewhat limply and with little energy. She opened it and sniffed at it but smelled nothing, "What is it?"

"A very generic meal pack that probably has little to no taste and will require copious amounts of water but which will provide caloric intake to your body and thus help you gain your strength back, which will, in turn, make you feel less cold. It isn't appetizing, I've had my fair share of them so I speak from experience. There are alternatives to this one but let me advise you that no taste is preferable to what those taste like; again, I speak from experience. Trust me, it is better than the pangs of hunger you must be feeling right now. So, the first question then," Alina began to pick at the malleable brown bar that was inside. "Why did you allow yourself to be captured?"

"I didn't."

"All right well let's cover this then. Cooperative means you do not lie to me Miss Kharitonova. I work in counterintelligence. My entire job requires me to 'read people,' if you will. Do you see how you are right now? You were not this way when being interrogated. No one is ever 'at ease' while being interrogated. They act as you act right now. You're not at ease right now, are you? Rhetorical question. You were at ease in your interrogation. On those videotapes, I watched them Miss Kharitonova, you were at ease." She remained silent and so Bykov merely sighed and stood up, "Well then, I suppose if you wish to play this 'the hard way,' then so can I. I will leave you the cup and the food but I will lower the temperature to just a few degrees above freezing. I will have the lights turned off, or maybe I will raise them to the brightest setting. In an hour, if you get that far, you'll be screaming for me to do the opposite with the lights and to turn up the heat. Do you know I can even make them flicker at such a rate as to make you dizzy? Imagine that, just sitting down and you feeling nauseous and throwing up for hours upon hours. What little bit of food and water you've consumed will come up first and then it will be dry heaves for twelve hours. Imagine that?"

Alina considered this for just one moment and said nothing until he walked to the door, his finger hovering in front of the call button, a precision movement to give her the slightest bit of recourse. "Fine," she shouted, her voice echoing off the concrete walls, "fine. You win."

"Good, I'm a little tired Miss Kharitonova and I'm not a patient man when I'm tired. So, let me repeat the question, why did you allow yourself to be captured?"

"Because it was my mission!" Her body collapsed. What last bit of strength and fortitude within her ebbed away as the admission came out of her mouth. She was broken.

• • • † • • •

by **Tnemrot** » Sun Jun 25, 2023 9:20 am

• • • † • • •

Tuesday, December 6^th, 2022 | 02:45 hrs
Outside Chernodrinsk, Vokhodia | Sector 33X, Restricted District | Major Arkady Bykov

Bykov looked across the table at Alina, all of the fight drained out of her. Her first confessions had been orchestrated, she'd rehearsed them so that when she spoke to her interrogators, she wouldn't be betraying her cause but rather helping it. Only an experience interrogator like Bykov could have picked up on it and he had. Now was different; this was for real. Tension wracked her body as she struggled against the dilemma. "And who gave you that mission?" Bykov asked and immediately, she felt lightheaded, felt her stomach twisting in knots, felt her heart pounding in her chest, felt her throat tightening, felt her skin beginning to grow cold and clammy. Most of all, she felt the nearly unblinking gaze of Bykov, not but an arm's reach away, staring not just at her but through her, through all of the façade she'd managed to erect.

Alina had three choices and none of them were good. Each flashed through her brain over the course of a few seconds. The easiest choice was simply to give in, to relent, to answer Bykov's questions and to be a traitor, not to the State, who she felt no loyalty towards but rather her cause. Alternatively, she could lunge across the table and try to attack Bykov, try to do enough bodily harm that he'd forgo the line of questioning and merely execute her. That was easier than her third choice, which was to continue to resist, to endure whatever Bykov could levy against her until she cracked, until her body and/or her mind gave out, until she was nothing more than a shell of a human being. She knew full well how thorough the State could be, what methods it taught, condoned, and encouraged, what it could extract from a single person. She knew that many had tried to resist and few were successful in lasting as long as twenty-four hours, let alone longer.

Alina wasn't as strong as they were, and she knew it. She was devoted to her cause, there was no doubt or question about it but she also had an unyielding desire for self-preservation, which was stronger. Unlike many, she couldn't see herself as a martyr for the cause, she just didn't have that level of conviction, not to say that she wasn't committed but rather she just lacked the kind of inner strength that those who embraced self-sacrifice had. She didn't know what Bykov knew about her, whether he knew anything at all; didn't know if he understand just how she wouldn't be able to sacrifice herself. Perhaps he did, perhaps that was why he hadn't executed her outright, for Alina everything was a mystery in the man who sat before her.

Alina quickly became paralyzed by the conflict within her. She was frozen and unable to speak and Bykov, who'd interrogated far stronger men and women than her, simply waited, waited for the internal struggle to collapse. He let the quietness fill the air, which was uncomfortable but not for him. In fact, he was more than comfortable; he was more than patient. Alina, on the other hand, was clearly in duress. He had her right where he wanted her, surprised it was so quick, surprised that she was already beginning to contemplate and bargain with herself between life and death. She was no fool and she wasn't weak, that much he could see, but she wasn't prepared for this. She hadn't been properly trained or tested.

[I]"Miss Kharitonova," he said quietly, his voice now compassionate, breaking the uncomfortable silence in the air, not because he wanted to rush her along but rather because he could see that she was lost within herself and figured he could give her a nudge in the direction he wanted. His voice brought her out of that hole, back to the table, back to the room. "I understand what you're going through right now. I've seen it hundreds of times. If I may be of assistance," he waited for a response but she didn't offer one, though she was clearly hearing him, "before I put you in that vehicle, before we left Sector 13-Bravo, the leadership of that Fear Factory, of your cell, was captured. They were clever indeed, splitting into not two but rather three groups. We caught them all, they didn't even bother to put up a fight. So, the people you think you are protecting are in our hands and I promise you, soon enough, maybe already, they'll be sitting where you are now, obviously somewhere different.

"And someone like me is talking to them and soon it will be me and I bet you that they won't hold out for long, if at all. Maybe some will, maybe some won't. It's always a gamble but I find that those who talk the toughest last the shortest. The people you are protecting don't need your protection anymore Miss Kharitonova."

Tears came down her face, "You're lying."

"Miss Kharitonova, I am not lying, I don't see a reason to lie. Do you want to know why? I'm not here to ask you questions about them, about the layout of the Fear Factory, about where you get your paper, who distributes your leaflets, the inner workings of your cell, whether or not you communicate via a runner or some other method to other cells. I don't care about that information because it is of no value to me. That is information we'll get from your superiors, who know all of the details. Do you know what I want to know? I want to know why you were ordered to be captured."

"I never knew why…" It took eight minutes and nineteen seconds for her to answer, an eternity by anyone's measure who counted second after second after second. Silence fell between them for that entire duration. Bykov continued to maintain his eye contact on her, and she fought with herself, arguing in her own mind, coming to the conclusion that whether or not Bykov was lying was inconsequential because at the end of the day, she was destined to be shot. He'd said as much himself and she suspected as much she was turned into an informant. The State would want to clean up loose ends.

"Okay, let's backtrack then. Who gave you the mission?"

"Zinaida."

"Zinaida herself?" Zinaida was the leader of their cell and high up on the food chain of the resistance and, despite what lies Bykov had told Alina, she was still at large, still working her way through the labyrinth of tunnels in Sector 13B, trying to find an exit from the Fear Factory, the Sixth Directorate hot on her heels. "No explanation?" Alina shook her head, tears coming down her face freely. "What did she say to you when she gave you the mission?"

"She told me that there was going to be a sweep and that she needed me to be captured and when I was captured and interrogated, I should 'come clean,' that I was a member of the resistance and that I was living in a 'Fear Factory' and to cooperate with them so as to become an informant."

Bykov was mystified. The whole raid was a setup. He couldn't quite resolve that in his mind. Why would the resistance willingly give away an entire Fear Factory and its people? It made no sense. "That makes little sense. Why would Zinaida want to sacrifice everyone? The entire operation?"

"I don't know, she never told me, no one told me. We rehearsed for two days what I was going to say and I did exactly as she said but when I returned, I felt sick to my stomach that I'd done something wrong. Everyday was Hell. I waited everyday for those walls to blow up, for those doors to be kicked in, for you to come for us. Every single day knowing that what I set in motion might get me and many other people killed. I went to Zinaida about it many times but she kept giving me one line and one line only, always the same answer, 'It's what will help our cause. Trust me.' Help our cause? Getting those people killed and arrested? Putting a bullet in my head? I never understood it."

Bykov pulled out his pack of cigarettes and fished for one inside. He had only three left but something told him that Alina needed one, that maybe she wouldn't refuse him, so he offered it to her, and with a shaking, trembling hand, she took one and put it in her mouth. He lit it for her and then his own, "Mystery," he said, confirming what she was saying, "I, for one, wouldn't understand it either. Quite obviously, something 'bigger' was at play but what that was I couldn't guess from this point of view. You don't know. Fine, let's talk about something else then. What was your job there?"

"I was a proofreader."

"A proofreader. You looked over leaflets for grammar and spelling mistakes?"

"Yes, and I crosschecked some facts too."

"Against what?"

"We have manuals, books really, that compile information. I was to make sure that the information was consistent with what was in the book."

"Very well, where does this information come from? How is it obtained? Who writes it?"

"It's all fake, isn't it? What does it matter where it comes from and who writes it? It's all fake."

"You don't really believe that now, do you? You don't believe it's fake. If it was fake, why even bother? Telling lies to do what? Cover up another lie?"

"You're about to tell me that you don't believe the leaflets are fake?" She almost laughed and she took that moment to wipe away some of the tears that had clung to her eyes and her cheeks. "It's fake!"

"It's not fake Miss Kharitonova."

"Of course, it is, it's all fake. It's made up to give people a reason to hate the government, to hate the State, to accuse the government of genocide and of coverups."

"Miss Kharitonova, are you familiar with the Tenth Directorate?"

"I've seen them mentioned in the book."

"And what did you see about them?"

"Only that they answer directly to the High Chancellor himself and they committed the atrocities in Zimovyia. They're boogeymen."

"They're real," Bykov said, validating what she'd read so many times over in the books and on the leaflets. "I know they're real because I've seen them with my own eyes. I may be a lowly major in the Third Directorate but as such, I've been privy to several," he searched his mind for a word, "'events,' we'll call them, that perhaps were above my paygrade but which I was involved in, nonetheless. On more than one occasion and I won't say how many, I've come face-to-face with the Tenth Directorate's capabilities and their reach. Miss Kharitonova, they're as real as that cigarette in your mouth is."

"It can't be," she couldn't believe what she was hearing. Most of what she'd read in the books she'd believed but she always believed that there was a good deal of embellishment within them designed to ratchet up the emotional response of those who read them.

"They're real and the propaganda which you proofread is real too. Miss Kharitonova, I don't pretend to know all of the secrets of this State, let alone even a fraction of them but what I do know is what goes out on those television and radio broadcasts every night about captured foreign agents and contraband seizures and this and that is all fake. The Fear Factory, well that is real, but if you were to watch or listen to the news, the story told will not match the story witnessed. It is simply how it is. The State must maintain its power, must maintain its grip upon the people. Without the State, we would be cast into anarchy, exploited by foreign governments, the corrupt, and the greedy. Is the State perhaps draconian? I would agree it is but it must be Miss Kharitonova. Tonight, what I witnessed reaffirmed everything I believe in with the State.

"Vokhodia must maintain its systems, must maintain its vigilance, must maintain its laws, and it must maintain its people. There is nothing more dangerous than the poison with which the resistance, yourself even, spread to the people. If that means we must maintain the status quo than that means we must maintain the status quo."

"What you're saying is treasonous."

"Of course, it is Miss Kharitonova, and yet this conversation is between you and I. The cameras are not on, the microphones are not on."

"So why are you telling me all this?"

"Because I want your help, Miss Kharitonova. I want you to help me."

• • • † • • •

[Greater Díenstad] Ghosts in the Fog

[Greater Díenstad] Ghosts in the Fog

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