Assuming I am selected then I am good to go whenever; it's good to be a uni student when all your assignments are done.CosmicCommander said:
*pantsoffdanceoff*
Deathless Ideal- Chapter 1: Displacement (USSR RP)
- Thread starter CosmicCommander
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Get ready... 3 PM is approaching....
Congratulations on being accepted to:
Skarin
LockHeart
curlycrouton
Combined
Aqualung
The Infamous Scamola
Sosakitty
_____________________
Again, my deepest apologies to all who didn't make it, it was an extremely tough choice!
Congratulations on being accepted to:
Skarin
LockHeart
curlycrouton
Combined
Aqualung
The Infamous Scamola
Sosakitty
_____________________
Again, my deepest apologies to all who didn't make it, it was an extremely tough choice!
Cool. Just in the nick of time too.
Congrats to all other posters, even the ones that didn't make it. All of your sheets were riveting reads.
Congrats to all other posters, even the ones that didn't make it. All of your sheets were riveting reads.
OOC: Please, DO NOT post any OOC chat hereon in this RP, please go to the newly created User Group [http://www.escapistmagazine.com/groups/view/Deathless-Ideal] for all OOC chat!!
We are extremely glad to inform our comrades in the township of Svobodny that your request for civilians has been accepted; train number 845-4 left approximately 2 days ago. We have displaced several people with the needed abilities to serve your township well, and we have several un-desirables to be granted living space at the town. Please note that the train contains five extremely dangerous and well-trained insurgents, and many political dissidents, the former are in secure cells, the latter are within the passenger cabins due to overfill, both parties are immediately to be sent to the Svobodny labour camp and prison, for detainment or removal.
The five men in the prisoner carriage are to be treated with high caution! To avoid any deception, their names are:
Kemerovo Ponekal
Lukas Daryvich
Prontal Tyrankon
Igin Ononda
Ivan Leaseral
People in the passenger carriages should be thoroughly searched upon arrival, and their Identity should be confirmed, Their Files are located in Attachment C, but their names for present reference are:
Lucy Tinanpor
Gediminas Naujokaitis*
Richau Mistov*
Jack Philby*
Thomas O'Beckett
Lewi Pytakov
Oprahn Ahkmed
Rebus Rhomboot
Lucie Rousseau
Carmine Cannizzaro*
Wilhelm Farskov
Peter Opyneux
Sacare Petrovich
Boris Yeltsan*
We hope that these civilians will make the Union a better place.
Jakola Suchev
People?s Welfare Department
________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
Lukas was the only one awake in the prisoner carriage, he knew why, all of his comrades were either asleep, or knocked out by the torturing of the guard patrols that came down here every 4 hours. He looked, for a man in his position, rather neutral, considering he was going to meet his death at his destination; deep inside he was afraid, but he would rather he put a bullet to his head, than let the guards know he was terrified.
He looked at the small window in his cell, and he saw the leafless trees of Siberia, running by, as if it was the world that was abandoning him, not the other way around. Two days is a long time to contemplate the fact that you will soon die, and Lukas was beginning to realise that he was being killed, because he thought for, and by himself. He hated this hypocrisy that was the USSR, he hated the Tyranny of the majority that enslaved him, and if he questions his life is not the property of everyone else, well, he?ll end up someplace like this.
He looked at the plan of the train that was attached to the door that connected the prisoner carriage with its passenger counterparts, and he began to analyze it, in the unlikely event of an escape opportunity:
After he did this, he sat down, and began to await the next guard patrol; even if they were going to break his arm, at least it would be some company.
December 17th 2009, 3:00 PM
To the Svobodny authorities, from the
To the Svobodny authorities, from the
We are extremely glad to inform our comrades in the township of Svobodny that your request for civilians has been accepted; train number 845-4 left approximately 2 days ago. We have displaced several people with the needed abilities to serve your township well, and we have several un-desirables to be granted living space at the town. Please note that the train contains five extremely dangerous and well-trained insurgents, and many political dissidents, the former are in secure cells, the latter are within the passenger cabins due to overfill, both parties are immediately to be sent to the Svobodny labour camp and prison, for detainment or removal.
The five men in the prisoner carriage are to be treated with high caution! To avoid any deception, their names are:
Kemerovo Ponekal
Lukas Daryvich
Prontal Tyrankon
Igin Ononda
Ivan Leaseral
People in the passenger carriages should be thoroughly searched upon arrival, and their Identity should be confirmed, Their Files are located in Attachment C, but their names for present reference are:
Lucy Tinanpor
Gediminas Naujokaitis*
Richau Mistov*
Jack Philby*
Thomas O'Beckett
Lewi Pytakov
Oprahn Ahkmed
Rebus Rhomboot
Lucie Rousseau
Carmine Cannizzaro*
Wilhelm Farskov
Peter Opyneux
Sacare Petrovich
Boris Yeltsan*
* marks a political dissident
We hope that these civilians will make the Union a better place.
Jakola Suchev
People?s Welfare Department
________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
CosmicCommander Presents:
[HEADING=1]Deathless Ideal[/HEADING]
[HEADING=1]Deathless Ideal[/HEADING]
Lukas was the only one awake in the prisoner carriage, he knew why, all of his comrades were either asleep, or knocked out by the torturing of the guard patrols that came down here every 4 hours. He looked, for a man in his position, rather neutral, considering he was going to meet his death at his destination; deep inside he was afraid, but he would rather he put a bullet to his head, than let the guards know he was terrified.
He looked at the small window in his cell, and he saw the leafless trees of Siberia, running by, as if it was the world that was abandoning him, not the other way around. Two days is a long time to contemplate the fact that you will soon die, and Lukas was beginning to realise that he was being killed, because he thought for, and by himself. He hated this hypocrisy that was the USSR, he hated the Tyranny of the majority that enslaved him, and if he questions his life is not the property of everyone else, well, he?ll end up someplace like this.
He looked at the plan of the train that was attached to the door that connected the prisoner carriage with its passenger counterparts, and he began to analyze it, in the unlikely event of an escape opportunity:
After he did this, he sat down, and began to await the next guard patrol; even if they were going to break his arm, at least it would be some company.
[HEADING=1]Chapter 1:
Displacement[/HEADING]
Displacement[/HEADING]
Marie, get him back in the house! Get your hands off her you filthy Commie bastard!
*thud* *crack*
Stand him up. Get the boy.
Don't you lay a finger on my son!
Quiet sika.
*thud*
Now boy, look what happens to those who oppose the revolution.
Stay strong Jack!
*click*
Look after your mother for me.
*BANG*
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Jack jerked awake, startled by the dream.
"DAD!"
Catching his breath, he looked around cautiously, his green eyes taking in the carriage and its occupants. Some of the people were looking at him curiously, English wasn't heard often in this neck if the woods.
Curiosity satisfied, most of the occupants turned away, allowing Jack to sink back into his seat and take a deep breath, closing his eyes.
I have to stop drawing attention to myself like this, I've already gotten away from one shooting by the seat of my pants, the last thing I need is to give the Commies an excuse to lock me away in a Sanitarium.
Opening his eyes again, Jack pulled his coat tight around him and tucked his scarf into the front, shivering from the cold. He was used to more temperate Western European climes, not this near-permanent cursed winter. Rubbing his gloved hands together, he took a closer look at the carriages occupants, noting the shrewish man who always seemed to be watching him out of the corner of his eye.
Huh, I didn't think the Party would leave me without some kind of tail. Maybe I can have some fun with this one though.
Turning away, he reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a pack of Comrade cigarettes and a lighter, along with a half-eaten bar of chocolate. Lighting a cigarette, he took a long drag, relishing the warming feeling of the smoke in his lungs. Exhaling, he broke a small piece of the chocolate off and chewed it as fast as was possible, swallowing quickly.
Gotta love State-manufactured chocolate, tastes so bad you need to eat it while smoking...
Jack gave a bitter chuckle and put the packet and the chocolate bar back into his pocket.
Guess there's nothing else to do but wait. What the hell do they want me in the arse-end-of-nowhere for anyhow?
*thud* *crack*
Stand him up. Get the boy.
Don't you lay a finger on my son!
Quiet sika.
*thud*
Now boy, look what happens to those who oppose the revolution.
Stay strong Jack!
*click*
Look after your mother for me.
*BANG*
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Jack jerked awake, startled by the dream.
"DAD!"
Catching his breath, he looked around cautiously, his green eyes taking in the carriage and its occupants. Some of the people were looking at him curiously, English wasn't heard often in this neck if the woods.
Curiosity satisfied, most of the occupants turned away, allowing Jack to sink back into his seat and take a deep breath, closing his eyes.
I have to stop drawing attention to myself like this, I've already gotten away from one shooting by the seat of my pants, the last thing I need is to give the Commies an excuse to lock me away in a Sanitarium.
Opening his eyes again, Jack pulled his coat tight around him and tucked his scarf into the front, shivering from the cold. He was used to more temperate Western European climes, not this near-permanent cursed winter. Rubbing his gloved hands together, he took a closer look at the carriages occupants, noting the shrewish man who always seemed to be watching him out of the corner of his eye.
Huh, I didn't think the Party would leave me without some kind of tail. Maybe I can have some fun with this one though.
Turning away, he reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a pack of Comrade cigarettes and a lighter, along with a half-eaten bar of chocolate. Lighting a cigarette, he took a long drag, relishing the warming feeling of the smoke in his lungs. Exhaling, he broke a small piece of the chocolate off and chewed it as fast as was possible, swallowing quickly.
Gotta love State-manufactured chocolate, tastes so bad you need to eat it while smoking...
Jack gave a bitter chuckle and put the packet and the chocolate bar back into his pocket.
Guess there's nothing else to do but wait. What the hell do they want me in the arse-end-of-nowhere for anyhow?
"You say you can't see a reign of goodness and truth on earth. Nor could I, and it cannot be seen if one looks on our life here as the end of everything. On earth, here on this earth, there is no truth, all is false and evil; but in the universe, in the whole universe, there is a kingdom of truth, and we who are now the children of the earth are-eternally-children of the whole universe. Don't I feel it in my soul that I am part of this vast harmonious whole? Don't I feel that I form one link, one step, between the lower and the higher beings, in this vast harmonious multitude of beings in whom the Deity-the Supreme Power if you prefer the term-is manifest? If I see, clearly see, that ladder leading from plant to man, why should I suppose it breaks of at me and does not go farther and farther?"
Thomas raised his eyes from the pages of the novel to look at his watch for the eighteenth time that day. His frustration began to grow with each glance. Two days had already passed since he boarded the train in Leningrad with little information from his superiors at the clinic as to why and where he was been transferred to, all that he did know was that his services will be needed somewhere in Southern Siberia. Clearly "somewhere" was an apt description. More than 48 hours had passed and he was still moving.
He let out a deep sigh of frustration which immediately garnered several looks from the adjacent passengers.
"Sorry" Thomas muttered apologetically before sinking back into his seat.
Looking out the window near him he admired the barren beauty of the heavy winter snow that lay undisturbed over the Siberian landscape, it seemed unspoiled from the touch of war and free from the burdens of the world. Yet, he knew in truth that these barren landscapes spoke of solitude and a life of extremes, a life that was sometimes forced on others. Was his fate any different than those on the train.
He reached into his pocket and pulled out a hip flask. A strong smell of blended Irish whiskey rose from within, the fluid moistened his lips and gently burned his throat. The warmth gently spread to his limbs.
Where in the world is this place and why aren't we there yet?
He replaced the flask and picked up the novel again, all he could do was wait and read. Wait, until he found out why he was sent to this god-forsaken place.
Thomas raised his eyes from the pages of the novel to look at his watch for the eighteenth time that day. His frustration began to grow with each glance. Two days had already passed since he boarded the train in Leningrad with little information from his superiors at the clinic as to why and where he was been transferred to, all that he did know was that his services will be needed somewhere in Southern Siberia. Clearly "somewhere" was an apt description. More than 48 hours had passed and he was still moving.
He let out a deep sigh of frustration which immediately garnered several looks from the adjacent passengers.
"Sorry" Thomas muttered apologetically before sinking back into his seat.
Looking out the window near him he admired the barren beauty of the heavy winter snow that lay undisturbed over the Siberian landscape, it seemed unspoiled from the touch of war and free from the burdens of the world. Yet, he knew in truth that these barren landscapes spoke of solitude and a life of extremes, a life that was sometimes forced on others. Was his fate any different than those on the train.
He reached into his pocket and pulled out a hip flask. A strong smell of blended Irish whiskey rose from within, the fluid moistened his lips and gently burned his throat. The warmth gently spread to his limbs.
Where in the world is this place and why aren't we there yet?
He replaced the flask and picked up the novel again, all he could do was wait and read. Wait, until he found out why he was sent to this god-forsaken place.
Gediminas was trying his best not to panic. He heard about trains. He heard about a lot of things going on. He doubted their validity, but he feels that there is a lot to fear.
He tried to fall asleep. He remembered his homeland, the soft breeze of the cool summer air as he went into the fields with the other villagers, singing a song of hard work. The tender feel of the golden grain brushing against him. The scorching heat of the noon sun. He can barely remember. So many years have passed since the Soviets took charge.
Gediminas rolled around in his bed for a while, unable to sleep. "Where are we going?" he asked this rhetorical question in Russian. He rolled onto his side. He took out a small, tattered book that the ones who dragged him here allowed him to keep. It was an old novel about a farmer who went to war, expecting to be given gifts and be greeted like a hero, only to eventually lose everything. Gediminas felt that this was eerily similar to his situation.
Slowly, he lost himself within the pages. The train, the people and the whole world seemed to fade away...
He tried to fall asleep. He remembered his homeland, the soft breeze of the cool summer air as he went into the fields with the other villagers, singing a song of hard work. The tender feel of the golden grain brushing against him. The scorching heat of the noon sun. He can barely remember. So many years have passed since the Soviets took charge.
Gediminas rolled around in his bed for a while, unable to sleep. "Where are we going?" he asked this rhetorical question in Russian. He rolled onto his side. He took out a small, tattered book that the ones who dragged him here allowed him to keep. It was an old novel about a farmer who went to war, expecting to be given gifts and be greeted like a hero, only to eventually lose everything. Gediminas felt that this was eerily similar to his situation.
Slowly, he lost himself within the pages. The train, the people and the whole world seemed to fade away...
The train slowly left Leningrad station, huffing and puffing, filling the nearby bystanders with dark, dirty smoke.
Carmine had stepped on the train a couple of minutes prior, his every step mirrored by a grim-faced junior officer of the Leningrad police. He had been assigned to Carmine, to monitor his every movement and escort him to Svobodny, where he would've handed him to the Svobodny police, which in turn, would've handed him down to the authorities at the Svobodny Imprisonment Camp. These were a couple of days that Carmine was not looking forward to. He would've escaped, but the police had had the brilliant idea of handcuffing his left hand to the right hand of said officer. Carmine was loving all of this.
He looked around the aisle, looking for a compartment with the space to hold the two of them. The train had already started moving for ten minutes, at least, before they found some vacant seats. They sat down. It was horrible, in a state of abandon and uncare. The smell was horrible, and the paint had long since started coming off of all the compartment walls and such. In front of them was a what looked like a mother, and three children. No father in sight. She was struggling to keep them calm. She was young, couldn't have been more than thirty years old, but the numerous wrinkles on her face betrayed a life of hardship and hard work. A pity, though Cannizzaro.
Je whispered to the kids, and when they turned around, he started shaking his handcuffed hand, and making funny faces. He had a somewhat funnily grotesque appearance at that moment. He had been shaved during his last day in the camp in the Alps, but that had been a couple of days ago, so his beard had started growing back again, and the clothes they had supplied to him, a black suit and white shirt, no tie, where obviously two or three sizes two big.
The children laughed, and even the woman, betrayed a smile, but this was all soon stopped by the escorting officer, who punched him in the nose, before shouting something Carmine couldn't quite catch. The laughter stopped, immediately. A lonely drop of blood from his nose fell onto his white shirt. Carmine held his nose, in pain.
"Goddamn it." he whispered.
Another couple of uneventful hours passed by. Many times Carmine had tried bonding with the officer, of which he still didn't know the name. Every time, wheter it be a joke, an anecdote or whatelse, the officer would look at him for a couple of seconds, his face an expressionless mask, before focusing his attention on something else. Carmine gave up. He looked out of the window, an infinite plain of white snow stretched itself as far as the eye could see, some times broken up by a patch of trees, a small dirt village, or a lonely hunter's hut. The more the journey went on though, the less these sights became common.
And so, like a small child who goes to sleep counting sheep, Carmine too dozed off, encouraged by the sameness and monotony of winter in the vast Russian outdoors.
Carmine had stepped on the train a couple of minutes prior, his every step mirrored by a grim-faced junior officer of the Leningrad police. He had been assigned to Carmine, to monitor his every movement and escort him to Svobodny, where he would've handed him to the Svobodny police, which in turn, would've handed him down to the authorities at the Svobodny Imprisonment Camp. These were a couple of days that Carmine was not looking forward to. He would've escaped, but the police had had the brilliant idea of handcuffing his left hand to the right hand of said officer. Carmine was loving all of this.
He looked around the aisle, looking for a compartment with the space to hold the two of them. The train had already started moving for ten minutes, at least, before they found some vacant seats. They sat down. It was horrible, in a state of abandon and uncare. The smell was horrible, and the paint had long since started coming off of all the compartment walls and such. In front of them was a what looked like a mother, and three children. No father in sight. She was struggling to keep them calm. She was young, couldn't have been more than thirty years old, but the numerous wrinkles on her face betrayed a life of hardship and hard work. A pity, though Cannizzaro.
Je whispered to the kids, and when they turned around, he started shaking his handcuffed hand, and making funny faces. He had a somewhat funnily grotesque appearance at that moment. He had been shaved during his last day in the camp in the Alps, but that had been a couple of days ago, so his beard had started growing back again, and the clothes they had supplied to him, a black suit and white shirt, no tie, where obviously two or three sizes two big.
The children laughed, and even the woman, betrayed a smile, but this was all soon stopped by the escorting officer, who punched him in the nose, before shouting something Carmine couldn't quite catch. The laughter stopped, immediately. A lonely drop of blood from his nose fell onto his white shirt. Carmine held his nose, in pain.
"Goddamn it." he whispered.
Another couple of uneventful hours passed by. Many times Carmine had tried bonding with the officer, of which he still didn't know the name. Every time, wheter it be a joke, an anecdote or whatelse, the officer would look at him for a couple of seconds, his face an expressionless mask, before focusing his attention on something else. Carmine gave up. He looked out of the window, an infinite plain of white snow stretched itself as far as the eye could see, some times broken up by a patch of trees, a small dirt village, or a lonely hunter's hut. The more the journey went on though, the less these sights became common.
And so, like a small child who goes to sleep counting sheep, Carmine too dozed off, encouraged by the sameness and monotony of winter in the vast Russian outdoors.
Hope this is good.
France today would be lit like a beacon of lights, diluted beneath a blank cover of snow and glittering frost. Footsteps would haunt all sidewalks, the ghosts of peoples passed. But in Siberia, such a beauty Lucie could not find.
Her eyes, clouded and dull in fatigue and boredom, scanned the moving landscape from behind her frosted window. This snow was dim beneath the cloudy sky, and untouched, hinting that any impression left by man or beast would disturb and ruin its solid glory. With a heavy sigh, Lucie settled deeper into her corner seat and crossed her ankles before tearing her gaze away from the outdoor scenery.
Two chairs at her table were empty. The only one taken was straight across from her, where an important businessman focused all senses on a silver laptop computer. She automatically searched him up and down, before turning again to the window.
Why did I accept this job offer? ...Things were perfectly fine back home, and the home before that. Lucie leaned backward, resting her head on the back of her chair. I'm just running again, aren't I?
After tying her bouncing curls back into a ponytail, one hand fell to her lap, while the other fell to the table- and onto a book. She glanced at the cover; brown, frayed and unadorned, it bore only one word written in gold script: Exogenesis. She flipped the book upside down, letting one finger trace the binding gently. Not the type of book to let a communist or a USSR patrol see. Closing her eyes and relaxing, a slender finger continued to stroke the book as one might to a lost belonging, or an old memory.
Memories I'll never find...
Her eyes, clouded and dull in fatigue and boredom, scanned the moving landscape from behind her frosted window. This snow was dim beneath the cloudy sky, and untouched, hinting that any impression left by man or beast would disturb and ruin its solid glory. With a heavy sigh, Lucie settled deeper into her corner seat and crossed her ankles before tearing her gaze away from the outdoor scenery.
Two chairs at her table were empty. The only one taken was straight across from her, where an important businessman focused all senses on a silver laptop computer. She automatically searched him up and down, before turning again to the window.
Why did I accept this job offer? ...Things were perfectly fine back home, and the home before that. Lucie leaned backward, resting her head on the back of her chair. I'm just running again, aren't I?
After tying her bouncing curls back into a ponytail, one hand fell to her lap, while the other fell to the table- and onto a book. She glanced at the cover; brown, frayed and unadorned, it bore only one word written in gold script: Exogenesis. She flipped the book upside down, letting one finger trace the binding gently. Not the type of book to let a communist or a USSR patrol see. Closing her eyes and relaxing, a slender finger continued to stroke the book as one might to a lost belonging, or an old memory.
Memories I'll never find...
Lukas was waiting patiently for the door to open in the prisoner carriage- they had done the torturing in cell number order, since he was in cell 5, it was only logical to assume the next guard patrol would be torturing him. He was nervous, to say the least; but he waited patiently for the guard to come, and break something inside him.
The door to the cabin opened and in came a burly guard; he wore the standard military grunt uniform, with its grey and white camouflage in case of an insurgent attack, or stealth operations. He wasn?t wearing a hat, which was rather unusual, but he had the red star with the hammer and sickle in the centre on his left shoulder. His lack of hat showed off his dark brown eyes and face that looked like a pink beach ball.
?Good afternoon, Mister Daryvich!?
?Just get it over with?? was Lukas?s half-assed response.
?Do you know,? continued the guard, as if he had not heard Lukas, ?that I actually have special orders??
?Oh, goody,? replied Lukas, as if the guard's last sentence was some disgusting curse word.
?Indeed, do you wish to know??
?Not really?
?Well, my superiors are rather upset with you, trying to steal our Head of Defence?s Documents!?
?Oh, so the big fish are now making you feel larger than a minnow?? uttered Lukas.
?Silence!? shouted the guard as he unlocked the cell door and walked in, closing the cell door behind him. Lukas could see through the bars of his cell that the idiotic guard had not closed the Carriage door, if he was tortured, everyone in Carriage 3 would probably hear. ?So,? continued the guard, ?Why did you try to steal those documents?? Lukas just stared at the guard, smiling.
The guard fumbled around in his pocked, and held up a baton, and said, ?I?ll ask you nicely once more, why did you try to steal documents belonging to our Head of Defence department??
?Mainly because of all of the departments, I think the Defence department is the one needing more laughs, I mean, look at Leon Trotskovsky! He never is jolly at all, and he is your department's leader!?
?I?ve had enough of your games!!? shouted the guard. The guard lifted his baton, swung it in a circular arc, and then landed it right into Lukas?s face. Lukas instantly felt pain, he wanted to scream, but he managed to just let out a groan. But then the guard did the same thing, again, again, and again, by the sixth time he was hit, he fell to his stomach, facing the wall at the end of his cell.
Focus on the wall Lukas, Focus on the wall! So he tried staring at the crumbling grey paint on the carriage?s wall, it?s cobwebs and the bit of mould, and tried to daydream his way out of the pain.
But the guard?s ruthless routine continued, he kept hitting Lukas, kicking, hitting him with the baton, and eventually stamping on him; by this time, Lukas began the scream in pain, loudly, pathetically; he felt like he was going to faint.
The people in Carriage 3 are going to hear this thought Lukas as he remembered the open door in the carriage.
His screams stopped, when the guard finally stopped the beating, and puffed exhaustedly out:
?Why?won?t? you? *puff*? Lukas looked at the guard?s face, it was bright red, and sweat was dripping from his brow. ?I?ll? be? back?? Panted the guard as he unlocked the cell door, and stepped out to the carriage door, and he realised everyone on the over side of that door would have heard the beating. ?Shit!? said the guard loudly as he walked out of the door, and into carriage 3. Lukas just sat on his bed, panting, and sweating. He checked all of the main points of pain for major cut?s or fractures; miraculously there were none, apart from his nose, which was dripping blood out like a grim sort of tap.
The door to the cabin opened and in came a burly guard; he wore the standard military grunt uniform, with its grey and white camouflage in case of an insurgent attack, or stealth operations. He wasn?t wearing a hat, which was rather unusual, but he had the red star with the hammer and sickle in the centre on his left shoulder. His lack of hat showed off his dark brown eyes and face that looked like a pink beach ball.
?Good afternoon, Mister Daryvich!?
?Just get it over with?? was Lukas?s half-assed response.
?Do you know,? continued the guard, as if he had not heard Lukas, ?that I actually have special orders??
?Oh, goody,? replied Lukas, as if the guard's last sentence was some disgusting curse word.
?Indeed, do you wish to know??
?Not really?
?Well, my superiors are rather upset with you, trying to steal our Head of Defence?s Documents!?
?Oh, so the big fish are now making you feel larger than a minnow?? uttered Lukas.
?Silence!? shouted the guard as he unlocked the cell door and walked in, closing the cell door behind him. Lukas could see through the bars of his cell that the idiotic guard had not closed the Carriage door, if he was tortured, everyone in Carriage 3 would probably hear. ?So,? continued the guard, ?Why did you try to steal those documents?? Lukas just stared at the guard, smiling.
The guard fumbled around in his pocked, and held up a baton, and said, ?I?ll ask you nicely once more, why did you try to steal documents belonging to our Head of Defence department??
?Mainly because of all of the departments, I think the Defence department is the one needing more laughs, I mean, look at Leon Trotskovsky! He never is jolly at all, and he is your department's leader!?
?I?ve had enough of your games!!? shouted the guard. The guard lifted his baton, swung it in a circular arc, and then landed it right into Lukas?s face. Lukas instantly felt pain, he wanted to scream, but he managed to just let out a groan. But then the guard did the same thing, again, again, and again, by the sixth time he was hit, he fell to his stomach, facing the wall at the end of his cell.
Focus on the wall Lukas, Focus on the wall! So he tried staring at the crumbling grey paint on the carriage?s wall, it?s cobwebs and the bit of mould, and tried to daydream his way out of the pain.
But the guard?s ruthless routine continued, he kept hitting Lukas, kicking, hitting him with the baton, and eventually stamping on him; by this time, Lukas began the scream in pain, loudly, pathetically; he felt like he was going to faint.
The people in Carriage 3 are going to hear this thought Lukas as he remembered the open door in the carriage.
His screams stopped, when the guard finally stopped the beating, and puffed exhaustedly out:
?Why?won?t? you? *puff*? Lukas looked at the guard?s face, it was bright red, and sweat was dripping from his brow. ?I?ll? be? back?? Panted the guard as he unlocked the cell door, and stepped out to the carriage door, and he realised everyone on the over side of that door would have heard the beating. ?Shit!? said the guard loudly as he walked out of the door, and into carriage 3. Lukas just sat on his bed, panting, and sweating. He checked all of the main points of pain for major cut?s or fractures; miraculously there were none, apart from his nose, which was dripping blood out like a grim sort of tap.
Jack jerked his head round at the sounds coming from the carriage behind him.
Christ, I didn't know this was a prison train!
Suddenly a guard strode out of the carriage door, red faced and sweating, muttering to himself in dark tones. He must've given whoever was stuck in there a hell of a beating. Jack watched the officer stride past him, exchanging a glance with the shrewish man.
Well that pretty much proves it, I'm being followed. Hang on a second, if this train has prisoners and Svobodny's the only call, then we're en route to part of the Gulag...
Shit.
With that startling revelation, Jack began to casually look around, seeing if there was any way he could make some sort of escape.
They're not gonna let me get off this train without handcuffs and a gun to my back.
His time working as an ICA informer had led the cell to teach him some forms of evasion, which had proved handy in the London industrial sectors, allowing him to shake off any nosy police or People's Constables. Jack hoped it would be good enough for their arrival into the station.
Christ, I didn't know this was a prison train!
Suddenly a guard strode out of the carriage door, red faced and sweating, muttering to himself in dark tones. He must've given whoever was stuck in there a hell of a beating. Jack watched the officer stride past him, exchanging a glance with the shrewish man.
Well that pretty much proves it, I'm being followed. Hang on a second, if this train has prisoners and Svobodny's the only call, then we're en route to part of the Gulag...
Shit.
With that startling revelation, Jack began to casually look around, seeing if there was any way he could make some sort of escape.
They're not gonna let me get off this train without handcuffs and a gun to my back.
His time working as an ICA informer had led the cell to teach him some forms of evasion, which had proved handy in the London industrial sectors, allowing him to shake off any nosy police or People's Constables. Jack hoped it would be good enough for their arrival into the station.
Richau staggered, as though in a daze, onto the dank, musty carriage onto which he'd been shoehorned. He felt infected, almost like he was drowning, in a sea of no-goods, junkies, and failures.
"I shouldn't be mixing with these people. I am a businessman. Fuck the USSR".
As Richau mumbled this under his breath, he pushed a dawdling woman aside, entered his alotted carriage, and slammed the door shut.
They can't take everything away from me. It was mine! My empire, my money, my life.
He stood up suddenly in a flash of rage and kicked the thin, reeking mattress of his rusty bedframe, stubbing his toe. Yelling in pain and rage, he fell to the floor, and was asleep almost instantly, lying like a helpless baby on the disgusting wooden floor.
"I shouldn't be mixing with these people. I am a businessman. Fuck the USSR".
As Richau mumbled this under his breath, he pushed a dawdling woman aside, entered his alotted carriage, and slammed the door shut.
They can't take everything away from me. It was mine! My empire, my money, my life.
He stood up suddenly in a flash of rage and kicked the thin, reeking mattress of his rusty bedframe, stubbing his toe. Yelling in pain and rage, he fell to the floor, and was asleep almost instantly, lying like a helpless baby on the disgusting wooden floor.
A sudden explosion of screams from the next carriage over caused Wilhelm to jerk his arm in surprise. The portable mouse for his laptop went flying and glanced off of the bottom of the train. Though it is cleverly disguised as a floor, the ground under him couldn't really be considered as such, since it was only meant to hold the locomotive together. If it was possible for the Soviets to save money and simply have the passengers suspended over the undercarriage, they wouldn't hesitate to do exactly that. The screams of the man became faint as Wilhelm's mind wandered farther and farther away from the present topic. He began to go over the events that led him to be on this train going to some far off Siberian settlement.
Ten days ago, Wilhelm had just risen up from his armchair and had begun to cross his living room in his home when the innocent-looking glass of water to his right spontaneously exploded, spraying liquid in all directions. Spooked, he called the authorities, and told them about what happened. A police car pulled up, a brief investigation was conducted, and the officer was on his merry way without any explanation. Later that day, Wilhelm received a call from a constable saying that a terrorist cell was trying to kill him and, for his own protection, he was to be transferred to an undisclosed location in Siberia. He was given one week to prepare. Knowing that nothing he could say would change their minds, he just accepted his fate and purchased a how-to book on the Russian language. Living on an island in the Baltic Sea, he usually didn't have a need for any language other than Danish.
One week later he had packed his bags and a black sedan was waiting outside of his cottage. The driver was impatient, leaning on the horn despite the fact that it was 5:00 in the morning. Wilhelm got dressed, grabbed his bags, said goodbye to his family and was out the door in fifteen minutes. He got into the passenger seat, the driver made a snide comment in Russian, and they crossed the bridge to Jutland [http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Jutland]. The driver directed Wilhelm to the correct terminal at an unnamed airport in Skaerbaek and they parted ways. He didn't get far before he was chosen for a random luggage search. He had shipped ahead any equipment he may need to continue his research and only had the how-to book and his laptop to keep him sane during the trip. The man by the metal detectors felt that he just had to check the how-to book for contraband of some kind. Wilhelm was led into a smaller, solitary-confinementesque room, where a man in a uniform of some kind waited. He began to carefully go through each page. After ten minutes of this checking, another man walked in, chattering in Russian. The two were obviously friends, as the newcomer offered a mug of either coffee or hot chocolate to the searcher. As the cup exchanged hands, it tipped over, depositing its steamy contents onto the open book. The men sheepishly apologized in their native language and sent Wilhelm on his way.
A few hours later, he only got to enjoy the freedom of the outdoors in Leningrad for a matter of minutes before another driver, identical to the one who had driven him in Denmark, showed up in a very similar sedan and took him to a train station. He hustled Wilhelm aboard and disappeared. Two days of mind-numbing boredom ensued.
With only his laptop and no connection to a network of any kind, Wilhelm could only try to sleep on the oppressively long journey. His sudden bursts of memory could only keep him entertained for a short period of time. He had tried to rest his head against the window, but it was so cold as to be uncomfortable. Any attempts at asking where the train was going had failed, as everyone he had asked could not understand Danish or even English, a language he wasn't too good at. He was alone for two days on that train. This better change soon. he thought to himself.
Ten days ago, Wilhelm had just risen up from his armchair and had begun to cross his living room in his home when the innocent-looking glass of water to his right spontaneously exploded, spraying liquid in all directions. Spooked, he called the authorities, and told them about what happened. A police car pulled up, a brief investigation was conducted, and the officer was on his merry way without any explanation. Later that day, Wilhelm received a call from a constable saying that a terrorist cell was trying to kill him and, for his own protection, he was to be transferred to an undisclosed location in Siberia. He was given one week to prepare. Knowing that nothing he could say would change their minds, he just accepted his fate and purchased a how-to book on the Russian language. Living on an island in the Baltic Sea, he usually didn't have a need for any language other than Danish.
One week later he had packed his bags and a black sedan was waiting outside of his cottage. The driver was impatient, leaning on the horn despite the fact that it was 5:00 in the morning. Wilhelm got dressed, grabbed his bags, said goodbye to his family and was out the door in fifteen minutes. He got into the passenger seat, the driver made a snide comment in Russian, and they crossed the bridge to Jutland [http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Jutland]. The driver directed Wilhelm to the correct terminal at an unnamed airport in Skaerbaek and they parted ways. He didn't get far before he was chosen for a random luggage search. He had shipped ahead any equipment he may need to continue his research and only had the how-to book and his laptop to keep him sane during the trip. The man by the metal detectors felt that he just had to check the how-to book for contraband of some kind. Wilhelm was led into a smaller, solitary-confinementesque room, where a man in a uniform of some kind waited. He began to carefully go through each page. After ten minutes of this checking, another man walked in, chattering in Russian. The two were obviously friends, as the newcomer offered a mug of either coffee or hot chocolate to the searcher. As the cup exchanged hands, it tipped over, depositing its steamy contents onto the open book. The men sheepishly apologized in their native language and sent Wilhelm on his way.
A few hours later, he only got to enjoy the freedom of the outdoors in Leningrad for a matter of minutes before another driver, identical to the one who had driven him in Denmark, showed up in a very similar sedan and took him to a train station. He hustled Wilhelm aboard and disappeared. Two days of mind-numbing boredom ensued.
With only his laptop and no connection to a network of any kind, Wilhelm could only try to sleep on the oppressively long journey. His sudden bursts of memory could only keep him entertained for a short period of time. He had tried to rest his head against the window, but it was so cold as to be uncomfortable. Any attempts at asking where the train was going had failed, as everyone he had asked could not understand Danish or even English, a language he wasn't too good at. He was alone for two days on that train. This better change soon. he thought to himself.