A World Apart 1949 (USSR RP, IC)

[Insurgia]

Iniapolis, The Independent Republic of Insurgia, Abathon
H.A. Kelly Center for Intelligence
May 10th, 1949
6:00 PM

Eleven seated men waited at a long table. Myers among them waited. The FBI agent examined each man closely. The rest of them ranged from very different specialties. Saboteurs, assassins, soldiers and detectives. Many of them hadn't left the field since the start of the Great War and that's exactly why they were so valued. The door opened and Holloway entered. A few stood out of habit only to be quietly put at ease by Holloway himself, a homage to the amount of operational authority the man had. Myers simply watched, a little annoyed.

"Gentlemen, welcome to my humble abode." Holloway spoke.

The spy quickly walked around to the projector. The room darkened and the projector lit up. An image appeared on the opposite side of the room.

'OPERATION AMBER SKY' was read on the screen.

"Folks, this is an extraction OP. Plain and simple." Holloway read.

The slide changed. An image of a compound appeared from above.

"Lübbenau Prison, Intresha is our area of operation. Our HVT is located 25 miles in a Penal Quarry to the west. Objective, retrieve the HVT in one piece and liquidate any witnesses. For the most part, this excludes prisoners and rather focuses on the prison guards. Any opposition however, you're free to engage. If our operators will please raise your hands so the rest of us will know..." Holloway requested.

Eight men raised their hands. Rather gruff and mean looking, these men were the warriors.

"If shit hits the fan in there, hide behind them, yeah?" Holloway cracked a grin.

Some in the room cracked a scoff.

"We'll be lifted in via helo and extracted the same way, assuming all goes well. Any questions?" Holloway asked.

Myers was the first to halfway raise his hand. Holloway blinked, expecting this.

"Yes?"

"Who're we looking for?" Myers asked.

"Prisoner 24601...we don't have a name. We just know his background." he finished.

Holloway clicked the projector. The lights lit up. The projector died.

"Wheels up at 0500 tomorrow at Welding Air Field. Dismissed." Holloway exited.

The room quickly cleared. Myers felt uneasy as he watched the men of war displaced. They made him feel as if the war was still on. Maybe it was.

[Insurgia]

Limewick, The Parliamentary Republic of Arkham Nation, Vaudus
Historic District, The Peppermint Hotel
May 13th, 1949
7:43 AM

Theophilus and Winston entered the hotel, feeling the eyes of several valets and chauffeurs. Dressed from head to toe with the newest Arkian fashion, they fit in. Regardless, their faces were not recognized and therefore not welcome. Theophilus would have none of it though. Coming upon the desk, the female receptionist gazed upon Theophilus with a modest expression of attraction. Schilling adjusted the duffel bag on his shoulder.

"Yes, sir? What can I do for you today?" the receptionist asked.

"I'd like to see your manager please." Theophilus asked.

"I-I'm sorry?" she was confused.

"Your manager." Theophilus' accent was ever so audible as he sounded out his words.

"Um...yes. Of course, I'll-"

"I would like a room as well. With two large beds, a couch, a TV and one of those refrigerators you have to open with a key." Theophilus smiled.

"Yes sir! Right away, um! May I ask who is asking for him?" the receptionist asked.

The receptionist quickly dispatched a room while waiting for an answer. The receipt printer buzzed with a bill. She dug into the drawer under her, drawing a key out and setting it on the counter. Theophilus dug into his coat, taking out a silver coin. He slid it across the counter, grabbing the key on the way back.

"Theophilus." he said to her.

The receptionist seemed entranced with curiosity and fear. She slowly nodded and left her post, looking for Nelson Slezov himself. Theophilus looked at the young Winston Slezov, cracking a grin. The two quickly paced their way to an elevator and to their room.

[Arkham Nation]

Limewick, The Parliamentary Republic of Arkham Nation, Vaudus
Historic District, The Peppermint Hotel
May 13th, 1949
7:50 AM

“GUILTY!” Nelson boomed as he slammed the gavel down. The already sobbing henchman cried out pleading for Nelson to let him go. “Now for your sentence,” he paused thinking about what punishment he should inflict on the henchman. His eyes lit up and he smirked, “You know what let the Jury decide your fate.”

“NO YOU CANT DO THIS! PLEASE! NOOOOOOO!” The henchman shouted as he was being dragged out the court room.

“Court is adjourned.” Nelson said hitting his gavel again. The fake courtroom was then engulfed by talking and people leaving. The large room only had the huge bench where Nelson sat and a small uncomfortable looking chair in the middle of the room. Nelson thought as if he was a king looking down on his peasant from a throne. Nelson got up and made his way out of the courtroom to where they had taken the henchman. He went to his office and sat down at his desk. Nelson swiveled his chair around to the large fish tank, the tank was pitch black and all he could see was a few inches of the bottom because of the light from his office. He heard a big splash and a illuminated glass box came down with the henchman inside. He waved until he caught the eye of the henchman. Inside the box was a phone that the henchman had no idea why it would be in there with him. The phone rang as soon as the henchman finished the thought, he hesitantly picked up the phone and put it to his ear.

“Hello?” The henchman said his voice full of curiosity and fright.

“I believe you have met the Jury?” Nelson asked over the phone.

“Please sir I—”

“Do you know what thalassophobia is?”

“What are you talking about?”

“Do you know what thalassophobia is?” Nelson inquisitively asked slower. Before the henchman could speak Nelson answered for him, “It’s the fear of not knowing what’s in the ocean, like fearing the abyss of the ocean or what could be in it. Now here is how this is going to work, the glass door is going to open and all the lights are going to go off. All you have to do is swim up and while you do the Jury will decide if you are really innocent or guilty. Oh try not to do—”

“You sick fuck LET ME OUT! YOU’RE INSANE! LET ME OUT NOW!” The henchman demanded. Nelson some what angered that the henchman interrupted him and some what disappointed, gave out a sigh.

“Very poor choice of words.” Nelson said as he hung up the phone. The tank opened and the lights on the glass box turned off. Nelson got up from his desk and closed the curtain slowly hoping he could catch one last glimpse at the henchman. Once he closed the curtain he went back to his desk, he opened a bottom drawer notorious among his colleagues as his “Bourbon Drawer” where he kept his secret homemade bourbon and personal things. He got out a bottle and poured himself a glass. He looked down at the open drawer at the family picture of the Slezov’s. It was taken for all Nelson knew a hundred years ago when times were different. He hated his parents for the way he treated him and his sister. He hated his sister the most for running away and leaving him with his parents. His father, a coward and addicted gambler, lost all their money or what little they already had soon after. His mother took to working in a chemical factory and would come home sometimes just to bit a little chemicals on Nelson’s back as he slept. He perhaps thought that his sister would come back and save him once she got settled in Insurgia. Days turned into weeks, weeks turned to months, and months turned to years. He grew enraged until one night he ran into a gangster who was a big deal in the neighborhood. Sympathetic when he asked why the boy was out there and wanting a child of his own was, the gangster and his goons dragged Nelson’s parents out and tried them in front of the whole neighborhood.

Nelson snapped out of his day dream as he heard a knock at the door. He put the bottle and glass back into the drawer and took one last glance at the photo. He thought that he should burn the photo but as he was reaching for it the door opened. He shut the drawer quickly then locked it, he looked up to see a woman from the front counter had her head in the door.

“Come in.” Nelson said wiping tears from his face.

“Are you ok sir?” Asked the receptionist.

“I’m fine, it’s just so beautiful listening to the Jury have their breakfast. What do you want?”

“A man named Theophilus is here to see you.”

“Ahhh,” Nelson sounded delighted, “finally something that should make my day. Send him in.”

“He’s here with some boy too sir not sure what his name is, should I send him in?” She inquired.

“What? Sure, anything else you need to tell me?”

“Oh they are staying in the hotel also.”

“Well make sure you give them the most comfortable room for our guests, oh and, its on the house.” Nelson smiled as he took a tooth pick from his desk and put it into his mouth.

[Intresha]

25 Miles from Lübbenau Prison, The Intreshan State, Abathon
Penal Quary E
May 11th, 1949
12:57 PM

"Hands in the air! On your knees!" A man called from just behind the shack.

Azov toppled himself to the ground and feebly showed the man his palms.

The guerrilla clearly wasn't with any official military organization, but neither did he sound foreign. Dressed in a sharp uniform and snug fitting army cap, the armed figured strode forward. A few yards behind him, a small posse of similarly garbed soldiers came from the rear to take up positions around the premises. Echos of gunfire from within the cabin coincided with bloodcurdling screams that proceeded a stark silence.

"What is your name, prisoner?" The leader asked, taking his sunglasses from his face.

On the horizon, long columns of brown dust snaked forward toward the quarry. Slow moving and ear-splitting, Azov could recognize the monstrosities from a lineup. Karaqi T-34s. With them rode several smaller vehicles, probably troop transports and supply trucks if he had to make a wager. Whatever group these chodes were with were packing considerable heat. Respectable manpower, too. All that matter to Azov, though, was the fact that the cavalcade was growing closer by the minute. If the odds of a successful escape were slim before, they were all but nonexistent now. He would have to think fast.

"Azov.." He choked on his last name.

"Kurbin." He finished, somewhat muffled by the growing sound of engines in the distance.

Shaking his head and rolling his eyes in annoyance, the man relaxed his white knuckle grasp on his carbine.

"Of course you are!" He sarcastically chuckled.

"Kirill! Yakov! We've got ourselves another Azov Kurbin!" He laughed towards the men looting Tikhon's corpse.

More filled with anger than simple annoyance or the like, the Lieutenant let out a deep sigh. Fate didn't save him from death more than a dozen times just to be left to bake in some godforsaken penal mine. Fate didn't carry him across three continents and nine countries to end things here. Fate wouldn't allow him to die on his knees at the hands of some snickering militiaman. And for what? Because he and his merry band of boy scouts didn't believe that he was the real Azov Kurbin? Mobilizing all the gall still kicking around his bruised, batter, blistered body, Kurbin readied himself for what knew might be his final stunt.

Azov abruptly clutched his chest, crumpling on his side to the gravel beneath him. Letting out a series of hearty, dry coughs, he upped the ante further. Before long, a small group emerged from the house to witness the macabre spectacle. The leader appeared most interested of all the men, however, looking as though he took legitimate delight at the prisoner's suffering.

As his hysterics grew louder and his cries more bestial, some of the soldiers began chattering that tell-tale chatter... The chatter of sympathy... The chatter of possible intervention. Just what Kurbin wanted. Slowing down the show a bit, he took a pause from his labored coughing long enough to find himself back on his knees. Azov held out his hand for the snide Captain (at least that was the rank Kurbin thought he was, if he were to go by the traditional Intreshan system) to help him up. Bingo. The fool took the bait.

Amassing all of his strength in his arms, the Lieutenant sprung to his feet. Taken entirely by surprise, the Captian barely had time to respond. With his free right arm, Kurbin delivered a lofty blow to the man's sternum. With the wind knocked out of him, his Carbine too went limp towards the ground. Grabbing it beforehand, however, Azov managed to smash the man's face with the butt of the rife. Markedly bloodied and on the ground himself now, the ex-Spy pinned him under his foot, simultaneously leveling the weapon at the man's forehead.

"As I said before..." He gasped.

The small group of men had doubled if not tripled by now, in sheer awe of the feat undertaken by the ragged, starving prisoner.

"Azov Kurbin, pleased to make your acquaintance. Or would you like to see my birth certificate too?"

[Insurgia]

25 Miles from Lübbenau Prison, The Intreshan State, Abathon
2 Miles from Penal Quarry E
May 11th, 1949
12:50

The six hour flight was enough to put enough anticipation into the bodies of the warriors on board the two choppers. They were anxious and Myers could feel it. Everyone else aside from Holloway and Myers were dressed in black urbans with tan rigs and accessories. The standard uniform for the dangerous kill squad that belonged to Shadow Company. Their uniforms today, just as the choppers, were unmarked. Holloway and Myers sported black urbans with black rigs and accessories, separating them from the rest of the boots.

The FBI agent wondered why they entered the country so seamlessly but it came to his attention that the country was in a state of civil war. If anything, the powers to be were more worried about internal conflict than a foreign exchange of firepower. The Great War was over. This extraction was expected to be as seamless as their entry. Regardless, air superiority was ten minutes behind them. Myers exhaled deeply, listening to the comms.

"One mile out from Lima Papa...get ready boys..." one of the chopper pilots spoke.

Several of the boots began double checking their weapons. Holloway tapped into his commlink.

"Team Two, cover the extraction. Team One, HVT should be in the courtyard. Do not shoot to kill until we've got facial confirmation on the HVT. Guards and other armed personnel, you are free to engage as appropriate." Holloway ordered.

The sounds of bolts charging forward and magazines slapping in echo throughout the helicopter. The choppers sway to the left, allowing Myers a view of the ground below them. The quarry is seen. A few guard posts as well and what looks like...tanks.

"You seein' this?" Myers asked.

Holloway glanced out the window as well, seeing the row of T-34's slowly but surely approaching the quarry.

"Pilot, confirm visual coming from east." Holloway demanded.

"...looks like some...Karaqi T-34's...the hell?" the pilot murmured.

"Looks like they're playing hard to get...alright...warm up the guns, if shit gets too hot, the cavalry is only...Lieutenant, what's the ETA on the Eagle?" Holloway asked.

"ETA, five minutes, sir!" the boot responded.

Myers kept his view on the quarry below as they slowly swept in for a descent. He racked the bolt back on the Thompson. They could see it now. A group of armed men were already amassed outside what appeared to be a guard house to what looked like a prisoner beating. A show of force. Regardless, the boots had a six hour trigger itch that they were ready to satisfy. Myers gulped as the two choppers loudly came in for a landing.

[Intresha]

25 Miles from Lübbenau Prison, The Intreshan State, Abathon
Penal Quarry E
May 11th, 1949
1:03 PM

"The pleasure is all mine, Lieutenant." A sharp, eloquent voice responded loudly from behind the huddled mass of soldiers.

The men made an orderly pathway for their superior, putting their weapons away as he emerged into the interior circle where Azov crouched over the now unconscious Captain's body.

"Nikola Zhekov, Field Marshal. You might not have noticed, being preoccupied with your... Display... Or whatnot, but I have earmarked a surprisingly large force to hunt you down, Mr. Kurbin." He gestured behind him where the column of tanks and support vehicles had parked themselves a few hundred yards away from the shack.

Azov nodded, shuffling closer to the Field Marshal. Between the heat, thirst, and other contributing factors, it was a wonder he was still standing at all. Kurbin worried that even so much as a sturdy gust of wind might be enough to put him down at this point. Like it or not, a quick name drop and show of force alone would not be enough to wriggle out of this most undesirable of situations. He'd be forced to parlay with this dwarf. Standing at least three or four heads shorter than himself, Azov felt as though he were conferencing with a child. A child, however, that had a small army at his immediate disposal.

"Uh huh. And exactly what were you planning on doing with me? If you wanted me dead, you wouldn't have wasted so much of my time in doing it." Lamented the Lieutenant.

Looking up at his long-sought captive, Nikola gave an assuring nod.

"Oh, no. I don't believe that I or any of these men could kill you. Far better men have tried and failed. On the contrary, I'm here to break you out, amongst other things." Explained the Field Marshal, tenuously.

Nodding, Azov averted his attention above beyond the scores of soldiers that encircled him and Zhekov. Behind them, a handful of the previously mentioned tanks and likewise began to rumble forward, making slow headway down to the quarry's floor.

"And I suppose these fine gentlemen behind you are my welcoming committee or some shit? I hate making assumptions, Marshal, but couldn't this been done with... I don't know, a telegram or something?" He weakly groaned, squinting down at the decorated midget at his feet.

"In honesty, I can't say that any of this is exactly "on the books", so to speak. In an official capacity, I was sent here to secure the Lübbenau Resource Area. You can imagine my excitement when I heard the rumors that you were-

"Woah, bud. Hold up. You mean to tell me we're at war?" Kurbin couldn't stand the confusion much longer. The strange uniforms threw him for a loop at first, but the mention of strategic areas was a step too far.

Zhekov's face went stoic as he wiped the sweat from his sun-beaten brow with a silken handkerchief.

"In a manner of speaking, yes. That isn't all too important, though. You'll be briefed once you're back home." His move to change the subject worked as planned, Azov's face displaying a peaked interest.

He continued on.

"Yes, home. The Vozhd and the Central Committee have long anticipated an audience with you. Let's just say that the powers that be hold an incredible interest in you, Azov Kurbin. An interest bankrolled to the tune of seven hundred thousand smackeroos... You'll be on a train to St. Anne in under an hour."

No matter what (or who) awaited him in the capital city, it had to be better than getting caught up in this week's civil bloodbath or dying here in the national sandbox. The last part of the Field Marshal's statement left Azov a tad befuddled, though.

"Would it not be faster by helicopter?" He inquired, pointing at the trio of unmarked choppers as they rose out of the pit.

Nikola chuckled dismissively.

"We don't have helicopters." He curtly stated, laughing intermittently.

[Insurgia]

25 Miles from Lübbenau Prison, The Intreshan State, Abathon
Penal Quarry E
May 11th, 1949
1:10 PM

Two of the helicopters loudly descended upon the mass of men, one staying airborne to watch from above. One on either side of the group of soldiers, dust and sand was sent flying, possibly blinding anyone without eye protection. The two birds touched down and the doors swung open. The kill squad of blacked out uniforms quickly dispatched themselves to surround the group of soldiers, each boot designating themselves a different Intreshan opposer to take down. If anyone was to be an aggressor, they would meet a timely fate and ruin it for the rest of their friends. The rotors on the helicopter spun violently, ready to carry the crew away in a quick fashion. Myers and Holloway positioned themselves appropriately. Holloway joined in the contest of intimidation but knew there really wasn't a lot of time. With that, he switched to an Intreshan tongue, nearly perfectly.

"No one has to die." Holloway yelled over the sound of the choppers.

Holloway shifted his gaze to Kurbin, verifying that it was him.

"Kurbin! You're coming with us." he demanded.

Giving a quick nod to two boots, they quickly approached Kurbin, ready to detain.

The third chopper flew overhead. The pilot spoke over the commlink to Holloway.

"Sir, armored units are closing in. We are running out of time. Eagle is two minutes out." the pilot spoke.

Holloway quietly acknowledged the information, waiting for the acquisition.

[Intresha]

25 Miles from Lübbenau Prison, The Intreshan State, Abathon
Penal Quarry E
May 11th, 1949
1:11 PM

In response to the potentially hostile foreign craft, the small detachment of the 7th Guards Tank Division kicked into high gear. Reversing from their parked positions, they fell back some distance to ensure a clean shot on the lone airborne helicopter. A couple of more arced their main turret, anticipating the other two to take off in short order.

On the ground, a handful of halftracks and support trucks made similar maneuvers, rapidly traversing the gravel hills to cut off access to roads leading back to the main prison. Meanwhile, Zhekov's men jumped into action, tightening their circle around both their Field Marshal and Kurbin.

"I concur, stranger! Nobody has to die. Nobody has to die at all. How about you and your men come inside? Surely we're all civil enough to discuss this without the possibility of most, if not all of us getting killed!" Nikola shouted over the screeching helicopter rotors.

He put on his sunglasses back on as to combat the oncoming barrage of dust and sand.

The Black Hundreds Company made their arms ready, should they need to use them. They'd pledged themselves to Vozhd and country and would fight to the death to secure the interest of both, especially against outsiders.

Azov fell over in the midst dust storm. Cradling himself in his weakness, he forced himself to stop wondering what made these Insurgians so goddamned persistent.

[Insurgia]

25 Miles from Lübbenau Prison, The Intreshan State, Abathon
Penal Quarry E
May 11th, 1949
1:12 PM

Holloway listened, translating it all over in his head. The two dispatched boots yielded as the Intreshans formed a circle; they awaited his word. Myers looked to Holloway nervously. Holloway returned a calming gaze. Shadow Company kept their weapons aimed, some of them quietly switching to full auto, hardly noticeable with the incoming barrage of sand. The helicopter overhead loudly circled the quarry.

"The tanks have stopped, sir." the pilot spoke over the comms.

"Copy that." Holloway acknowledged quietly.

Holloway thought over the offer, gazing through the maze of Intreshans. His thought process was suddenly interrupted by something much louder than helicopter rotors. The engine of the F-15 echoed and rumbled as it made a close flyby, nearly at the same altitude as the airborne chopper. The sound, if not sending some back in time to remember the screeching rumble of the Marathonnian jets, would at least make some uneasy. Myers was about the only Insurgian dumbfounded by the jet. The rest of the boots seemingly unaffected by it, then again, they knew it was coming. The jet made a quick pass over the gravel hills, showing off to the tanks and halftracks.

Holloway remained focused on the circle. He was quickly and precisely processing the options he had. The pilot spoke loudly into the radio.

"Sir, Eagle has thirty minute fighting time."

Holloway blinked, wondering if saving these men was an option. He didn't hesitate. He removed his hand from the grip of the Thompson, lowering it as well. Providing some sense of relief.

"Let's talk!" Holloway requested.

[Intresha]

25 Miles from Lübbenau Prison, The Intreshan State, Abathon
Penal Quarry E
May 11th, 1949
1:14 PM

"Company! Stand down!" Barked Zhekov to the B.H around him.

The command quickly spilled over the mass of soldiers, eventually finding its way to the tanks that found themselves on standby. No doubt a few of them radioed in their current situation to headquarters a few miles away, but that went without saying. The halftracks and supply vehicles remained in place, merely as a lighter precaution.

All the while, Nikola not-so-smoothly grabbed Kurbin by the scruffy cloth of his prison uniform, quasi-frogmarching him into the nearby hutch.

"If you didn't have anything to explain before, you certainly do now!" The miniature Field Marshal growled up at him.

Only jostled forward by the force of the little man, Kurbin had little to retort with. He prayed with all his might that these negotiations would be quick and expedient. He'd kill either of these numbskulls for a cold shower, an aspirin, and a couple of hours of solid rest.

As they entered the hovel, the oppressive smell of blood floated in on the air conditioning. The kitchen was clearly drenched with the stuff, being connected with the living room and whatnot. From there, long red trails of carnage led back into the back of the house. For his own sake, Zhekov hoped that the outsider wouldn't inspect any further than he had to.

Turning to his new counterpart, the Field Marshal gestured to the ratty, L shaped couch that solely occupied the small living room.

"This is as good a place as any, I suppose." He chortled, plopping himself down.

Azov did the same, although hesitantly. He was always cautious of sitting down on such questionable furniture. They often served as domiciles for rats. Rats that bit when disturbed. He'd seen it not once, but twice during the war. Not a pretty sight.

[Insurgia]

25 Miles from Lübbenau Prison, The Intreshan State, Abathon
Penal Quarry E
May 11th, 1949
1:19 PM

Holloway quietly entered the house, subjecting Myers to exterior guard duty along with the rest of the boots. Myers still had yet to see what all the fuss was about. He didn't know a lick of Intreshan. Shadow Company waited outside, sharing the perimeter with the Intreshans. Holloway gazed upon Azov, then to the Field Marshal. The distant sound of the F-15 roared. It would make several passes until called upon; its time however was limited.

"I've exceeded my limits of your tongue and I must ask for forgiveness as I will be continuing in English. Our mutual friend can translate if need be." Holloway spoke.

The Insurgian spy was quick to seat himself as far as possible from both of them, careful not to be in between them. He had made that mistake once before and it cost him one horrendous interrogation session and a finger.

"I cannot leave here without Kurbin." Holloway quietly stated.

"He's wanted—for crimes abroad." Holloway continued.

[Intresha]

25 Miles from Lübbenau Prison, The Intreshan State, Abathon
Penal Quarry E
May 11th, 1949
1:22 PM

The Field Marshal nodded, looking to Kurbin. It looked as though that they would soon be debating over the custody of a corpse.

"You'll find my English is, how do you say? Serviceable." Nikola responded in the Insurgian tongue.

"Let us establish first and foremost: Leuitenant Kurbin was strongarmed by the Stavka into doing whatever you accuse him of. Your trouble lies with the old Intresha, not the new. The Lieutenant was simply fulfilling orders. No more, no less. The State has absolved him of his crimes, and the Vozhd granted him a full pardon. Hence why he hasn't been gunned down, like the rest of the criminal scum working in this quarry." Zhekov declared, jumping at any opportunity to badmouth the government in exile.

[Insurgia]

25 Miles from Lübbenau Prison, The Intreshan State, Abathon
Penal Quarry E
May 11th, 1949
1:24 PM

Holloway blinked nearly expressionless, giving Kurbin another look and taking a deep sigh. He sat up straight, maintaining a good posture.

"New Intresha or not. My country remains the same. His crimes are still punishable. Hence why we're here. I offer you this...trade his life for the lives of everyone else here. Hand him over and we'll leave. Nobody will die."

The sound of the F-15 roared closer as it came in for another flyby of the quarry.

[Intresha]

25 Miles from Lübbenau Prison, The Intreshan State, Abathon
Penal Quarry E
May 11th, 1949
1:26 PM

Nikola pondered the sound before relating it to the machine that produced it.

"Jet aircraft... You drive a hard bargain. I would be more inclined to accept if the Karaqis hadn't offered damn near the same thing a month ago. However, this isn't my decision to make. On a similar note, my boss wants the Lieutenant here almost as badly as you do. If I were to simply hand him over without consulting higher Party authorities, I stand to lose my head. Maybe worse." He sighed, folding his hands in his lap.

Azov sputtered before speaking.

"What the hell do you want to do to me, anyhow? I'll tell you the same thing I told this man. If you wanted me dead, you've had the chance for quite a while. I've made my peace. If you're gonna do something, be my guest." He had trouble staying consistent in English, so subbed out a few words for his native Intreshan.

[Insurgia]

25 Miles from Lübbenau Prison, The Intreshan State, Abathon
Penal Quarry E
May 11th, 1949
1:30 PM

Holloway wondered about Kurbin's health. He wanted to finish this soon.

"What if...he was already gone when you got here?" the spy asked.

[Intresha]

25 Miles from Lübbenau Prison, The Intreshan State, Abathon
Penal Quarry E
May 11th, 1949
1:32 PM

"Unless you have seven hundred thousand big ones for me, I think I'd prefer to keep my story grounded in reality. Not to mention the dozens, if not hundreds of men outside that saw him mere minutes ago." The Field Marshal pointed out, very concerned for his own safety at this point.

Understanding that he had no legitimate say in his fate, Kurbin resigned himself to sit back and wait. One of these gentlemen would have him, and it was clear they had no intention of wining and dining him beforehand. He was gonna get fucked, and it was gonna hurt.

[Insurgia]

25 Miles from Lübbenau Prison, The Intreshan State, Abathon
Penal Quarry E
May 11th, 1949
1:34 PM

"I'm sure you can figure out some sort of lie to tell your men. Maybe it wasn't Kurbin after all." Holloway smiled.

The spy adjusted himself, the pistol strapped to his right leg was out of sight.

"Or...$800,000 Credits...Kurbin and myself and the men I came with, were never here..." Holloway offered.

[Intresha]

25 Miles from Lübbenau Prison, The Intreshan State, Abathon
Penal Quarry E
May 11th, 1949
1:35 PM

"A gentleman and a scholar. I don't think I crossed a better diplomat during my days at Omaha State." Chuckled the Field Marshal

Patting Azov on the back before standing up to leave, Zhekov looked to the Insurgian on the far side of the couch.

"He's all yours." He said, before turning to leave.

Barely caring anymore, Kurbin turned himself over to his new captor. He held out his hands, wrist together. He supposed there was probably going to have to be some sort of phony trial before they threw him under the jailhouse.

[Insurgia]

25 Miles from Lübbenau Prison, The Intreshan State, Abathon
Penal Quarry E
May 11th, 1949
1:40 PM

Holloway smiled, standing up. It wasn't before long Holloway was seen exiting the house with the Intreshan spy. There was perhaps an exchanged glance between Myers and Kurbin, despite Azov not knowing he was indeed looking at his former pursuer. Holloway signaled the boots and they immediately sprung into action, quietly backpedaling towards the helicopters as they kept their guard up against the Black Hundreds. The rotors loudly began to pick up speed, hurdling dust and sand all around in numerous directions.

"Eagle One, HVT is extracted, we're Oscar Mike." Holloway spoke into his radio link.

The sound of the F-15 sliced through the air as it made a pass near the hills and began its journey back to the homeland. The doors on the choppers swung open and the Intreshan spy was hurdled into the chopper, forced into a seat by a few boots. Holloway began to step aboard with Myers a second behind. The spy put his hand out in front of Myers.

"Take the other chopper." Holloway ordered.

"What? But—you know who this guy is, right?" Myers asked.

"Yes. I know. Take the other chopper, Agent." Holloway remained monotone.

Myers blinked at the spy, slowly backing off the chopper and speedily running to the other, boarding it. Holloway waited for the rest of the boots to board before quickly shutting the door. Within minutes, the two choppers lifted off and began their journey back to Insurgia. Holloway forced a headset onto the Intreshan, allowing him to communicate with the Insurgian over the course of the ride back. It would be a long flight.

[Insurgia]

Limewick, The Parliamentary Republic of Arkham Nation, Vaudus
Historic District, The Peppermint Hotel
May 13th, 1949
8:00 AM

It wasn't long before Theophilus found himself entering the room of the treasured Nelson Slezov. The Arkian was known for numerous atrocities in the underworld but his most renowned modus operandi was the way he chose to kill people. It was nearly untraceable to most but those who recognized exactly just how compulsive the killings were, would know it was Nelson "The Judge" Slezov. The man operated to a degree that made himself well known in the underworld and the stories that leaked to the public would all be distorted to legend. Theophilus was just as treasured and known, if not more, by the underworld. Despite his Marathonnian nationality, he still became a valued member of the Syndicate.

"Nelson...very nice to see you again." Theophilus left the door cracked behind him.

The Marathonnian paced forward.

"I apologize for that mess at the freight station last month but we were a little desperate for answers...you're a hard man to reach, no doubt...enough of that however, the issue has been resolved but since our stay here has been justified a bit longer...I need to ask for your help—for old times sake."

Theophilus quietly made himself comfortable, sitting down on one of the chairs.

[Insurgia]

Alpine, The Independent Republic of Insurgia, Abathon
Vostod Scout Sniper School
May 30th, 1949
4:44 PM

The round veered off to the left, still taking a chunk out of the metal target. A shrew of sand kicked up behind it. The sound of the shot came only a few seconds behind the target taking impact. The range was for the most part empty with only a handful of boots and military vehicles present. In the prone was a thin, long and blond haired figure. Only those who managed to get close to him would see he was slightly greying, a homage to his mental age. The rest of the men resided behind the range, smoking a cigarette or otherwise. Next to the prone figure, a tan Insurgian sat in what would be mistaken for a directors chair, binoculars in hand.

"You fuckin' with me? You just suck huh?" the Insurgian scoffed, squinting through the binoculars.

Azov blinked, trying to relax the strain on his grayish-blue eyes. He quietly readjusted his grip on the Winchester Model 70. A rifle humbled to have claimed hundreds of lives by Insurgian Scout Snipers. Ever since his abrupt rescue from captivity, the spy experienced relentless training from a vast number of Insurgian departments but the sole agency that tagged him as their property would be the OSS. At this point, he was just being cross trained by multiple groups all over the country. Tossed around like a dog. It wasn't in vain however; Kurbin knew there was something special planned for him. Whether he cared or not, was up to dispute. He was just grateful he was getting three meals a day now.

"Cycle the rifle." the Insurgian ordered.

Azov did so without question, ejecting a hot shell from the chamber.

"Switch from black to red..." he continued.

Kurbin quietly pressed the safety inward, the red lining on the other end signifying the rifles deadly potential.

"Remember to take wind and planet rotation into account...fire when ready, slick." the Insurgian sat back, raising the binoculars to his face.

The Intreshan took a deep sigh, potentially waiting for the natural pause with each breath. The Insurgian spotter peeked over to his left, wondering if he would take the shot soon or make him wait another ten minutes. He rolled his eyes, looking through the binoculars, zooming on the white target placed nearly 2000 meters away. It was a tricky shot with the rifle in question but it was the one that was directed for usage. Maybe to get him more oriented with all the bugs that came with the rifle.

"Don't be a dipstick! It isn't going anywhere!" the spotter yelled, keeping his sights on the white silhouette.

Azov squeezed the trigger, letting the round loose. The sound of the shot echoed down range, into the valley. The spotter squinted through the binoculars, looking for any sort of hit. He adjusted the focus, getting a clear picture of the target. Head shot. Right between the eyes; hypothetically. The spotter stood up from the chair and with that, the group of boots behind the range grew silent. Azov switched the safety on.

"Good fuckin' shot..." the spotter spoke.

"I aim to please." Azov responded.

"Cycle the rifle; leave the bolt open and the rifle on the sandbag. Get on your feet." the spotter ordered.

The Insurgian turned around, looking toward the range tower, quickly signalling whoever was posted. Over the loudspeakers, a voice came hurdling as if it came from the sky.

"Cease fire on the range, cease fire on the range."

Pacing to Azov, he stopped behind him.

"Face me, slick." the Insurgian ordered.

Azov did as demanded.

"How do you think you did?" the Insurgian asked.

"Adequately." his accent was audible; no care given.

"You think you hit?" the tan man asked.

"I do." Azov responded.

The spotter cracked a grin at the Intreshan for a split second; perhaps just enough time for the slav to notice. A modicum of respect.

"Go get your target off range. Report to dinner chow at 18:00." the Insurgian ordered.

The two parted ways with Azov quickly beginning his descent down range. It would be a long walk down the valley but one that would produce a sense of respect among his new teachers. The Insurgian returned to the group of boots, whether or not he kept quiet about the result of the shot is up to dispute. The Intreshan stumbled down the rocky and grassy valley, calculating how long it would take him to get to and from. Luckily, there was no way to be late twice.

[Intresha]

Redacted

[Arkham Nation]

Limewick, The Parliamentary Republic of Arkham Nation, Vaudus
Historic District, The Peppermint Hotel
May 13th, 1949
8:00 AM

Nelson moved the toothpick from one side of his mouth to the other. He took it out of his mouth and took a sip of bourbon. “Ahh Mr. Schilling, so glad you are here.” Nelson said setting the glass down. “Oh, don’t worry about that little accident at the station I’ve dealt with it. Now to business, what can I help you with Mr. Schilling?” Nelson smiled at Theophilus offering him a drink and cigarette.

Limewick, The Parliamentary Republic of Arkham Nation, Vaudus
Metropolitan District
May 13th, 1949
10:30 AM

It was Trevor’s day off, he woke up in a sweat again from the same dream. He looked around his small apartment breathing heavily. He suddenly heard a loud knock from his door and Trevor sighed. It was probably Mrs. Connolly asking for rent again, he thought. She was always asking for money from the people living in the apartment. He got up and wiped his face on the shirt he wore yesterday. He put on a robe and walked to the front door, when he got to the front door he looked in the peep hole. On the other side of the door was Tommy, Trevor was surprised that Tommy knew where he lived and was at his apartment. He unlocked all 4 locks on his door and he opened it to see Tommy giving a big smile. “What are you doing here and how do you know where I live?” Trevor asked as Tommy invited himself in. He inspected around Trevor’s apartment giving a “mmm” every so often. Trevor closed the door and locked the 4 locks on it. He turned and walked over to Tommy, who was looking in the refrigerator.

“I looked at your file I mean we’re partners, we should know where each other live.” Tommy belched. He took out a milk carton and started gulping it down. After a few swallows of milk he put it back into the refrigerator. “What is this? A mob bank? He pointed to the door. Trevor glanced at the door and turned back to Tommy.

“A lot of burglaries happen around here. It’s my day off, what are you doing here MacGuire?” Trevor demanded getting annoyed. Trevor was hoping to escape Tommy’s remarks but now that Tommy was in his home he grew more frustrated.

“Calm down, we have a new lead.” Tommy chuckled.

“How? We have gotten no new leads for months now, the case is about to go cold. Trevor sounded surprised.

“Now I got your attention, the freight station manager has come forward with some new evidence.”

“That’s great news!” Trevor laughed. “What did he say?

“Wanted to come get you first before we started asking him questions. Now get your clothes on don’t want the witness to get excited.” Tommy winked at Trevor as he passed him to the door. He unlocked all the locks muttering something under his breath Trevor couldn’t make out. Tommy opened the door and turned back towards Trevor, “Oh did I forget to mention he has no tongue.”

[Insurgia]

Limewick, The Parliamentary Republic of Arkham Nation, Vaudus
Historic District, The Peppermint Hotel
May 13th, 1949
8:05 AM

The Marathonnian stood behind a suede chair, gripping it with pleasure.

"If it makes up for any inconveniences I may have caused...I would like you to meet someone." Theophilus turned his head, clearing his throat.

The door cracked open a bit more, slowly opening. A young boy, barely out of his twenties presented himself. He looked like his mother in a lot of ways, facial features and eyes mainly. His hair belonged to that of his late Insurgian father. He sported a deep blue double breasted suit; a black overcoat hung over his arm. He stepped inside slowly, a bit confused as to what was going on. Probably just as much as Nelson was. Theophilus smiled at the young boy, then turning to Nelson, giving him a brief grin.

"Nelson. This is your nephew. Winston."

[Insurgia]

Iniapolis, The Independent Republic of Insurgia, Abathon
H.A. Kelly Center for Intelligence
May 15th, 1949
11:01 AM

The fourth floor was somewhat silent. Aside from the nameless agents and female secretaries that wandered about the floor, either reporting back to their desk from lunch break or going to lunch, all was quiet. Holloway sat at his new desk. All of this was so alien to him. The new room. The walls were...glass. It was transparent. He could see everything happening on the floor. Or well, everything that wasn't blocked off by cubicles. Not to mention that the room was huge. His little stunt in Intresha had quietly paid off. Enough to get him a promotion. His new bird-dog, Azov had been sent God-knows-where to get properly cross-trained. 'A Most Efficient Killer' is the way he put it to the man assigned as the Intreshans' handler.

Holloway glanced at his desk and what laid upon it. A couple of documents requiring his signature, now that it suddenly meant so much. Or did it?

A single figure caught his eye pacing toward his door on the other side of the glass. Holloway would soon learn to ignore such easy distractions but something said this particular person was an exception for now. The man stopped at the door, knocking thrice.

"Enter." Holloway grumbled audibly.

The door opened slowly, a thin, caffeinated-out-of-his-mind, kid entered. He was obviously straight out of college, perhaps younger. The OSS was not above recruiting out of high school as such brilliant exceptions had been made. Holloway would know this first hand. The boy adjusted his glasses; a large pile of paperwork in his hand.

"Sir, I need your signa-" the boy was cut off.

"Got it. Put it on the desk." Holloway demanded.

"Y-yes, sir."

The boy paced over to the desk, putting the paperwork down as neatly as he could. Holloway signed along the previous two documents, finishing them quickly and glaring at the young boy.

"It's Davis, isn't it?" Holloway asked.

The boy nearly dropped the whole pile, quickly readjusting it.

"Yes, sir." Davis responded.

"Right right...straight out of Subiaco I hear...quite brilliant. You're good at analytics...good memory?" Holloway added.

"Yes...and thank you, sir. Your reputation proceeds you as well." Davis responded.

The young boy tried to crack a smile but was quickly shot down by Holloway's demoralizing glare. A few thoughts raced over Holloway's mind. He adjusted himself in his seat.

"Davis...I have a new assignment for you. Nothing too hard." Holloway grabbed a pen and document from a cabinet.

"Yes, sir. Of course. What can I do?" Davis asked.

"You're being transferred over to Surveillance and Data Collection..." Holloway began writing.

Davis seemed a bit numb to what he was hearing. He couldn't seem to get the words out. Holloway still continued to write.

"You have to be a Case Officer or higher to even be considered for Surveillance and Data, sir...I'm not even-" the boy was once more cut off.

"Consider this a promotion. Report to the fifth floor, ask for Connolly. Tell him I sent you." Holloway finished.

The spy finished writing over the document, putting it inside a manila folder. He quickly took a big red inked stamp, slamming it over the folder. Holloway stood up hastily, walking around the desk, nonchalantly walking the young agent out of his office and handing the file over.

"You have sixty days. Starting tomorrow morning...we expect big things from you, Davis. Make us proud, yes?" Holloway smiled, the boy barely outside the room.

"Yes, si-" the boy was cut off by the door shutting in his face.

Davis blinked at the door, examining the name engraved into the door name plate that was attached to the metal door. He looked down at the file, quietly beginning to pace toward his office. He could feel the eyes of Holloway staring him down until he was clear of his field of view. A heavy weight of anxiety lifted. Davis looked down at the manila folder with the red ink on top as he navigated to his cubicle. The newly titled Case Officer quickly hid away in his cubicle, looking around before silently setting the file on his desk, flipping it open and every so often, looking around to make sure the coast was clear. An empty data page sat inside the folder with two blaring words in black ink at the top under the name tab.

MOROZOV, DUSCHA