Bittsevskiy Park part 2

Mitya had half been expecting a reprimand. His shoulders relaxed but he watched the doorway Red had disappeared through with some trepidation. He hadn't even thought about her organizing an ambush- he had just been trying to get her momentarily from the room. He nodded.

"I have identification papers from Kievskaya," he confirmed. His dark eyes kept bouncing quickly from the door to Nikolai. "And yes, I think the orange line would be best, then. I don't want to tangle with any of her potential cohorts, in case she's some sort of lure. Maybe it's just radiation sickness, but she makes me a little uneasy."

He chuckled nervously to himself and pulled the balaclava back up over his face. Suspicion wasn't really a good mindset to operate in. Usually he tried to see the best in everyone but the past two days had been trying. Still, he didn't want to be directly rude. Growing up among merchants made him a lot less blunt and direct than Nikolai.

"So, you'll tell her we're not going that way?" Mitya asked. "I wonder if she'll go that way regardless. If not, I don't mind taking her along... We'll just keep an eye on her. I don't want to leave someone up here alone on the off-chance they're... An opportunist."

 

Red would return to the room."I am not agreeing to his terms too much work....whats with all the looks and the gun hand?"She'd say nervously.

 

"No I do not...I am a outsider a drifter....who owes a lot of people bullets and is trying to atone for her bad past is that not enough?"Red would almost growl at him and light up another cigarette her 3rd one in a hour."I...can't trust you with who I am but I assure you it isn't bandit that is all I can say.

 

Red would follow him."Think my real name would help my case?"Would stop when he does and look at him

 

Mitya exhaled slowly through his nose, barely resisting the compulsion to sigh. The woman having no papers was going to complicate things, and draw undue attention from potentially mean and/or bored guards. Usually not a good thing to do. He'd traveled enough from station to station to know that, and had been occasionally shaken down for similar antics in the past.

Deciding it would be best to let Nikolai handle Red's queries, Mitya watched the other two file out of the room and double-checked his chestplate. It was probably on right. Probably. It felt odd being so geared up. He was starting to feel like an actual stalker and not just some poor sap that had bumbled his way up to the surface through a series of very rapid, very crappy circumstances.

Vadim would be happy, Mitya thought. He likely wouldn't be glad things were so dangerous right now, but Mitya liked to think he would at least be proud he was handling things well. He'd reacted competently in the park, despite not really knowing what to do- he'd just acted, and it worked out. Mostly. Oh well. Complaining wouldn't fix anything. It was always best to put on a good front and deal with things as they came.

He pulled on his gloves and strapped the AK74 across his chest, testing the laser one last time. He couldn't whistle with the balaclava on, so he hummed instead just to have some sort of mindless noise. He was eavesdropping on the next room. Just to see when the others were ready to go, he told himself. He was anxious to get back underground before the sun came up, or before the fever turned into something nasty.

 

Red sighs and shrugs."Look I've never really had a home....and how does Natasha Protrova sound?Given my real name is american......"Red would sigh and put her own mask back on coughing loudly again."So I'll stick with you.

 

The humming Mitya had began as a mindless noise was now a fullblown song. Their soldiers, brave guys- one, two, three, four! One, two, three, four! Their soldiers, brave guys- one, two, three, four! One, two three! He was getting entirely too into it. He could remember being a kid in the metro... God, how old had he been? Five? Six? He could remember doing the same thing even then when getting dressed, like he was gearing up like some badass stalker boosting morale for the imminent trip to the surface.

Vaguely, he could also remember having the same hyperactive antics at home. Actual home. In Moscow. He thought he could remember jumping on an absolutely massive bed as a kid while his father tried to shoo him off to school... He didn't think he used to sing war songs or propaganda tunes back then. It was probably cartoon themes or something. What did he want to be back then, a politician like his dad, an architect like his mom? A cosmonaut? He couldn't remember.

Fixing his gasmask to his face and re-securing the helmet, Mitya's seemingly perpetual cheerful face fell back into anonymity. Not even skin was visible. He had already lost two teeth to Nazis and other things that just couldn't be replaced, he didn't intend to leave any openings for further interactions. Whatever. At any rate, he was ready to leave and hope for the best.

"Here I am, the man of the hour!" Mitya chirped, strolling out from the armoury. "We're ready to go? Do you think the bouncers will bump me ahead in the line, how do I look?"

Somewhat professional. He had a shotgun on his back and a rifle at his front, worn armor and pads fixed to his chest, shoulders, knees and elbows. The effect was ruined as he spread his arms and did a theatrical little spin so everyone could admire, sashaying his hips a bit like the complete fool he was. It was like he had forgotten the previous mistrust and grim mood.

He hoisted his pack over his shoulders, trying not to wobble from the unfamiliar burden of so much gear.

 

Red would follow him out into the darkness wishing she had NVGs but flipping on a flashlight instead holding it in a tactical grip with her pistol in the other hand coughing loudly again and staying close to ranger danger

 

No worries dude, it happens. wb

The air was freezing. Somehow, the cold felt sharper than before. The dark more oppressive and ominous. Mitya breathed in frigid, filtered air and shuddered.

He walked down the cement steps after Nikolai, training his apprehensive gaze on the older man's back. Snow had already settled over their tracks from before. They were kicking up fresh ones now. He wondered how long it would be until these were blown over. Five minutes? Fifteen? He tore his gaze from the ground and switched on the dim, yellow beam of his headlamp.

Nikolai had a red light. That was smart. It wouldn't ruin nightvision like Mitya's would. He half considered turning his off, but knew he'd be stumbling and tripping in ten seconds flat. He pressed the stock of the AK to the crook of his elbow and thumbed the safety catch, looking periodically around.

The silence dragged on. In the relatively sheltered Ranger outpost, Mitya's fever hadn't affected him much aside from a headache and throbbing joints. Now the temperature change bothered him. His narrow shoulders trembled almost violently from the chill, but his breathing felt hot and ragged. All he could hear was his own breath straining through the filter, the wind pounding against his helmet, and the shuffling footsteps from the others.

"Why don't we walk closer to the houses? It would shelter us from the wind," he sputtered when he could bear the quiet no longer. He tried to speak quietly. "Is it true things still live in them? This old man I know, Sergei Igorevich, he said weird shit happens in them."

Mitya examined the slouching houses, eyes prying at glassless window frames and half-collapsed doorframes.

"He told me once he went salvaging, and in one house there were corpses. Arranged on a couch, facing an old television. Old corpses, raggedy, with no skin left on them. He didn't think much about them. There was a really great haul to focus on. A big back-up generator in the basement and gallons and gallons of diesel, all untouched. He came back with a few guys the next day to strip parts and see what could be done. When they got there, there was even more bodies by the couch. Some of them fresh. And you know what, the television was smashed, but the guys swore they could hear talking and laughing coming from it."

Mitya blinked a few times and shivered again. This time less from the cold, and more from freaking himself out.

 

//Hope you dont mind me joining in.

A young man charged out of an empty houses his gas mask off coughing and gasping for air his own mask landing next to him his pack off as he backed up agesnt a burnt out car pulling out his pistol "YOUR NOT REAL!" firing three shots into the empty house grazing the rib of a black skellington "YOUR NOT REAL!" coughing as he slowly sled down agesnt the car. His pack sliding off. "the ash...." whipping his eyes "I-I cant breath!" his green eyes unblinking as if looking at something that was not there. holding his head shaking like a leaf. Coughing and gasping

He was a bit short. Short brown messy hair. a little unshaven but deffentiy not a beard more of a shadow. His flat army style cap fell off with his gas mask and a cloth around his neck is hanging barely. He was wearing worn dirty jeans with bits of leather sewn into the knees and ankles. His coat was a trench coat that barley fit him with the Reich's Trystica with a few attempted scratches to remove it as well as a half assed atempt to paint over it. The right shoulder had a some padding on it as well as that elbow. faint hints of red paint on it.

his bag fell to the side as he slid down going in and out of consciousness "I dont want to die looking like Nazi scum....." he muttered as he tried to reach for his mask just out of reach "Let....go...of me..."

 

"Vostok- Vostok- this is Anna 2-2, come in...over."

The broken concrete floor was hard beneath our feet, nobody complained about the conditions we were in- not because they felt they had to ignore it but rather because there was no point in challenging its consistent existence. We was all used to the bigger hardships of modern living- we got used to the shortages and the monsters, but- the smallest things always bothered us, they caused us to miss out or become unprepared- people would loose there lives over a pebble in there boot. It is all so bizarre now.

Vladimir Dimitriskaya Tazikov
'Taz'
'28th Oligarch Expansionary Battalion'

The wind poured through the windows- the cracks- and it drug snow with it. Moscow had never seemed so desolate and cold, even the fire we sat around hardly combated the bitterness that attacked us that evening.
It made me wonder of our mission, this attack of nature- perhaps a sign of god condemning our mission? No...this was Russia, there are no gods here, not anymore.

There was four of us- all of us worked under the order of the Fourth Reich, we was not Nazis...not by any means, but we weren't patriots of the old Soviet Union either, nor did we support evil western ideals or military dominance- above all, we were mercenary's it just so happened the Fascists held the most pay.

I rose the half-cut and burning cigarette against my lips and took a ignorant and deep breath against its butt, I savored the feeling before blowing out a bludgeon of smoke from a mouth hole on my balaclava. The big red door beside me was a entrance to the surface- we had to man it constantly, check the credentials of the man who passed through- update base then go back to smoking, it was a tedious and boring job but it paid...it was uncommon and rare that anybody tried to fight us on there way in- the worst we countered was the surface-mutants and they hardly put up a defense against the mounted DDshK that aimed towards it.
No...things were all peaceful on our front, the only problem we ever faced was the people INSIDE...the Nazis love to exercise there right to control, and usually intentionally would try too like hard and cool to there Pro-Racist loving friends, coming by and poking there fat noses around asking about races and if we was communists- bah, it was easy to fend off the basic grunt assholes- it was just the officers they proved to be any problem.

Officers were identifiable by two features- a clipboard and a black berate, there uniforms looked stupid, but they loved to come and exercise there power, running mutation checks on each guy by the hour and god save you if a fucking party-leader comes by- fuck- you get some asshole coming by every five minutes checking for mutations, uniform, if you was smoking- drinking- anything they thing looks scummy they'd try to write you up.
It made me laugh though- how these people spent hours and hours checking and checking and writing and writing trying to earn there check and get a A for Effort at the end of the month, sheep- all of them are sheep if you ask me.

 

He continued to reach for his mask grabbing it just barely putting it on quickly breathing. Once he started to breath again the force holding him back seemed to let go. He quickly got his bag and started to run away from the house. The run was more of an all out sprint for dear life. Seeing stairs going down. he started to slow down still shaking still scared looking back behind him fearing that what ever had him was right next to him. Looking up as he slowly desened. He saw a demon at the top of a roof jumping off fallowed by three smaller dots along with it. Three small demon cubs learning to fly. It was cute. In a creepy sort of way. But not enough to make him want to stay. River. Was no Fool. He knew Fourth Reich territory. Unlike some of the other factions Reich liked to show there strength the classic "My dick is bigger than yours" routine quickly taking off the trench coat and tossing it outside as well as the red shoulder armor. He knocked on the door slowly. Just hard enough to be heard but light enough to not seem like a threat. taking weapons out of his bag and placing them on the ground next to him Revolver a lightly moddifed bastered and Uboinik. He kept his knife on him But it was in the open in its sheath. his bag next to his feet. "just to be extra safe." muttering to himself "Dam nazi's. Why did it have to be the nazies." he cleared his throat rasing his hands up above his head "H-Hey Open up! Human. " knocking one more time just a little bit harder not wanting to be outside any longer.

 

There was a chime. It was unrecognizable at first within the buzz of footsteps and voices, but it was soon to be recognizable as something beckoning- human or not, it called for us- it called for me.
There was a moment of softness, all eyes fell against the door in silence, a second past then- there was a single sigh among us all and a hand rose slowly among the crowd of four that slammed onto the surface of a wide and bleached, red button.

The button erupted instantly with a massive and ear-piercing buzz before creaking and molding into a constant whined bell.
In the moment- meanwhile, all the men woke up and sprang, there guns bolted into there hands- there fingers gently caressing the trigger without any noise, one man had gripped there hands onto the handle of the massive machine-gun that aimed towards the door.

Three men stepped-forward- I was one of these men.

Me, and the other two slowly un-zipped our bags as one- a conjoined zoop clashing with the dying siren. Each man placed there mask on there faces whilst the others stonely watched on with there guns drawn to the door.

As the red door rose- there was nothing but a silhouette drowned out by the sun behind him, all the men squinted, but I.
I was nothing special among these soldiers and mercenary's- but I knew how to handle myself against what brought itself upon me, from the sun to the snow- we had to learn these thing, these elements of living.

The cold bitterly seeped in, only everyone was so intensified that they hardly reacted- the unnaturalness of the visit hardening them all against the seeping winter, us three stared blankly at the man- the siren dying to nothing, the red light dying- the fire livening, the room was filled with silent shadows, colored by a orange flame.
There was three snaps- one from me, two from the other two men infront. Then an eriee silence fell in the room- only the hard breathing of me and the other two filtering air from the screwed filters of our masks.
Huff...huff...huff...
It was rough and constant- a plastic edge zipping from each of our masks.

I blinked and spoke, my hard-case Russian accent filtering from the breach of my mask with a robotic-twang: "Step-forward. No Guns."

 

Dont shoot!Guns are on the ground next to me!" Stepping forward slowly his guns and bag kicked gently towards one of the men "Just need to rest. The dead city is starting to wake up. If that makes any sense" he blinked for a moment. Looking behind himself.

With out the coat and armor he had a lighter duty coat made from other bits of leather. Simple and brown a dirty long sleeved shirt underneath. "No need to raise an alarm " making sure everything he had was at least on the right side of the door keeping his hands up. His own mask was one of the old modes while not as good as the ones used by soilders or rangers it worked. It was more quite to. one of the many many unused models from the seconded world war. "just dont shoot. allright? Lets just keep this friendly and ill be out of your hair before you know it. " Coughing a bit in his mask his lungs still burned.

He stood next to his bag hands above his head curving to where his hands where on his head. still breathing shakily from the fear just from early and some releafe only to have that fear revived when he saw Reich symbols. "

His ascent was more american than the normal heavy Russian found in the metro.