Fields of Yamantau Chapter 3: Razorblade Salvation (Concluded)

[Yamantau Em]

"Hey...Grigori...you need to see this." Oxanna said softly as she leaned in the doorway of Grigori's office, once more clad in her YPA uniform. Grigori had suggested she re-enlist, and immediately requested that she become the YPA attaché to the PK office in Kiroyev. She held up a letter as she approached, laying it on the desk, a look of great concern in here eyes.

Grigori furrowed his brow as Oxanna sat down, grabbing the letter and flipping it open.

Dear Oxanna,

I'm not supposed to be sending this letter, but in my heart, I know I must. I loved you, very briefly, but with all my heart. That ended when you walked through the door with that traitor, Grigori. Either way, there are things you need to know. The Commisar, or, I guess the Premier now, he made me a deal. I sold my soul to help him, and now, I have peace, with no regrets. I hope you find peace in your new life, and I hope you find love that you can hold on to.

Love, Alyosha.

Grigori took a deep breath, and neatly folded the letter back up, placing it back in the desk. He rose to his feet, and crossed the room, shutting the door. "When did you receive that?" Grigori asked calmly, staring at Oxanna as he crossed back to his desk, sitting on top of it. "This morning. It was post marked from Predice. Some small town in the southern countryside. Grigori, this means Szubrov lied…" Oxanna said quietly, but with a tone of urgency. Grigori raised his hand to silence her. "Szubrov did what he needed to do for the people, Oxanna. Does that mean I'm not furious that Alyosha is still alive? No. I wanted to see Alyosha pay for everything he did, just like I wanted to see Skaggs shot for going along with him. This is just something that will need to be handled. Quietly." Grigori stated. Oxanna stared at him in disbelief. She couldn't believe what she was hearing from her friend, that fact that he didn't even care that Szubrov may have murdered Svrtan. "You know just as well as I do, that sometimes, drastic things must be done to ensure change. You cant look me in the eyes, and tell me that you wouldn't have done the exact same thing for your people, in order to give them a better life." Grigori continued, staring into the corner. Oxanna couldn't argue with him. She had wished Svrtan dead her entire life, she had wished her neighbour's didn't have to live in fear as far back as she could remember.

Oxanna nodded, her mind made up. "We have to kill him before he says anything else. If a single word of what he knows gets out, Yamantau becomes a pariah once again." she said blankly. Grigori moved his hand away from his sidearm and nodded. "Im glad we're on the same page. I'll be making the proper arrangements with the Predicean authorities for my travel. I'll do it myself. Fitting, really." Grigori explained coldly, picking up his phone.


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Three days and some negotiation later, Grigori stepped out of the plane, onto Predicean soil. It felt good here, the sun on his face, the smells of ocean and clean air. Through some help from the local authorities, he had found out that a heavily scarred Yamanta man in his late twenties or early thirties had recently bought a small patch of farmland east of Reggio di Costa. He rented an inconspicuous vehicle, a white sedan, and started on his journey. As he drove, he could see why Alyosha would have picked Predice. It was beautiful here, a far cry from the gloom of Yamantau. He reached over to the black leather travel bag he had brought with him, reaching in for his water bottle. The feeling of the handgun in the bottom of the bag bringing him back to reality far faster than he had hoped. "What are you doing, Grigori? This man was your friend…" he pondered aloud.

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The drive had taken far longer than he anticipated, almost 4 hours, the last half of it in the pounding rain. Now he sat at the end of the long driveway, leading up to the farmhouse where he assumed Alyosha awaited him. He donned his long black wool coat, and began to exit the vehicle, pausing as his hand hit the door handle.

"You are my brother Grigori. My brother."

He heard Alyosha's words echo in his head. He tried to shake them off as he pushed the door open, and emerged into the rain, beginning his walk down the driveway.

"Some kid is stealing your shit, man."

Grigori gritted his teeth as he gripped the pistol in his coat pocket as he thought back.

"You did what you had to do. It's OK."

"ALYOSHAAA!" Grigori screamed as he pulled the pistol from his pocket and strode down the lane way.

"We'll find our way out of this, I promise."

"ALYOSHA BULGARIN!"

Grigori could see the door of the farmhouse swing open as he approached, a familiar figure standing in the doorway. Grigori raised his weapon, pointing it directly at the man in the door, who was now approaching the edge of the covered porch. He could see now, that it was Alyosha, who showed no sign of fear. He seemed almost happy to see Grigori, even though his former friend had a pistol aimed at his chest. Grigori stopped twenty feet from the porch, still aiming at Alyosha, who stood just under the awning.

Grigori looked into the tired eyes of a man he once called brother.

"No matter how this ends, I have your back."

"You motherfucker! How could you do it? How could you do what you did? To your own people?!" Grigori shouted, his voice cracking as he demanded answers. Alyosha looked down at his feet, his hands in the pockets of his tattered work pants. "We do what we must, Grigori. You know that. You lied to me, for months. About who you were, about what you were up to. You could have just told me." Alyosha remarked, looking up at Grigori as he stood in the rain. "I owe you answers, yes, but this is a conversation we can have inside, please." Alyosha said, turning his back on Grigori, and going back inside. Grigori kept his weapon pointed into the house as he cautiously moved forward. He looked around as he entered the house, using his foot to close the door. Alyosha was already sitting at the kitchen table, a cup of coffee in front of him, and one waiting for Grigori. "Don't worry, there's nobody else here. I like it that way." Alyosha assured him. Grigori stayed standing, still pointing his weapon at Alyosha.
"Fine. Suit yourself." Alyosha shrugged, before taking a sip from his coffee.

"Why?" Grigori growled. Alyosha sighed heavily and looked up at him, as if carefully choosing his words. "You want honesty? At first it was to make a difference, then...because I could." Alyosha admitted, drumming his fingers on the weathered wood tabletop. Grigori clenched his jaw as he heard the words. "Because you could…." he repeated, his grip on his weapon tightening. "Yes. Because I could. Jacobs wanted a monster, so I gave him one, and it all went to hell after that. I have no regrets, Grigori. I will apologize for nothing that happened, all the lives taken, because in the end, Yamantau had everything to gain." Alyosha said quietly. Grigori roared as he kicked a chair out if his way, pressing the barrel of his gun against Alyosha's head, he wanted so desperately to pull the trigger right now, but simply couldn't. Alyosha gently wrapped his hands around the pistol and guided it away from his face, and rose to his feet. He embraced Grigori as the tears began to stream down both of their faces. Grigori let the pistol fall from his hand and clatter on the floor as he returned the embrace, the two men stood there in the kitchen, clinging onto one another as two scared children would, as if desperately trying to save each other. "I am sorry, Grigori. I am sorry that it has to end this way, but I want you to know, that I'm glad it's you. I'm glad it's you." Alyosha sobbed as he grabbed a fistful of Grigori's coat. "You will always be my brother, Alyosha." Grigori said, trying to push the words past the lump in his throat.

Eventually, the two parted, and Alyosha solemnly sat back down in his seat, Grigori slowly picking the pistol up off the floor, and placing the barrel against the back of Alyosha's head. Alyosha reached into the pocket of his shirt, and pulled out a photograph of himself, Oxanna, Misha, Grigori, and Tomasz. A photograph they had taken to try and lighten the mood on their long journey to Kiroyev. The tears streamed down Grigori's face as he looked down at the photograph. He closed his eyes.

BANG

The sound of Alyosha slumping over on the table filled Grigori with a nauseous feeling. He opened his eyes to see Alyosha face down on the tabletop, his eyes wide open as the blood pooled, seeping through the cracks between the boards. Grigori gently took the photograph that was still held in Alyosha's hand, and slipped it into his coat pocket. He placed a hand on Alyosha's shoulder, and gave it a gentle squeeze as he walked past. "You will always be my brother."

Grigori solemnly took to his next task. Finding a jerry can outside, next to Alyosha's generator. He walked back in, pouring the contents out around the tiny house, making sure to douse everything. He couldn't help but look at Alyosha's body, slumped on the table, the arm that held the photo still outstretched. He carefully picked up the frail man's limp body, and carried him to his bed, laying him down. He laid Alyosha's arms on his chest, and pulled his eyelids closed, and said a small prayer over the body, asking God to forgive Alyosha. He stayed a moment longer, before he made his way to the door. He took a deep breath, before taking a book of matches from his pocket, and striking one, using it to ignite the entire matchbook. He stared at the flame for a moment, before tossing it inside, watching the flames leap from the floorboards.

Grigori began his solemn walk back down the driveway, pausing occasionally to look back, somewhat hoping that Alyosha would come running from the flaming house, but knowing that he had done what needed to be done. He climbed back into the car, and sat quietly for a moment before erupting. He screamed at the top of his lungs as he bashed his fists off the dashboard and steering wheel, smashing out the screen of the radio. He took the time to compose himself, the house now a towering inferno, the flames leaping out of every window and doorway. He made the needed phone calls to both the Predicean authorities, and back to his office in Kiroyev, before shakily putting the car in drive.

He had already made up his mind, the next step was confronting the Premier.

 

[Yamantau Em]

Grigori sat quietly in his apartment, the lights turned down low, and two empty bottles of rasat sitting on the table in front of him. Szubrov had told him everything, before offering him a deal he couldn't help but take to ensure his silence. Grigori blinked drunkenly at the red and gold badge that sat on the coffee table next to the bottles.

"Commissar."

The golden lettering spelled it out. Szubrov had known why he had barged into the office before Grigori could even speak a word. He could still see the Premier's gentle smile as he pushed the documents and badge across the desk as he told him that he never had to worry about anything ever again, that if he agreed to keep his silence, he, Irena, Misha, and Oxanna would never have to answer to anyone again. He knew he had no choice, what sane man wouldn't take the deal?

Grigori turned his head, squinting at the door as Irena stepped inside. She paused for a moment, a giant smile on her face.
"I just heard the news!" she shouted gleefully, rushing towards him, wrapping her arms around his neck as he sat solemnly. "What's wrong?" she asked, moving around to face him, seeing the empty bottles on the table. "Grigori, what's wrong?" she urged, looking deep into his bloodshot eyes. Grigori looked back at her, calmly pulling the photo he had taken from Alyosha from his beast pocket, and holding it up for her to see. "Every single person in this photo is either dead, or suffering so that I can be where I am now, Irena. Tomasz, Alyosha, gone. Oxanna? Misha? Doomed to a life in this place. No matter what Szubrov does, they will carry the scars of what has happened, as if carved into their flesh with the blade." Grigori rambled drunkenly, letting Irena take the photo. She examined it closely, before flipping it over, and seeing the short note that Alyosha had left Grigori on the back.

Grigori,

I know this has not been easy for you. It has not been easy for any of us, but this is your chance to make a difference. Do not let our suffering, our deaths, our sacrifices be for nothing. Please, my brother, be a great man, for all of us that will never have the chance.

Irena let the photo fall into her lap as she hugged Grigori, this time, he clung to her, and began to weep. She cradled his head, and told him it would all be ok, that he should not blame himself.

But he did.

The two of them were interrupted by a sharp knock on the door, both turning to peer curiously at the door. "Are you expecting someone? Oxanna?" Irena asked, her voice filled with worry. Grigori shook his head. Irena made her way quietly to the hall closet. She knew Grigori kept a Saka-19 with a sixty round magazine on the top shelf, she pulled it down quietly as Grigori lifted the couch and produced the shotgun he kept underneath. Another sharp knock broke the silence. Irena crouched in the cover of the doorframe leading into the bathroom, training her weapon on the door. Grigori pushed the pump back on the shotgun, making sure he had shells ready to go as he crept towards the door. Perhaps the Premier had changed his mind.

Grigori unlocked the door and threw it open, leveling the shotgun at whoever was on the other side. A well dressed man stood in the hall, unphased by the 36 inches of barrel pointing at his face. He casually pushed the barrel aside before Grigori lowered the weapon. "What the fuck are you doing here, father?" Grigori spat.

Warak Chernenkov pushed past his son into the apartment, looking around at the decor and layout. "You'd think they'd have better accommodations for the new Commissar." Warak remarked. "That doesn't answer my question, father. After 10 years, you decide to come see me?" Grigori said angrily, still clutching the shotgun. Warak looked him up and down, before turning his attention to Irena, and letting out a scoff. "Put the guns down children, you look like you're defending your math lab. You're going to hurt yourselves." he poked, still avoiding Grigori's question. Grigori pumped the shotgun, grabbing the shell from the air as it flew, before throwing it at his father as hard as he could, striking him just above the right ear. "What the fuck?! You little brat!" Warak shouted, clutching the side of his head. "Answer me!" Grigori shouted back, tossing the gun down, standing in the entryway, fists clenched. "What? A dad can't come to visit his son? What the hell is wrong with you?" Warak cried out. "Well? What the fuck do want? That has to be it. 10 years, no visit, no phone call, not even a birthday card. What do you want?" Grigori asked, staggering towards the kitchen counter to grab his cigarettes. Warak took a deep breath, watching Irena out of the corner of his eye as she advanced, the rifle still aimed at him. "I...I need your help." Warak finally said, dropping the tough guy act. "With what?" Grigori shot back, lighting his cigarette, glaring at his estranged father through the smoke. "Szubrov is having all of Svrtan's advisors and ministers rounded up, and as the director of the intelligence service, that includes me. I can only assume that nothing good is going to happen. I can't die here, son." Warak explained as he took a seat at the kitchen island, placing his face in his hands. Grigori thought for a moment, before moving to the island himself, positioning himself across from his father.

"You abandoned me and mom. You refused to have any contact with us. The only time I ever saw you was pictures in the newspaper, and now you think you're going to run away again. You're a bullshit excuse for a human being, father. Fucking pitiful." Grigori spat, angrily pushing off the island and marching into the bathroom, returning shortly with something clutched in his hand. He stopped at the coat rack, grabbing a pair of handcuffs from his gear bag. He marched back over to the island, and slammed down the handcuffs, before hastily unwrapping the small item in his hand and placing it down next to the cuffs. A double edged razor blade.

"You want me to give you a way out? There's the only two options I'll give you, motherfucker." Grigori growled. Warak looked back at his son in awe, he could tell that he wouldn't be given any other choice. The color drained from his face as he began to understand that he now had to choose how he would die.

"Son...I…."

"Choose, father."

Warak silently put his hand on top of the cuffs, before shakily standing up and turning around, Irena moving to secure the handcuffs. Grigori watched as his girlfriend handcuffed his father and forced him down to the floor. Grigori reached over and grabbed his phone, dialing a number he would soon be very familiar with. "Put me through to Premier Szubrov, please, Anastasia." Grigori asled politely as Szubrov's secretary answered the call. "Yes, Commissar, right away." she replied. A few moments later, Szubrov grunted into the phone. "Premier, I have arrested one of Svrtan's dogs trying to escape justice. One Warak Chernenkov, sir. Shall I have him delivered to Romarnik?" Grigori asked. "He's your father, you make the call, Commissar." Szubrov replied.

"As you wish, Premier." Grigori said, ending the call. "Irena, I'm too drunk to drive. Would you mind?" Grigori asked, leaning on the island. "Not at all….Commissar." she smiled, pulling Warak up. Grigori slipped on his jacket, and picked up the badge from the table, pinning it proudly to his chest.

Be a great man, for all us.

"Agent Warak Chernenkov, you have been found guilty of aiding, abetting, and conspiring crimes against the people of Yamantau by your own admission. By the power granted to me by the People's Republic, and Premier Ygor Emyan Szubrov, and with Special Agent Irena Kyoto as witness to the sentencing, I sentence you to death." Grigori announced. Warak glared at his son, wishing he had never darkened Grigori's doorstep. Grigori leaned in close, his lips almost touching Warak's ear. "I just wish mom was alive to see you fucking swing." he hissed.

Warak looked down at the floorboards the entire ride to Romarnik, Irena and Grigori sitting in silence, a small smirk on both of their faces. Grigori now took no small amount of pleasure as he guided his father past all the cells, past the processing rooms, directly to the gallows in the central courtyard. "Get up there." Grigori growled, pushing his father up the stairs, Warak stumbling and falling halfway up. "Get up! Move!" Grigori screamed, delivering a crushing kick to Warak's ribs, then another, and another, feeling the ribs giving way beneath his feet before grabbing his weeping father by the neck and dragging him up, letting his rage take over. The guards had begun to fill the courtyard, looking on in a mixture of horror and disbelief as Grigori continued his assault, throwing heavy punches and sending crashing knees against any area he could find through the haze of bloodlust. He forced Warak to stand as he fastened the noose around his neck, cinching it tight. He took a moment to adjust the rope before circling around his father like a caged beast. "I pray to God that he has no mercy on you, father." Grigori hissed, before kicking the door release, the battered Warak dropping through the floor of the platform as his eyes filled with terror. Grigori breathed heavily as listened to sound of Warak choking for air as he dangled at the end of the rope, thrashing every which way. He descended the stairs, keeping his eyes on his father. Warak's face was already purple and swollen as he began to lose consciousness, and eventually stopped moving. Grigori stood proudly in front of the dangling body, before the reality of what he had done began to set in. Grigori staggered back, and began to throw up, Irena rushing to stop him from falling over. Grigori looked up at Warak's lifeless body as it dangled. He had let his anger take him, he had allowed his hatred and pride to take yet another life. He pushed Irena away and stormed from the courtyard, leaving her standing there, surrounded by the guards. "Go back to.your posts!" she shouted, the guards scrambling away like rats. One remained, approaching Irena calmly. "Ma'am, I will wait a few more minutes, and cut him down." he explained. "Just do it now." Irena ordered. "Ma'am, I can't. If he isn't dead yet, the lack of oxygen will have lead to massive brain damage..I...I can't." he replied. Irena nodded, realizing that this poor man must have seen it happen more times than he truly wanted to. "As you were then." she said quietly.

Grigori had already started walking down the road as Irena pulled up behind him in the car, following his footprints in the snow. She stopped ahead of him, and jumped out. "Grigori! Get in the car!" she shouted, Grigori marching straight past her without a word. She ran up behind him, shoving him with both hands. Grigori spun around, grabbing Irena by the collar, ready to strike her. She looked back up at him calmly. "Grigori. It's me." she said sweetly, placing her hands on either side of his neck. He slowly released her collar, and pulled her close. "It can't keep going like this." he said quietly. "I can't keep hurting the people around me."

"Just get in the car, my dear." Irena told him. He did as she asked, and climbed into the car, letting his head fall against the headrest. He fell asleep almost immediately, waking as Irena parked the car. She held his hand tightly as they walked down the hallway towards the apartment that the two of them now shared. Grigori opened the door, and ushered her inside, dropping his coat on the floor as he entered. Irena went about making a pot of coffee as Grigori wandered over to the large window that overlooked the square. He felt Irena's arms wrap around him from behind as he stood there, squeezing him tight. He managed to turn around, and returned the embrace. "Grigori. I loved you from the first time I laid eyes on you. I dont care what you've done, or where you take us. I want you to know that I will always be right here beside you, no matter what." Irena said softly, her face buried in his chest. Grigori looked down at her, and placed a gentle kiss on the top of her head. The two of them laid down on the couch, her head on his chest, and fell fast asleep, waking in the morning to the smell of burnt coffee filling the apartment.

"For fuck sake." Irena sighed as she scrambled off of Grigori to go turn the pot off. She poured the coffee out and started scrubbing out the now stained pot so she could make a fresh batch. "Hey.." Grigori said from behind her. "One second." she replied. "Hey." he repeated. Irena turned around, and covered her mouth with her hands as she looked down at Grigori, on one knee, holding out his PK graduate ring. "I..I know its too big, but it will do until I get another..and I..after last night I…" he rambled nervously. Irena stepped forward and gently grabbed his face, a huge smile across her lips. "Yes." she said happily. "Yes?" Grigori asked, surprised. "Yes." She repeated, taking the ring, which was far too large, even for her thumb. "Grigori, I told you. No matter what happens, no matter what you need to do, I'll be right beside you. I meant that. I dont care about Warak, or Bulgarin, or Jacobs anymore. I know you're a good man. A great man, and you will make your nation so proud." she said, the tears starting to well up in her eyes. Grigori smiled, and pulled Irena close as he rose to his feet. "Whatever life I have left, I want to spend it with you, Irena."

 

[Yamantau Em]

Grigori and Irena stood in the living room of his new quarters. A lavish apartment on the 18th floor of Hremansk, six floors below the Premier's residence. The entire floor had been turned to living space, and as such, looked much like a mansion that extended seemingly forever in any direction. The walls had just been painted a refreshing blue, and the gold detailings torn away and replaced with black marble. Part of Szubrov's reimagining of the building. Construction was still ongoing on the lower floors, but the noise was barely audible from up here.

The couple had gotten married in a hasty ceremony a few days prior, and were looking forward to starting their life together. Szubrov had been the best man, while the Minister of Defence, General Izak Bodan, officiated. It wasn't the wedding either of them ever thought they would have, but they were happy. Things had come together nicely for them in previous months, and Grigori could not complain. He spent most of his time accompanying the Premier on frequent public outings, or inspecting the newly reformed YPA, now called the People's Guard. Occasionally, he would sit in on the trials of Svrtan's lackies, he himself handing down the sentence, which never changed. Death by lethal injection, usually carried out a few days after.

Grigori had watched so much change in six months, that the landscape of Yamantau began to become unrecognizable. People were happier, healthier. International companies began to take interest, and the markets began to open up. The television advertisement for the Saka Eni gaming console featuring members of the government always made him laugh. Irena had already become bored with the life of a kept woman, and often accompanied Szubrov's wife, Marija. The pair had become good friends, always seen giggling like school girls at their public events, mostly fundraisers or the openings of public venues, or getting wine drunk in the palatial gardens that now dominated the once foreboding courtyard in Hremansk Plaza. The plaza itself had become a hotbed for the city of Kiroyev. The bistros and boutiques that had taken over the bottom floors of the apartment and office blocks that lined the square adding a vibrance that had not been seen for many years. Szubrov could always be spotted at Babushka Anna's, a simple restaurant that specialized in old school Yamanta cuisine. He always enjoyed his lunches there.

Szubrov had taken to his new role with vigor, always talking to the public and the press, his face in every magazine and newspaper in the nation at least once a week. He was a man of the people, ever since the meetings with the Commonwealth Council. The photo of Szubrov showing his prison tattoos to the representative from Lawston, pleading with him to reconsider, had become quite famous. Grigori himself had a print of it hanging in his home. The Premier was also well known to despise sitting behind his desk, pushing papers, instead preferring to take an active role in the rebuilding of his nation. He could always be seen getting dirty alongside the men and women that were physically rebuilding. Digging holes, mortaring bricks, hammering nails. He loved these things, he believed they kept him connected to the people. His office, when it was in use, had become a place that men no longer feared. He greeted all who came through the doors with a smile and a drink, hearing them out no matter the issue. The wall across from his desk was covered in pictures of his family and friends, the wall across from the windows holding a large black framed list, the name of every person unjustly murdered or made to dissappear by the Svrtan regime scrawled across the paper in small letters. From a distance, it looked like small squiggly lines that ran all the way down the wall. Szubrov believed that it was important to remember their names, all 386,000 of them.

"Well, it was worth the wait." Irena laughed as she did a small twirl in the middle of the traditional style carpet in the center of the main living room. Grigori smiled at her as he watched her inspect the space, wandering around barefoot in her pink sundress, her fiery braids running down her back. "Yeah, its pretty good. Little big though." Grigori replied, moving to look out the massive windows that lined the entire wall, overlooking the plaza. It filled him with hope to see the people down below strolling through the gardens, reading beneath the trees, sitting in the grass enjoying their food. This was the Yamantau he had yearned for. There was still much work to be done, but this was a good start. "What time are you supposed to meet Ygor tonight, love?" Irena asked from somewhere on the other side of the partial wall where the fireplace sat. "He canceled for tonight, Sofija is sick, and Marija is out of town on that thing for building rural schools." he called back. "Im ok with that. Means we have more time for ourselves." Irena giggled. Grigori smiled as he wheeled around, watching Irena stroll towards him. No sooner had she wrapped her arms around his neck, a small knock drew their attention to the door. Irena raised her eyebrow at Grigori, and moved towards the door. "Maybe he's coming here?" Grigori pondered aloud. Irena opened the door and smiled. "Aunty Irena!" Misha shouted, his voice filled with joy as Irena picked him up and spun him around. Grigori smiled as he approached them, holding his arms out for a hug from his adoptive nephew. Misha ran to Grigori, dropping his brightly colored backpack as he ran. "Hello, Uncle!" he cried gleefully. "Hey, kiddo. How's school going?" Grigori laughed. He had made sure that Misha was enrolled in the best school in Yamantau, trying to give the boy the education that he had been deprived of. "It's good. I learned lots of stuff today." Misha chattered. Irena poked her head out into the hall, looking around for Oxanna. She turned back to face Grigori, her face full confusion as she shrugged. "Where's Oxanna?" Grigori asked. Misha became very quiet, and returned to his backpack, pulling out an envelope with Grigori and Irena's names written on it, handing it to Grigori. He could see that Misha's bag had a few changes of clothes, and some toiletries in it, but no school books. "Sister said I have to give this to you, and stay with you for a few days. She was very sad." Misha said quietly, looking down at the floor. "Is she mad at me?"

Irena knelt down and put her hand on Misha's shoulder. "No, sweetie, you're ok." she assured him. Grigori opened the envelope and scanned the contents of the letter.

My Dearest Friends,

I need you to look after Misha. He deserves better. I can't do this anymore. Every night, I am haunted by the visions of Moroz, Piotr, and Alyosha. I hear Alyosha's screams when I close my eyes, and they tear me from my sleep every night. I haven't been a good sister to Misha. I haven't given him the life he deserves. I know it's not right to ask this of you, but I have no other choice. I'm sorry.

Grigori's heart raced as he dropped the letter, and broke into a sprint towards the door. Hastily pulling on his shoes and grabbing his keys. "Grigori, what's happening?!" Irena shouted. "Its a fucking suicide note! Stay with Misha!" Grigori screamed as he ran towards the elevator. He pushed the button multiple times, pushing his way through the still opening doors as they parted, before repeatedly slamming the ground floor button. "Come on. Come on!" he shouted desperately. He pulled his phone from his pocket and dialed the emergency services number. He barked Oxanna's address into the phone before hanging up, and rushing out of the elevator as the doors began to open again. He rushed out the front doors, past the guards on either side of the door. "Sir?!" one of them shouted, concerned by his demeanor. "Mind your own fucking business, soldier!" Grigori snapped back, his hair hanging down into his red face. The soldier in question snapped back into his position, terrified of the rampaging Commissar. Grigori spun the tires, the loud squeal of the rubber on the pavement drawing the attention of the people in the plaza as he peeled out.

Grigori wove through the streets at speeds in excess of a hundred kilometers an hour, nearly crashing over a dozen times as he pushed the vehicle to its operational limits in the crowded motorways. He looked into the rear view mirror, and saw the ambulance behind him, trying to keep pace. He slid the car almost completely sideways as he came to a stop outside Oxanna's apartment building, the ambulance right behind him. He exited the vehicle, turning his attention to the medics that were approaching him. "With me!" he shouted, running towards the door, smashing the glass out with a heavy kick. He reached through the shattered glass and turned the lock on the inside, pulling the door open, ripping his uniform in the process. The medics kept pace as he sprinted up the stairs, his thundering footsteps echoing in the hallway. He kept his momentum, and delivered another perfectly placed kick into Oxanna's door, nearly blowing it clean off the hinges. The smell of rotten food and stale alcohol hit him immediately, followed by a dull metallic scent. Blood. "Oxanna! Oxanna where are you!?" he called out. The apartment was a mess, a squalid hell hole if ever he saw one.

"Grigori…"

He snapped around, turning his attention to the bathroom. He rushed through the door, and dropped to his knees next to the tub. Oxanna looked up at him feebly. Her forearms slashed wide open from the elbow to the wrist, the bloody razorblade still sitting on the edge of the tub. Grigori looked down, watching the blood pour from her arms, and down the drain. She was white as snow already, barely hanging on. "Grigori, I'm scared…" she said weakly, the tears running down her cheeks. "I don...I don't...I don't wanna die…I f..I fucked up."

"In here! Get in here, God damnit!" Grigori screamed as the medics rushed into the apartment. They pushed him out of the way, and lifted Oxanna out of the tub, laying her on the floor, naked and covered in her own blood. Grigori knelt down and held her head in his lap, stroking her hair. "It's ok, baby. We're right here, we're right here!" Grigori assured her, the tears in his own eyes blinding him. "Sir, she's lost a lot of blood, and the cuts..theyre too deep. We're not going to be able to stop the bleeding." one of the medics explained. "FUCKING TRY!" Grigori shouted, the medic returning to his work with a renewed urgency. Oxanna stared up at him, the tears creating tracks through the dried blood on her cheeks. "I...I don't...this was….a mista…."she trailed off, her once bright eyes now a pale grey as she looked up at Grigori. "Oxanna? Oxanna!" he shouted, shaking her gently. The other medic reached up and jammed his fingers into her neck, trying to find a pulse. Her labored breath stopped, and she lay still on the floor.

The medic looked up at Grigori and solemnly shook his head. "No. No. No, no, no, no." Grigori stammered, refusing to believe it. "Sir, I'm sorry. She's gone." the medic said. Grigori laid Oxanna's head back down gently against the cold tile floor as he rose to his feet. "Take her to the morgue at Hremansk. Tell the mortician that he is to take special care. Understand?" Grigori asked, the rage in his voice barely concealable. "Yes, Commissar." both medics said in unison. Grigori nodded as he wiped his eyes and nose on his sleeve. Trying not to smear the blood on his hands onto his face. He staggered out of the apartment, and down the hall, back out to his car. He climbed inside and began to drive, eventually, he found himself parked in front of the Cathedral of St. Czerna. The cathedral of black stone loomed over him as he exited the vehicle and staggered towards the building, leaving the car running, with the door wide open.

The door let out a loud creak that echoed in the cavernous expanse of the cathedral as he walked in. He made his way down the aisle, dropping his torn jacket on the floor as he walked. The Batushka rounded the corner to investigate the commotion, rushing towards Grigori as he noticed the blood on his hands and neck. "What happened, my child!?" the old priest exclaimed, as Grigori collapsed into his arms. The old man was confused, but embraced Grigori as he wept, clinging onto the old man's robes. "Be at peace, my child. Tell me what has happened." the priest said calmly, ushering Grigori towards one of the pews. "Father, I have lost everyone that I cared about. This blood, this blood…." Grigori wept, breaking down as he spoke, holding his face in his hands. The old priest turned and took the ornate dish of water from the stand before the altar, and placed it on the pew next to Grigori, before tearing a square of cloth from his robes. He dipped the patch of cloth into the water, and began cleaning the blood off of Grigori's hands.

"My son. In this life. The only thing guaranteed, is loss. It is the only thing we can count on reliably. I can see it in your eyes, that you have known so much loss in so little time, that it has broken your soul, down to the very core. I do not know your story, but I know, in time, you will likely come to me again, and speak about it when you are ready in your own time. For now, we wash away the blood that has already stained your hands and your heart, and begin again, Commissar." the old priest said, wringing out the cloth. Grigori sait quietly as the old man wiped it all away. "I was not always a priest, you know. I was ordained in this very cathedral in 1991, by the former keeper while he gave my family and I sanctuary. I have lived here ever since, hiding away from the soldiers that were hunting us. I was 57 then, labeled a traitor for speaking against Svrtan. In response, he had my eldest son, his wife, and their three children murdered. Lined up against the wall of their home and shot. I spoke out again, so they murdered my daughter. She was sixteen years old, and they made us watch as they violated, and then strangled her. My wife, and my remaining daughter begged the priest here for sanctuary, and he almost immediately agreed. So we kept the place clean, tended to the library, so on, so forth. One day, my daughter, she wanted to see outside, and so she ran out into the street, where the YPA ran her over with a truck. My wife, she couldn't take it anymore, and took her own life in 1994, I found her hanging from the rafters in the basement. I know what it is to be broken. I know what it means to blame yourself. I know what it means to lose everything you love, my child." he continued as he wiped Grigori's neck. "Take it from an old man. Do not let your loss define you. Do not hold hatred in your heart, and most importantly, do not blame yourself. I know that my actions contributed to the deaths of my family, but I could not stay silent. Take the loss you have suffered, and use it as motivation, to be a better man. A better husband, father, and friend. Understand?" the old man asked. Grigori nodded, taking a moment to look into the old man's kind green eyes. "What is your name, Father?" Grigori asked. "Imran Bulgarin." the old man smiled gently. Grigori nodded and rose to his feet. "I will be seeing you again, Batushka Imran." Grigori declared. Taking a moment to offer a solemn handshake. Imran shook his head, and gave Grigori a feeble hug instead. "Go in peace, my child." Imran seemed to laugh.

Grigori was astonished to find his vehicle still sitting exactly where he left it, idling in the street. He waited until he climbed into the car, and broke down. He had come face to face with Alyosha's grandfather, and never even knew. It had to be Alyosha's grandfather, the stories about Imran's son, and Alyosha's parents were the exact same, it couldn't be just coincidence. If what he believed to be true in fact was. He would rather that Imran believe his grandson was killed back then, than have him know the truth.

Grigori walked back into his residence, slowly hanging his coat on the rack. Irena emerged slowly from the kitchen, looking at him for some sort of answer. Grigori quietly shook his head. Irena nodded solemnly, and motioned for him to follow her into the kitchen. On the counter sat another envelope, full of papers. "These are adoption papers. Oxanna already signed everything that she needed to, and had it endorsed by a lawyer. She had this planned for a while, sweetheart." Irena explained. Grigori silently took a pen from his breast pocket, and signed every line without further hesitation, before offering the pen to Irena. She took the pen, and paused for a moment. "What are we going to tell Misha?" she asked quietly. "We tell him the truth. His sister has gone to be God. She's another of his angels now." Grigori croaked. Irena nodded, and signed the papers. "I'll uh...I'll have them sent off in the morning." Grigori said quietly, leaning on the counter as he lit a ciagarette. Irena took him under the arm, and took him over to the sitting area. Misha was busy playing with toy tanks, and the Predicean soldier figure that Alyosha had given him. "Well...I guess we're parents now.." Irena mused. "Yeah...we'll add another one of our own soon, most likely. Every boy needs a little brother or sister." Grigori said, forcing a smile. Irena looked up at him and smiled, "Yeah, that'd be nice." she admitted.

 

[Yamantau Em]

Grigori stood at attention atop the hill overlooking the small town of St. Ivjan in eastern Yamantau, near the border with Ponterre. Szubrov had dispatched him to the location with orders to sniff out those who would hide from the courts, running from their crimes under the Svrtan regime. He could see a wary group of shepherds approaching him and his security detail, but they didn't seem like much of a threat.

"Hail, Commissar...my name is Irin, these are my boys, Miloch, and Tihomir. What brings you all the way here from Kiroyev?" one of the men asked as he neared, stopping a few feet away from the heavily armed group. Grigori smiled weakly, and stepped forward, his polished black boots making the gravel and dry grass crunch under his feet as he offered his hand. Irin took it cautiously, the pair firmly shaking hands. "Irin...I am looking for three men, and two women, all roughly 50 years old, would have come here maybe a month ago. They either arrived as a group, or came one by one but now avoid each other. Do you know any such people?" Grigori asked, still gripping Irin's hand with an iron grasp. Irin looked between the People's Guard soldiers and the Commissar, slowly nodding his head. "Yes, two men and a woman came to my farm a few weeks ago, asking for shelter for the night before they went to St. Ivjan. I turned them away, because the town is only another thirty minutes walk, and it seemed suspicious. They were quite well spoken, which..if I am honest, is not common here." Irin replied. Grigori released the man's hand, and turned to the taller of the two that made up his security detail, motioning for the man to give him something. The taller soldier handed Grigori a black plastic binder from his satchel, and returned to standing at attention. Grigori opened the binder, and turned it so that Irin and his sons could see it. "Was it any of these people?" Grigori asked, showing a page with five photos. Irin leaned forward, examining the faces.

"Yes, Commissar. This man….this man...and this woman.." Irin remarked, tapping each photo with the tip of his finger as he identified them. "And have you seen the other two?" Grigori inquired, a grim smile on his face. "Yes, this man..and this woman...they came two, maybe three months ago. Introduced themselves to us as Kristov and Julija Markashenkov, they work in the bakery, with the Semyan sisters." Irin said. Grigori snapped the binder shut, startling the trio of shepherds. "Good. Very good, Irin." Grigori smiled, handing the book back to the tall soldier, before motioning for something else. Irin and his sons tensed up, not knowing what the Commissar would do. Grigori turned back around, and offered a thick white envelope to the men. Irin took it carefully as Grigori nodded to him. "For your service to the people, comrade." Grigori said happily. Irin opened the envelope, and saw that it was stuffed with tarkoes. "I would advise taking your flock, and going home for the day, comrade Irin." the shorter soldier chuckled. His smile obscured behind his balaclava. Irin nodded knowingly, pushing his sons along as they turned away. Grigori turned to watch the convoy of vehicles coming down the road to his left. Troop transports and light armored vehicles heading directly into the town, while the rear of the convoy moved to form a perimeter. "Let's go, shall we?" Grigori smiled.

The soldiers in the town had already taken to escorting the townspeople from their homes, and bringing them into the large central square. This place was old, and many stories surrounded it. Tales of vampires, and werewolves, and wizards. It looked as if nothing had changed here for hundreds of years, the houses, the storefronts, all the same as they had been for as long as the town had stood. "Make way for the Commissar!" one of the soldiers shouted, the crowd parting to make a path for Grigori's approach. "Everyone, please, be at ease. We come as friends, despite our appearance!" Grigori shouted over the confused commotion. The crowd fell silent as Grigori climbed the steps of the monument that sat in the center of the square, a large pillar commemorating the founding of the town. "We are not here to harm you, or your homes, or your businesses. Premier Ygor Szubrov, has issued arrest warrants for five people, that may be living among you!" Grigori exclaimed, pulling the folded stack of warrants from his breast pocket, and holding them high for all to see. "Will Kristov and Julija Markashenkov please step forward?!" Grigori shouted. The crowd murmured and shuffled before a man and a woman emerged holding hands. "Vasili and Anfisa Komar...how lovely of you to join us." Grigori said quietly, hopping down from the stairs, and swaggering towards the terrified couple. The crowd murmured again, shocked, mostly that they had been lied to. "Vasili Komar, in accordance with the laws of our nation, you have been charged with treason, aiding and abetting crimes against humanity, and aiding and abetting crimes against the state. By the authority of Premier Ygor Emyan Szubrov, I hereby place you under arrest. You will have a trial before the high courts, and they will determine your fate." Grigori stated, before the soldiers dragged Vasili away, kicking and screaming, leaving Anfisa to stand alone to face the Commissar. "Anfisa Komar. Under the authority of Premier Ygor Emyan Szubrov, I grant you a full pardon for the charges laid against you. You will not pay for things you did not do, and decisions you did not make. Please return to your home." Grigori said coldly. The weeping woman began to gasp for air as she turned, stumbling her way back to the crowd, just happy to be alive.

A group of soldiers pushed the other three fugitives through the crowd into the clearing, all three struggling against their captors. "Giorgi Raban, Lukasz Slebidnara, and Miran Kolomar. You all stand accused of crimes against the people of Yamantau, crimes against the state, racketeering, and the murder of one Marish Stiyara, a nine year old girl from Tagtaryev. By the authority of Premier Ygor Emyan Szubrov, I hereby place you under arrest. You have been tried, and found guilty in absentia, and have been sentenced to die. The sentence is to be carried out by firing squad, on this, the... eighteenth day of June, two thousand and twenty." Grigori rattled, already tired of saying the same thing over and over. "You can't do this!" Miran shouted, trying to pull away from her captor as she glared at Grigori. "We can, and we did." Grigori whispered, nodding his head slowly. "Take them." Grigori ordered, the soldiers dragging them away as they objected.

"I apologize for the interruption, and I sincerely hope that if you have any complaints as to the way you have been treated by my men, you will come forward!" Grigori announced to the crowd, who looked on quietly. "You should leave this place, Commissar." a voice from the back called. The crowd parted and let a pale young woman with raven hair pass through, her boots clicking on the cobblestone as she walked. "Government dogs are not welcome here, and had we known the true nature of our visitors, we would have dealt with it personally." the woman stated blankly, moving towards Grigori. Her ruby lips curled into a small as she stopped, and peered at him from under the brim of her large red sun hat, her blue eyes piercing through him. "I apologize, madam, I was unaware of the...situation here. I also don't believe I've had the pleasure of an introduction." Grigori said, offering his hand. The woman looked at the outstretched hand, refusing to take it. "And you will not have the pleasure. Please, Commissar, take your men and leave. These are good, simple people who want only to be left alone. I would suggest taking your bounties and leaving, before these people become far less welcoming." the woman explained, looking west, to the setting sun. Grigori looked around, and could already see the anger growing in the crowd. He nodded firmly, before turning on his heel and making his exit.

The town blacksmith approached the woman as the soldiers began leaving, standing behind her. "Willamina...Szubrov promised. He broke the promise." he hissed. "And he will answer for it, Andrei." Willamina assured him.

Grigori shook his head, both amused and enraged at what had just happened. "Fucking people, think they're outside of the law because of some myth about vampires and werewolves. Ridiculous." Grigori spat as he climbed into the vehicle with his security detail. He heard the sounds of rifles firing somewhere up ahead. "Well, at least one sentence was carried out today. Should hit this shithole village with some artillery just to prove a point though." he continued griping. Grigori pulled his phone from his pocket, and dialed Szubrov to update him on the situation.

"Grigori..did you catch them?"

"Yes, Premier. Got them in some backwards little village, St. Ivjan. We…"

"What the fuck were you doing in St. Ivjan?! I gave you express orders, not to enter St. Ivjan! I fucking told you, if that's where they are, you call me, and I would handle it! Did you miss that part?!"

"I...I am sorry, Premier. I must have misunderstood. Premier?...Ygor?!"

Szubrov had already hung up the phone. Grigori shook his head angrily, and closed his eyes. It was a long trip back to Kiroyev, so he may as well catch some shut eye before he had to answer to Szubrov.

------------------------------------------------------------

Grigori straightened his tie and pushed through the doors of Szubrov's office, ready to defend himself. "Before you even start, you said nothing about staying away from...Ygor?" Grigori asked the empty room. Szubrov's secretary tried to catch up with him, shuffling along. "I tried to tell you he left shortly after your last phone call, Commissar. He seemed very worried." the secretary panted. "Well, when will he be back?" Grigori snapped as he spun around. "Uh..he said as soon as possible, sir." she replied sheepishly, backing away from the enraged Commissar. "You tell him, that I'll be in my home then." Grigori hissed as he pushed past her. "Yes sir." the secretary replied quickly.

------------------------------------------------------------

Szubrov pulled his collar up against the wind, and jammed his hands in his pockets as he descended the hill towards St. Ivjan. He hadn't been to this place for many years, he hated it here, and liked the people even less. A few dim lights illuminated the streets as he neared, at least they had finally embraced electricity. The town seemed empty, but he knew better. He scanned the rooftops, seeing the quick moving figures that he was so used to as he walked. He looked up at the moon shrouded in clouds and nervously readjusted his coat again. He could feel eyes upon him in every direction, moving in the darkness. He entered the square, and solelmnly stepped towards the monument, brushing his hands along the base, where he had carved his family name so many years ago.

"Hello, Ygor." he heard a woman's voice say from somewhere along the rooftops. "Willa.." Szubrov replied to the darkness, looking around for her. "My man, he didn't know the rules, Willa. He didn't know to stay away from here." he announced, listening carefully for the sounds of footsteps on shingles. "You promised that we would be left alone, Ygor. That promise seems to have been broken. They came under your authority." Willamina said cooly. Szubrov turned slowly to see her sitting on the base of the pillar. "I gave orders to let me know if they were coming here, and if so, I would handle it. They misunderstood." Szubrov stated calmly, watching Willamina intently. "Your father made you promise to keep us safe, and if today is any indication, you are failing." Willamina hissed, rising to her feet and moving towards him, her boots making no sound as she moved. Szubrov began towards her, until they stood chest to chest. "My promise to my father is still good. Just as his was good to mother, and my daughter's is good to me." Szubrov growled, glaring down at the pale woman. Willamina stayed silent for a moment, looking into Ygor's eyes. "I can't stay mad at my little brother." Willamina said softly, before wrapping her arms around Szubrov's immense torso, Szubrov returning the embrace. "It was an accident Willa. I was careless. My people want answers for the things they endured, and I need to look after them." Szubrov explained quietly. Willa nodded knowingly, with a soft "I know, little brother."

"You haven't aged a day, Willa. But..I guess thats to be expected." Szubrov sighed, finally letting go. "Yeah, vampirism does that. You on the other hand, have gotten old, and very ugly." Willa laughed. Szubrov smiled, and put his arm around her shoulder, "I am hungry! How about something to eat for your brother, huh?" Szubrov laughed. The townspeople emerged from the shadows, some showing the signs of fresh feeding.

"Welcome home Ygor!" said one.

"You look too skinny, Ygor!" said another.

Ygor greeted them all as friends, but was still fearful of them. He had been since he was a child, before his father had taken him to Kiroyev. "Yeah, I think we can scrounge something up." Willa laughed as the townspeople followed, down the darkened streets.

 

[Yamantau Em]

After the severe and brutal tongue lashing Grigori received from Szubrov upon his return, Grigori tried his best to avoid the Premier for a few weeks. With public demand for the trials dwindling, and daily use of his services dwindling, he found solace and peace in his duties as an adoptive father, husband, and member of the church. He and Imran had become quite close, Grigori even confessing everything about Alyosha, how he had aided, then murdered Imran's grandson. The old priest held no grudge, and if anything, it only strengthened their bond. Of course, this was the public image he had designed for himself, for behind closed doors, he couldn't be further from a loving family man and regular member of the congregation. Irena covered the bruises with makeup every morning, and Misha couldn't even look him in the eyes without wetting his pants. Grigori became a brutal dictator in his own right.

Grigori pushed past Irena as she let out a deep sigh, just thankful he didn't nearly knock her over like last time. He paused, turning his head, which he shook angrily before continuing down the hallway between the bedrooms and the sitting area. "Don't fucking sigh at me again, woman." Grigori spat, changing his direction, grasping her by the arm fiercely. She tried to pull away as she stared at the floor, not wanting to get into another argument where she would be left with more marks to cover up. Instead, Grigori tightened his grip and pushed Irena against the wall. "Why you pulling away? Huh?!" Grigori screamed, only a few inches from her face as she looked away, pressed against the wall. "You're hurting me." she replied stoicly, turning her head to glare at him. The sound of shattering glass in the kitchen drew his attention. "That fucking kid is making a mess. Go clean it up." he growled, pushing Irena back down the hallway, sending her stumbling forward.

She moved without looking back, if she looked back, he would hit her, if he hit her, she would cry, if she cried, he would hit her harder, so onward she marched. Misha was already trying to hurriedly clean up the mess he had made, accidentally bumping a glass of milk from the kitchen island as he did his homework. "Mama Irena, Im sorry!" he pleaded quietly, trying to pick the pieces of glass from the floor before he wiped up the milk. "Shhh, I know baby. I know. Let's just get it all cleaned up before papa comes in, ok?" she said, smiling weakly, trying to put on a strong front for the boy.

"Why are you so useless?"

The pair froze as they heard Grigori's voice a few feet behind them. "Huh?" Grigori grunted, slowly circling the pair as they knelt on the floor. "All you do is make messes, boy. And you? All you do is cover for this little shit, you're just as useless as him." he remarked, before grabbing Irena by the hair and pulling her backwards, delivering several quick, heavy strikes to her face, the sound of her nose cracking causing Misha to throw up as he began to cry. Grigori turned his attention to the boy, kicking him in the chest as he cowered against the island. Over and over again, he kicked Misha, the heavy blows interrupting the terrified crying. Irena scrambled to her feet, dashing towards the counter, grabbing whatever she could to try and ward of Grigori.

She ran back towards him and hit him in the neck with whatever was in her hand, through the blur of pain and blood, she wasn't too sure. Grigori let out a sharp yelp as he stood up and staggered back as he reached towards his neck. Irena focused and clasped her hands over her mouth as she realized, she had driven a long filet knife into his neck, right above the collar bone. Grigori blinked rapidly, stricken by the shock and realization of what was happening. He shakily drew his sidearm and leveled it at Irena as the blood began trickle out from around the blade, and his vision began to fail him. "Fucking….bitch!" he rasped as she grabbed Misha, running back down the hall as she heard Grigori open fire, the drywall seemingly exploding overhead as they ran for the door. Two YPG soldiers rushed through the door as Irena closed in, collapsing into the first soldier's arms. "Rila, help us!" she wept, as Lt. Rila tried to figure out what was going on, he could see both were badly beaten, and he could hear the Commissar's pained groans approaching. The other soldier, Lt. Ostoy, tightened his grip on his weapon as Grigori rounded the corner, waving his pistol around, looking for Irena.

"Commissar! Put down your weapon!" Ostoy shouted, leveling his weapon at the almost berserk man careening around before him. "Lieutenant!!! Kill that bitch! This is an order!!" Grigori screamed. Ostoy and Rila looked at one another and made a silent agreement that no more harm would come to Irena and Misha. Ostoy stood in front as Rila pulled Irena and Misha out of the doorway, keeping Grigori in his sights. "Commissar Chernenkov! Drop your weapon!" Ostoy asked again. Grigori breathed heavily as he glared at Ostoy for a moment, before letting his arm fall, the weapon clattering to the floor. "What you gonna do now tough guy? Gonna arrest me? I'll have you shoveling out latrines until the day you die, understand?" Grigori threatened, holding his hand to his neck where the knife still protruded. Ostoy looked over at the terrified Irena, who wept in Rila's arms near the elevator. "Commissar….I said drop your weapons. That includes the knife." Ostoy growled. Grigori blinked slowly. "Are you fucking stupid, son? Its in my neck!" Grigori shouted, grabbing the handle. Ostoy fired 3 rounds, all striking Grigori in the chest. Ostoy's eyes widened as he realized what he had done, as Grigori fell backwards, sprawled out on the floor. Ostoy turned as he heard the elevator chime. His heart almost fell out of his bottom as Szubrov came into view as the doors opened. "Lieutenant! What is happening?!" Szubrov shouted, before seeing Irena and Misha huddled together, clinging to one another for dear life. "Oh no…" Szubrov said quietly, slowly making his way through the door to the lavish apartment. Grigori lay on the floor, gasping for air with a sickening wheeze. Szubrov stood over him, surveying the damage done. "Rila...Ostoy...come here…" Szubrov called. The two men did what was asked, and approached the Premier. "Ostoy...rifle." Szubrov demanded. Ostoy complied, handing his rifle to Ygor, and waited nervously.

Grigori's eyes widened as he realized Ygor was going to let him die, here and now. His breathing became fast, but still shallow, not enough to get a proper breath. Szubrov knelt down next to Grigori, down until he was right next to Grigori's ear. "The future of this great nation will not be an alcoholic wife beater. You should have been hanged." he hissed. Grigori tried to growl out something, but Szubrov put his foot against the handle of the knife, blinding Grigori with pain. "Rila….suppressor." Szubrov demanded. Rila quickly dug through his satchel, pulling out the suppressor, and handing it to Szubrov. The only sound in the room was Grigori's labored breathing, and the rhythmic squeak of the suppressor being screwed onto the rifle. "Irena...sweetheart…..come here." Szubrov called to her. She slowly rounded the corner and approached. "Come, hold this." Ygor beckoned. He gently guided her hands to the weapon, standing behind her to steady her as she gripped it. "You killed him in self defense, it was all on camera. You were terrified for your life, so his had to end." Szubrov whispered. Irena nodded slowly. Grigori weakly raised his hand, grabbing at the barrel of the rifle as Irena fired. The bullet tore apart Grigori's hand before entering his skull. He began to spasm on the floor, the squeal of his dress shoes against the tile filling the air. Szubrov waited for Grigori to stop moving, before leaning down, and pulling Grigori's Commissar badge from his pocket. He tapped the leather wallet style identification holder on his open palm, before handing it to Irena. "He'll be found guilty posthumously for crimes against the people of Yamantau, inciting violence, all that. I wish there was a different way to do this, but I believe you will fill the position better than he did." Szubrov explained. "I...what?" Irena stammered, as Szubrov turned back to face her. "This is the way things are handled, Irena. If you don't want it, just say it." he replied. Irena looked at him silently, before taking out Grigori's government ID card, and tossing it onto what was left of his face. Szubrov nodded and turned to Rila and Ostoy. "Boys, there's an old mass grave near Novisibraskaya, take him there, toss him into one of the open pits if there is one, if not, make one. You will act from here on as Commissar Kroto's personal guard, and are sworn to secrecy, any attempt to reveal classified information, such as the true nature of former Commissar Chernenkov's death and burial, will be punishable by summary execution." Szubrov told them. They glanced back and forth, before nodding. "Good. I'll be sending cleaners in an hour, now get out of here."

------------------------------------------------------------

Rila, Ostoy, and the newly minted Commissar sat in silence as they rolled the SUV through the countryside south of Novisibraskaya, the narrow roads at some points nearly impassable. "He told me about this place, this is where it all started for him." Irena finally spoke. "Ma'am?" Rila inquired. Irena leaned against the window, watching the trees pass by against the sunset. "A story for another time." Irena stated coldly. "Hey man, up there." Ostoy interrupted, pointing to a rusted out flat deck truck that had been stripped for parts, alongside an open top type vehicle, that was likewise rusted and stripped. "Just like he said." Irena muttered, further confusing the other two. Rila brought the vehicle to a stop just short of the long trench, lined with skeletal remains. He and Ostoy wasted no time, pulling out the plastic body bag that lay in the back of the SUV, and carrying it over to the pit. The pair unceremoniously tossed the bag into the pit after a few swings to gain momentum. Irena pushed between them with a fuel can, emptying the contents on top of the bag, and some further down in the pit. "I hope you find peace where once you found despair." Irena said under her breath, lighting a cigarette and tossing it down after a few puffs. The flames jumped from the bag, and raced down the pit, the black smoke soon rising. "Ma'am, what was so special about this place?" Ostoy asked as he stood next to her, Rila poking around in the rusted vehicles. "Nothing, Agent Ostoy. Its just another hole in the fields of Yamantau."