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The Return of the Tsar

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The stench of war filled the air near a tiny farm house not far from St. Petersburg. The drifting smoke smog from the battlefield mixed with morning fog create an eerie early morning scene. The low rumbling of bombs and artillery shells exploding in the distance only adds to the spine-chilling environment in the countryside. A small detachment of Slavorussian soldiers of varying rank appear through the thick fog. They look battered and downright defeated. One of the soldiers is unconscious and can’t, knocked out, with a laceration on his head. Two of his seemingly concerned comrades carry him off to safety.

Through the dense fog and old farm house appears to be materializing. The weary soldiers breathe a sigh of relief. Finally they can rest, hopefully find some civilian clothes and get to safety. At this point going AWOL isn’t a danger for them. Their leaders seem to have already forgotten about them, less than 24 hours ago Premier Belyakov surrendered the unconditionally to the NC forces. All they want to do is get as far away as possible and avoid being sent to a POW camp. The hungry, tired men waste no time asking the house’s occupants for permission to enter, instead they break the lock on the side door and make themselves comfortable.

“I didn’t think we were gonna make it out of there.” whispers one of the soldiers as he enters the house. His comrades fan out throughout the two levels of the house inspecting room after room. Fortunately for them the house’s occupants had already left when the invasion began, so the house was theirs for as long as they needed it. Chances are whoever lived here won’t be back long after the fighting is over.

The starving men raid the kitchen and pantry for food. They haven’t eaten in days, since supply lines had been cut by cruise missiles, and food on the field disappeared rather quickly. They lay the wounded soldier on the sofa in the family room and turn on the television. All over all the news channels is the explosion at the Kremlin and Parliament almost simultaneously.

“Tragedy in Moscow. High ranking Slavorussian officials have been killed, the Kremlin and Parliament are under attack by, as of yet, still unknown attackers. St. Petersburg falls to the invaders, and the Tsar is missing. Could this be the end?” remarks a news reporter on the television, while scenes of horrified Muscovites and retreating soldiers flash on the screen.

“Our plan worked very well. I honestly can’t believe how well everything came together. I am truly a genius” chuckles the man in a general‘s uniform as he stands in front of a mirror and fixes his hair. “The Dark Hand has achieved its greatest victory today gentlemen, we brought Slavorussia to its knees and watched it crumble at the hands of Nordland.”

“Yeah, but… what do we do with him?” says a blond haired soldier while pointing to the man laying on the couch.

“We need him, we‘re still not out of the woods. If we‘re captured by Nordic of Slavorussian soldiers we might be able to trade him for our freedom. After all securing the Tsar of Slavorussia is more important than capturing a few soldiers or terrorists right? Treat his head wound, then tie his hands and feet so he can’t get away. Call me when he wakes up.”

“Yes sir.”

ooc: This is a continuation of “The Last Tsar of Slavorussia” It takes place almost immediately after the end of that thread and continues to the present, by my rp timescale that’s about 2 and a half months.

Edited by Justinian the Mighty
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“What the… where am I? W-why am I tied up?” mumbles Justinian while he slowly regains consciousness. Still a little dizzy and nauseated, he tries to sit upright and try to recognize his surroundings. His head is throbbing and he feels like someone went 12 rounds with his abdomen. To make things worse the room has a musty smell to it. In one corner of the room there’s a large watermark stained onto the ceiling, and the tacky wallpaper, some disgusting orange floral design from the 60’s, only make him feel more sick. Just looking at the pattern makes the room start spinning. The longer he looks at it, the faster the room spins and the more nauseous he becomes, before he finally throws up and passes out.

Moments later Justinian wakes up again, everything is blurry and unrecognizable. He sees a bunch of people standing over him, but he can’t tell who. He squints hoping his eyes will adjust so he’ll be able to recognize their faces. One of the men help sit him up and get reoriented. He holds up his index and middle fingers and asks, “How many fingers and I holding up?”

“I don’t know, 30, 35...” Justinian replies sarcastically “why am I tied up, and who are you people?”

The soldiers look at each other confused. The man in a general’s uniform with general’s bars chuckles then laughs at him. “stop playing games, you know who we are.”

“No, no I don’t. I have no idea who you are, or anyone else in this room for that matter. Will someone please tell me what the hell is going on here?” replies angrily.

The blonde soldier takes the general into the next room and closes the door. “Sir, hear me out. He‘s suffered severe head trauma, we all saw him, he hit his head pretty hard. He really might not remember what‘s happened last night.”

“Are you telling me he‘s like the cat from that cartoon who got hit on his head and forgot everything and thought he and the mouse were friends?” The general chuckles for a moment then frowns “But when he got hit on the head again he remembered everything.”

“Well, it doesn‘t really work like that. Another hit on the head will… well it’ll probably kill him.”

The general smirks. Already he’s formulated another of his “genius” plans. “Fallow me, I have an idea.”

The general walks back into the room his plan still brewing in his mind. “My boy, you‘re saying you really have no idea who we are or what‘s happened in the last few hours?”

“No dammit! I told you that already!” Justinian snaps at him.

“And do you know who you are, or anything about your past. Can you think of your mother or father. Do you have any brothers or sisters… or a dog? Is there anything you can remember?”

“Well, I remember my name is Jason, or something like that, and my mother, I can’t think of her face but I remember her hair always smelled like vanilla.”

The general laughs, it’s almost too good to be true. The tsar, his mortal enemy has amnesia, his mind is a formless hunk of clay just waiting to be molded. “My boy, I am Gregory Zorin, I‘m the leader of a powerful organization dedicated to freeing the minds and souls of the people… and you are my protégé.”

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OOC: Uh oh...dun, dundun, dun du-un!

Sorry, I felt like saying that. Seriously though, when you RP, it's good. :)

ooc: Thanks

ic:Justinian looks at the general with confusion, then looks down at himself. His hands and legs are still tied and nobody seems to care.

“If I’m your apprentice…”

“Protégé! Apprentice sounds so, old world. It makes me feel like some old peasant passing on my meager trade to another peasant. I think protégé sounds better” General Zorin interrupts.

“Yeah, protégé, whatever. If I’m your protégé then why the hell do you have me tied up?”

The general chuckles and takes out his combat knife “My boy do you think I would lie to you? We just rescued you from some very dangerous men. They could have killed you, but thank god they didn’t. Let’s get you out of those constraints.”

The general starts to cut the ropes that are tied around Justinian’s hands and feet. Suddenly in the distance the sounds of war begin again. First one explosion, then short bursts of automatic gunfire. The sounds steadily get louder and louder.

“Well gentlemen that‘s our signal, time to get the hell out of here.” The general shouts after finally cutting through all the ropes.

The soldiers quickly change into some civilian clothes they found in the house. For most the clothes were either too big or too small, but it was better than being in Slavorussian uniforms, maybe not as comfortable, but at least they wouldn’t be shot at as much. They take pillow covers and bed sheets to carry food, bottled water, medical supplies and other necessities with them.

Justinian, who can hardly walk, has to be helped by the general and his blonde haired companion. All the men dash out through the fields and into nearby woods for cover. It isn’t long before they come to a neighboring farm house with an abandoned pickup truck sitting in the driveway. The old pickup looks like it’s seen better days, but they’re able to hotwire it and get it moving. It’s a snug fit but all the men should fit in the truck, either in the cab or in the back.

“Where are we going now sir?” asks the blonde man as they drive off down the road, to which the general only replies “Moscow.”

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In the car ride Justinian cant help but think that this whole situation seems very odd. If these guys are supposed to be “good guys” then why are they stealing from other people and hiding from anyone who could potentially recognize them? It seems very odd that they cant give him any solid details about his life before he hit his head, or connect one foggy memory to another. It all seems very shady to him especially the name of the organization he’s supposedly a part of. “

“The Dark Hand, that doesn’t sound like a organization dedicated to peace and liberty. It sounds more like a dangerous cult of devil worshipers.” He thinks to himself.

“Who is this General Zorin,” he continues thinking, “and what is it about him that just doesn’t seem right?”

General Zorin does look kind of menacing, like the bad guys from spy movies or superhero villains. He’s not physically imposing. Not very tall or very muscular, slightly more than an average man. He’s bald but he has a goatee, a fairly common style these days. What really stands out though is his eyes. When he looks at you it almost feels like his dark eyes are looking into your soul, and somehow corrupting it. He also has two scars one on the side of his face and the other on his neck. Not very nice places to get cut.

Then there’s by contrast the blonde guy. Regular ladies man type. Women must love his long blonde hair and blue, and his accent must make them swoon.

“I‘d love to just kick his $@! out of this truck and watch him roll into a ditch.” he chuckles out loud after imagining that scene.

While Justinian thinks his mind wanders from one topic to another. He might not remember who he is exactly, but this Dark Hand business doesn’t seem like something he’d be a part of. He tries to think of his family, and remember any memories of the time he spent with them. All he can remember though is his mother’s hair and how it smelled like vanilla all the time. That tiny detail leads him to so many more memories though. Like when he found out about his grandmother’s death, or the first time his heart was broken. Sad memories, but memories he was glad to remember. Sad memories are better than no memories at all.

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ooc: Yeah, the general's last name and appearance are references to Bond villains.

“Get up! Lazy mongrels. We‘re here, get up.” barks General Zorin.

The men get out of the truck to stretch after being crammed into the cramped truck for hours. With only two rest stops on the way to get food and comfortable fitting clothes they‘re glad to be able to move around and walk out the muscle cramps.

“My back is killing me,” groans the blonde man, whose looking around, but doesn’t recognize anything, “Sir, where are we? This doesn’t look like any part of Moscow I know of.”

The General whispers to the man, “We’re not in Moscow, we’re in Velsk. All the roads into Moscow are blocked by military blockades. They’d recognize our young friend in a heartbeat, it wasn’t a good idea to go to there anyway.”

“I see, so where are we going?” The blonde man asks.

“We’re going to the commune in near Kotlas. I doubt anyone would think to bother us there. I‘m gong to have the whole operation moved out of Moscow to Kotlas, or maybe somewhere more hidden. I don’t want us to be found out and accidentally targeted by our new friends.”

“What--what commune?” Justinian asks the general.

“The commune is what we call our bases. We have our main base in Moscow, then some smaller branches in rural parts of this country. The commune in Kotlas, used to be a soviet gulag, and it‘s facilities fit our organization very well. The fact that this country wants to cover up and forget the soviet regime‘s actions means the area is relatively hidden away from prying eyes.”

The general throws keys to the blonde man, “Dietrich, you drive. I need to sleep.”

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A few weeks ago the town of Kotlas was a small but important industrial town with a respectable population of over 60,000. For the Empire it was a key part of the lumber and paper industry. The town boasts the country’s largest paper mill, providing thousands of jobs for the people. Adding to it’s importance, the fact that the town is also a key railroad hub. Today however Kotlas is a ghost town. During the war it had been the target of several missiles and bombing runs. The people were ordered to stay indoors or to take refuge in bomb shelters. The streets of the once bustling town are empty, occasionally they drive past a tipped over car, or smoldering pile of rubble.

They drive directly through the town, not slowing down or stopping to see the damage. On the other side of the town are the ghostly remains of the Stalin era gulag. From outside the camp looks like normal, like all the other forced labor camps of that era. The rusted wire gates were knocked down from the inside, the wood buildings and guard towers were rotting from exposure and termite infestation. The brick and concrete administrative and staff buildings however were in perfect condition, and the fields where food was grown were just as lush and plentiful as they were when the camp closed.

Behind the fields is a small hill and a tunnel with reinforced steel doors. Painted proudly on the doors is a gold hammer and sickle, on top of a crimson star with the motto, “Workers of the world, unite!” and letters C.C.C.P. curved around the emblem. It’s an eerie reminder of the country’s past.

The tunnel leads deep inside the earth, at the end is a magnificent bunker built as a second line of defense for Soviet high command. On the walls were rich murals of Soviet leaders and happy workers. The only peculiar thing is that the eyes of all the people were painted black. General Zorin explains that, although they didn’t know it, the communist party was merely a tool of the totalitarian monarchs of the old empire. They were blind to their true purpose.

The general leads Justinian to a large room with fully staffed state of the art computer surveillance system. When they enter the room not a single person turns to look at them. They all just stay completely focused on whatever they’re doing.

The general turns to Justinian and says, “This is the new command center of the Dark Hand. From here we will work to accomplish our destiny, and you will be at my side, my right hand, my son. Come let us begin-- I mean continue your training.”

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General Zorin leads Justinian and Dietrich into a training room on the other side of the bunker. In the middle of the room there’s a girl about Justinian’s age. Already deep in meditation, General Zorin, calls out her name several times to get her attention.

“Justin, this is Ekaterina, she‘ll be your, classmate, for lack of a better word.”

The girl sighs. “Call me Katya, please. I hate Ekaterina, it sounds so old.”

General Zorin nods in acknowledgment and then gestures to Dietrich. “Dietrich will be your instructor he‘s well trained in many forms of hand-to-hand combat, and military tactics. Tell me Justin, can you fight?”

“I suppose, if the situation calls for it.” he replies hesitantly. Because of his memory loss Justinian can’t remember the years he spent learning several kinds of various hand-to-hand combat techniques. Part of his training to become tsar included studying not only academic subjects, but military and diplomatic tactics as well as learning to shoot and fight.

His skills fail him however, at least at first when Katya delivers a quick and powerful blow directly to Justinian’s nose. The hit knocks off his balance for a moment, and his eyes instantly tear up. He clasps his face and takes a few steps back, the stinging pain sends shockwaves through his body. He recovers, and just in time, as Katya charges at him with several more swift attacks. Justinian blocks or deflects her attacks, and delivers a powerful blow to the abdomen.

While Justinian and Katya duel, Dietrich hands General Zorin a dossier on one of their own members. “He‘s been leaking information to the Slavorussian intelligence agents in the area. They lost track of him when the war started, and we picked him up. He‘s been in the holding cells for a few days, he told us everything he told the Slavorussians, nothing of great importance.”

General Zorin scratches his chin and groans while he reads the dossier. Traitors are dealt with quickly and harshly in the Dark Hand. There’s only one option, “Kill him…” when turns back around he gets an idea. “actually lets let my new right hand kill him. That‘s enough for now. Justin, come with me, I have something for you to do.”

Down in the holding cell area the traitor is laying on the floor tied up and gagged. Two guards drag him out of his cell, and sit him up in an old wooden chair. The general takes out his sidearm, and gives it to Justinian. He looks at the traitor then to Justinian with a grin on his face he says, “Shoot him.”

The fear in the man’s eyes makes Justinian hesitate. The look of a man who knows he’s about to die, makes him feel sick. He’s afraid if he refuses to shoot the man he’ll be killed too, and rightfully so. He has no choice, so raises the gun and points it at the man and pulls back the hammer. He takes a deep breath, closes his eyes and pulls the trigger.

“Oh! Right in the neck, you ruthless monster you!” the general says jokingly. “Shoot him again, and this time aim higher.”

Firing the gun gave Justinian an adrenaline rush, but the sight of the blood gushing from his throat makes him woozy and blurs his vision. Again he raises the gun, this time with his eyes open, and fires until the clip is empty. When the man’s body stops twitching the general pats Justinian on the back and congratulates him. The Tsar of Slavorussia had just murdered in cold blood.

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Justinian’s first murder weighed heavily on his heart and conscience. Despite what the general told him, his heart couldn’t accept the fact that he had murdered before, or that he enjoyed doing such a despicable thing. The look on that poor man’s face, right before he died, is forever burned into Justinian’s memory. He doesn’t sleep that night, the guilt wont allow him to. He tosses and turns in his bed, unable to cleanse his mind of the dark deed he had committed. His guilt ridden mind continues to torment him the next night and the next, but nothing puts his mind at ease.

Two months pass and the weight on Justinian’s conscience doesn’t go away. At times he torments him self to the brink of insanity and back. Fortunately he’s not alone, over the past couple of months Katya and Dietrich, have become close friends with Justinian. It’s their friendship keeps him sane. He seems genuinely happy when spending time with his friends. Surprisingly they all have a lot in common, even they know that only a few months earlier he was their enemy.

Justinian shares with them his few and foggy memories, and they each tell him how they became part of the Dark Hand. Turns out Dietrich is his last name, William is his first name, but he thinks Dietrich sounds more mysterious. Dietrich was the only child of a normal middleclass family, until his parents were murdered. He left his home to come east, and eventually found General Zorin. Katya however was orphaned at a young age. After living with her abusive aunt and uncle, she ran away also to be found by General Zorin.

They both openly admit that the General is hard to get along with at times, but eventually he grows on you. Even after two months Justinian still doesn’t completely believe him to be what he says he is. There’s something shady about him, and he looks really creepy. General Zorin also has his suspicions. Justinian’s persistent guilt over killing that traitor is a liability. He’s beginning to wonder if his memory loss is a ruse by the Slavorussian government to infiltrate the high ranks of the Dark Hand. His advisors point out It’s a ridiculous idea, but the paranoid general decides to put Justinian to the ultimate test. In a few weeks Justinian will accompany a team of assassins who will murder his mother Maria Romanova, acting Dowager Regent of the reformed Slavorussian Empire.

In a week she would be attending a memorial for soldiers killed during the war. There she and the Prime Minister would be assassinated. The team was ready and all preparations were taken care of. All Justinian has to do is go and observe. If he allows it to happen the general’s suspicions will be put to rest, but if he interferes in anyway he will be liquidated. All that’s left to do is wait.

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Curiosity is a strange thing, it makes people take risks they don’t usually take. All people are prone to explore their inquisitive nature, but when you can only remember bits and pieces of your life curiosity can become an obsession. Justinian has known ever since he met General Zorin and his fanatic lackeys, that they’re not being entirely truthful with him. Justinian decides if he’s going to find the answers he wants he’s going to have to look for them himself.

Always the clever sleuth, Justinian breaks into General Zorin’s office while he’s away, a fairly simple task because the general doesn’t lock his door. “You’d think someone as paranoid as he is would lock his door.” He thinks to himself as he quickly scans the room. On the general’s desk he sees his computer surely a gold mine of information. He wiggles the mouse to exit the screen saver, pretty flowers, who would have guessed?

He puts his head in his hands and sighs, “Just my luck, he doesn’t lock his door, but he locks his computer… If I were a middle aged, insane, overly paranoid general, what would my password be?”

Whilst he looks around hoping to find a clue to the general’s password, he notices an old rusty file cabinet. He sifts through dozens of files, operational plans, weapons schematics, intelligence folders, and profiles on numerous Slavorussian politicians, military officials and social elite. It’s like a who’s who of important Slavorussians. He notices that the folders are organized alphabetically, by last names. While he peruses the documents the familiar Romanov family coat of arms catches his eye. There’s documents on at least 20 Imperial Family members, and at the very front is a file labeled “Justinian Mikhailovich Romanov.”

Justinian opens the folder but hesitates for a moment, when he hears a noise outside. He checks to make sure the door is shut, then locks it so nobody can get in. He closely examines the folder’s contents and it becomes apparent to him that he and the person in the file have a lot in common. He flips through page after page of detailed documents and what he sees shocks him. A photograph of himself from shortly after his coronation in it he’s dressed in full regalia, from the Imperial Crown to the scepter and orb.

A million things start to rush through his head. He’d confirmed that General Zorin, and likely others have been lying to him. He’s not Justin, a poor youth who was lost in the world, he was Justinian Mikhailovich Romanov. As he goes to close the cabinet drawer he sees another Romanov file, Maria’s, his mother’s. Enraged at the general’s deceit he storms out of the room with the two files in search of the general. A concerned Katya watches him barreling down the hall and stops him. They go to an empty lounge where he confronts her with the files, but she stays silent. The look on her face says it all.

“Did you know about this Katya? Have you all been lying to me, using me to do your dirty work? What did you have to gain, what did any of you gain from lying to me? ”

She just lowers her head and stares at her feet, afraid to look him in the eyes and whimpers, “I‘m sorry.”

“YOU !@#$%*!” Justinian shouts as he grabs her throat and pushes her up against a wall. “You‘re going to tell me everything, or so help me God, I will break you in two. Start with how I got to his hellhole!” He releases his grip for a moment so she can talk.

She confirms Justinian’s suspicions, and tells him everything she knows about him. She tells him about his family and his position in the country and how he was supposed to die in St. Petersburg, but something prevented that. She embraces him and apologizes, while in the shadows Dietrich looks on in anger. He was angry at her treachery, but also because of the way she hugged him. They were both traitors, non humans, and when the time was right they would both have to die.

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Moments later Justinian sneaks back into the general’s office to use the phone. The Dowager Empress, his mother was going to be assassinated tomorrow, and he had to do whatever he could to stop it. He calls the local authorities and demands to talk to someone from Slavorussian Intelligence. The operator, thinking the caller is pulling a prank nearly hangs up, until Justinian mentions the Dark Hand. She decides to redirect his call to the nearest local MGB field office.

“This is Agent Viktor Pavlov speaking.”

“Please I need you to listen to me. My name is Justinian, they tried to kill me in St. Petersburg but they didn’t. Now they‘re going to kill my mother!” Justinian says frantically.

“Slow down, who is this again?”

Justinian slows down and repeats himself, “I said my name is Justinian, Justinian Mikhailovich Romanov, I’m being held in a Dark Hand bunker, and I think they‘re going to kill my mother.”

Agent Pavlov perks up a little when he hears mention of the Dark Hand. He instructs someone to trace the call. “Tell me, who is this, really? Where are you calling from, and what about the Dark Hand?”

Justinian now noticeably frustrated responds, “Are you listening to me? This is very important, I‘m in a gulag bunker near Kotlas. General Zorin and his Dark Hand cronies are going to assassinate my mother tomorrow.”

“Kotlas gulag… we‘ve been watching that place, for Dark Hand activity for months, how did you know about that?”

“Will you just listen to me!” Justinian barks, “A team of assassins are leaving tonight, and taking a private plane to St. Petersburg. You have to send help… I‘ve gotta go.”

Suddenly the line goes dead. Agent Pavlov puts down the receiver and asks if the trace was completed. Another agent nods, and confirms the call was coming from, the gulag. Their suspicions that the Dark Hand had been using the bunker and gulag as a base have been confirmed, and more worrying was the fact they had nearly missed the DH’s plot to assassinate a member of the Imperial Family.

Agent Pavlov picks up the phone again and calls his superiors in Moscow. “Minister Nurgaliyev? We‘ve confirmed the Dark Hand is operating out of Kotlas. We have to move tonight.”

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Justinian hastily hangs up the phone when he hears someone outside. He cracks open the door to see who it was, and as he does Dietrich bashes the door open. The door hits Justinian in the face, knocking him to the ground while Dietrich stands in shadowed in the doorway smirking. Dietrich crosses his arms and laughs, “My goodness. Tell me my friend, what have you been up to? What treacherous acts have you been committing in the general‘s absence?”

Justinian groans as he tries to stand up again. His head is throbbing and it’s already started to swell in the place he was hit. He looks at Dietrich and says, “What is it with me and head injuries? Ouch! Jesus, that hurt!”

Dietrich grabs Justinian’s arm, twists it, and forces him into the hallway. Dietrich starts leading him down the hall that leads to the holding cells. Justinian struggles to get free, but Dietrich’s hold is too strong. As they approach the holding area Dietrich hands him off to two armed guards, who lock him in a cell, and as they do that Dietrich says, “Keep him here. The general should be back in an hour or two, and he‘ll want to hear about this. If he tries to escape paint the walls with his blood.”

Within the hour covert agents are already moving into position to infiltrate the bunker way to the bunker, which is still being watched by Slavorussian intelligence agents. The plan to infiltrate the facility had already been drafted, and the agents had been briefed in advance. The Intelligence Ministry knew if they found evidence of the Dark Hand in the bunker they would have to strike fast, or risk loosing the opportunity.

Their objectives:

1. Infiltrate the Dark Hand base

2. Open the main doors to allow soldiers to enter and take the bunker

3. Capture or kill the members of the Dark Hand inside

4. Gather any information about their operations

5. Determine if the tsar is in fact in the facility, and if so extract him.

They watch the general’s car enter the bunker and decide to move in soon. With nightfall approaching, and the army on standby, the soldiers receive the order to begin the mission. Old blueprints of the bunker show at least two emergency exits that could be used to enter the bunker. Red Team and Blue team move in using old prisoner barracks and other natural obstacles for cover. As they approach their entry points both team commanders radio to the commander. When the mission commander gives the order Green Team cuts the bunker’s power lines, giving the Red and Blue teams a short window to enter the bunker without setting off the alarm before the backup generators turn on. Without power only emergency lights, the surveillance and alarm system, and the control room will have power making it that much more easier for the teams to move through the bunker.

Once inside both teams routinely check each room they encounter, as they make their way toward the control room. The rooms are empty, but they’re aware that the DH is already on alert, and don’t want to leave anything to chance. They subdue anyone they encounter and continue on to their objectives.

Dietrich does not ignore the severity of the situation. Fearing Justinian has contacted someone outside the base, and that they’re trying to rescue him, he puts the bunker on alert, and sends more guards on patrol. Surveillance cameras switch to night vision, and laser sensors are turned on throughout the base. If anyone disrupts the lasers he would know. When General Zorin arrives in the control room he’s quickly briefed on the situation. The general chuckles, “You see, you all think I‘m paranoid, but I have my reasons. I will deal with that traitor myself.”

Just as the general is about to leave the control room, one of the teams accidentally walks through a laser sensor and sets off the bunker’s alarms. The general quickly takes command from Dietrich, who quietly slips out of the room to go to the holding cells. When he gets there he sees the two guards unconscious on the ground, their rifles gone and Katya trying to unlock Justinian’s cell.

“Katya!” He yells taking his side arm and pointing it at her. He startles her and she drops the keys. As she turns to look at him she picks up one of the guns she had taken. Dietrich just shouts at her again and shoots her. In an instant reaction as the bullet pierces her chest she pulls the trigger on her gun hitting Dietrich once in the leg and twice in the lower abdomen. Justinian watches as they both fall on the ground, and in a frantic panic he grabs the keys from the ground and unlocks his cell.

He rushes to Katya’s side, who is now bleeding heavily from the wound in her chest and takes her hand. He tries to keep her eyes open, but rapid blood loss is beginning to make her loose consciousness. She looks at him briefly and with what’s left of her strength she whispers, “I‘m sorry I lied to you. I should have told you sooner, I wish I had. I‘m sorry…”

From the corner of his eye Justinian notices movement coming from Dietrich. He quickly stands up and darts over to him, jumping over the two guards right in front of Dietrich. He kicks his gun away from him then kneels down and puts his knee on his arm immobilizing it, but leaving his other arm free.

“Why’d you kill her Dietrich?” Justinian asks.

“Because she was a traitor and a [ooc: insert an offensive word for a promiscuous woman]! Why did she choose you?” Dietrich replies.

Justinian shakes his head and sighs. “You‘re a murderer and a terrorist, devoid of human emotions and any sense of justice. You kill people, innocent people. The choice was obvious. How badly does it piss you off knowing that she wanted me and not you?”

Justinian looks up for a moment when he hears automatic gunfire coming from the control room. The distraction gives Dietrich just enough time to take a knife strapped to his leg and plunge it deeply into the side of Justinian’s leg. Justinian screams in agony and falls back, releasing Dietrich, who uses what little strength he can muster and crawls toward his gun. Justinian fights to ignore the pain and grabs Dietrich, and they scuffle on the floor for a moment, while the gunfire continues down the hall.

With his strength waning, Dietrich reaches for the knife still in Justinian’s leg, to distract him. A sharp pain shoots up Justinian’s side and he pulls away, leaving Dietrich free to continue crawling for the gun. As Dietrich gets closer and closer Justinian quickly grabs one of the cell guard’s knives and hobbles toward Dietrich, on his hands and one knee, dragging his injured lag behind him. Just before he can grab his gun Justinian raises the knife and rams it into Dietrich’s back. While the knife is still in his back Justinian pulls the knife toward him, slicing through Dietrich’s vital organs.

“Now you’ve stabbed me in the back both literally and figuratively.” He says to Justinian as he takes his final breath.

Justinian pulls the knife out and stabs the now dead Dietrich again, “Go to hell!” he replies.

Tired and in pain Justinian lays on his side and tries find something to slow the blood flowing from his leg. While he looks around he hears several footsteps coming down the stairs. It’s three members of the Blue team. As they approach him they instantly recognize him.

“It‘s him. We‘ve found the Tsar!” says one excited soldier, while the other two check Katya and Dietrich. “He‘s bleeding, we‘re gonna need a medic.”

Another soldier put his fingers on Katya’s neck, “I think this one still has a pulse”

For the first time since this ordeal started Justinian feels peaceful and calm. All that's left to do is wait for paramedics.

ooc: Edited for potty language. I failed to think before I posted.

Edited by Justinian the Mighty
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