Creatrick
deadass
November 24th, 2020
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Avdonin mansion prison
Tsardom of Volhynia
--------------
"End of recording..." muttered the inquisitor and turned off the recording device. Letting out a bored sigh he took out a cigarette, lighting it while watching a wretched-looking, skinny human figure sitting in front of him. The figure's sunken eyes were racing across the room, all while avoiding the inquisitor's burning gaze, fingers shaking once he felt bitter, but craving inducing smell of his interrogator's cigarette smoke.
Letting out a couple of short smoke puffs, the inquisitor leaned forward. Still gazing into prisoner's face, he asked:
A blank-faced Inquisition jailor who stood by Dima's cell's door took a step forward intending to punish the insolent gangster for his language with a firm smack across his bony face, but Inquisitor stopped him just in time. "...no need to whack him anymore..." muttered the Inquisitor to the jailor, while gesturing Dima to stand up. He was led out of the cell handcuffed towards mansion infirmary, probably for the first time in weeks.
--------------------
2 days later...
Chișinău, Republic of Moldova
Dima stepped out of the bus first after a long, uncomfortable journey. Taking a deep breath of chilly air, he started to shiver - it was freezing in Chișinău. Dima looked around and looked at the bus station clock as it switched its electronic display to temperature - minus 5 degrees celsius.
His Order handler who accompanied Dima on the journey stepped out and tapped on his shoulder - "okay, kid, you're free to go now... Welcome home, I guess..." and disappeared into the nearby huddled crowd of bus passengers. Dima stood around bewildered and looking around for at least some idea on what he should do next. He was now truly free after an entire year spent imprisoned by Order. And for a moment he had absolutely no idea on what's next.
Finally, he noticed a row of taxi cars, some battered some brand new looking, waiting for clients in a neat row not far from the bus stations. He quickly walked towards the nearest one - a white mediocre-looking Mercedes. The said taxi car driver - a typical looking plump middle-aged Moldovan man with an old wool sweater and a smile half-full of golden teeth, emerged from the nearby corner holding a styrofoam cup of coffee.
"Need a ride sir eh? I'm free now, hop in if so"
"Can you take me to Strada Dolna 14?"
"Yeah sure I do. Hop in, I think a snowstorm is coming. Lemme tell you I dont want to get stuck in traffic when it happens eh" - said the taxi driver as he gestured towards the sky.
-------------
Roughly a year ago Dima would not need to use a taxi. Instead, he would have one of his guys come over to pick him up in a luxury imported Land Rover. Or he would take a spin through the streets in one of his own expensive cars. Not anymore. One year ago the Volhynians and Order killers smashed apart the entire criminal establishment of Moldova, sending him and his compatriots from the top of the food chain straight to the bottom. He had no cars anymore, no "guys" that would take care of his business and later hang out in downtown clubs or mafia mansions with him.
The driver attempted to break the silence in his car, speaking something about the new government which was a junta, essentially a puppet by Tsardom of Volhynia. He mentioned how he somehow misses the old Moldova, as he would receive nice tips from tipsy gangsters who would drive around the city on nights together with their girlfriends, mistresses, and overall - people were somewhat freer than now when foreign supported clique took over and turned everything upside down. But even then, he loves the current situation more - "buncha hotshots from Volhynia coming here these days, lots of work, less corruption, I like it".
Dima sneered and turned to the window - he used to be one of the most recognizable and powerful men of Moldova, and now not even a generic slob who drives a taxi can't recognize him - one of Morar brothers. He did see that streets have changed - no more groups of inner-city gangsters walking around and reaffirming the true order of Moldova. People seem content, but worried, stiff. And soldiers - there were Moldovan soldiers on almost every corner who have essentially replaced the old, completely corrupt police. Their kits were far more modern and new than before - clearly, the new junta has been supplied by Volhynia.
Finally, the taxi arrived to Dima's destination - Strada Dolna 14. It was a more upper-end 10-floor apartment building project, though still surrounded by older soviet era blocks. Dima owned an apartment here that the junta "generously" decided not to confiscate from him, unlike his other estates that he and his brother Stepan owned.
Dima handed the grinning gold-smile driver his fare and stepped out of the car. The snowstorm started to intensify now, but before walking towards home Dima stood for a moment and examined the building from the distance. What he noticed on the roof sent his blood pressure racing from anger:
"A STRONGER, PROUDER MOLDOVA!" loudly pronounced a tacky propaganda billboard, with General Borislav Popovic's face, as if it was heroically looking into the bright and plentiful future of the country. The fat bastard who handed Dima over to Order agents was really, in fact, ruling Moldova now. And as an insult to the injury, Dima knew he could not do anything about it... The fallen-from-grace gangster felt as his malnourished limbs started to freeze again and he quickly set forward towards the apartment building.
The lift ride to his 8th-floor apartment seemed as it took ages. Finally, he reached his apartment door and got in - the apartment seemed clean and heated, which means someone was recently here. "Bastards bugged the apartment" - Dima thought. Not bothering to take his boots off, Dima walked over to a nearby couch, tossed his coat on the floor, and laid down.
It was finally quiet, peaceful, and even tranquil. After a full year of a dirty, drippy prison cell, this simple apartment seemed like a safe haven for the man. But Dima knew - he is being watched. There's no denying it. Order would not have released such a valuable asset like him if they didn't intend something. You could bet someone was here before him and installed surveillance equipment to listen to him. Hell - his own cell was 100% bugged. He could not make any calls to anyone without someone listening.
Despite the sweet quiet, it was impossible to sleep or even attempt to rest. Dima was alone. All his henchmen and friends were either dead or imprisoned. His brother Stepan is gone - Order spent an entire year fruitlessly trying to extract his location from Dima. His and his brothers' holdings and assets are seized, save for this single apartment... and 6 million dollars in his emergency savings account whose existence Dima successfully kept hidden from his captors. But then again, if he started using these funds somehow, the authorities would immediately notice and he would land back into prison cell fast.
"What am I supposed to do now?" - kept thinking Dima, who was at his most vulnerable for the first time in his years.
*KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK*
Dima awoke from his shallow slumber, heart racing as a sound of knocking door startled him. He turned on the nearby lamp and sat still. The door knocked one more time and Dima could hear someone urgently walking away from his door.
"Who the hell was that?"
The man sat on the chair for a few moments more, feeling his heart pounding and wind howling outside. Some drunk mixed up apartments? Junta police? Volhynians sent their assassins? Increasingly more paranoid ideas appeared in Dima's mind, but he got up from the couch and rubbed his eyes - "If they wanted me dead, they would have broken down the door already".
An envelope
Dima was staring at a thick looking brown envelope that the mysterious visitor left him at the bottom of his door. The paranoid thoughts once again appeared - "...there was this one Islamic terrorist that Tchvonians killed with a poisoned letter...", but Dima quickly recollected himself, picked the envelope up, and went inside. There was nothing to fear, but with a pounding chest and cold sweat Dima carried the letter to the living room and opened it up...
Dear Brother,
I very much hope that this letter reaches you. I have heard that they have released you at last. I'm also alive and well. We need to talk, unfortunately, we can't meet at the time.
Milescu street 27-4. Near Lyceum. A payphone near a liquor store. Be there tomorrow at exactly 12:00. Answer it - I will be on the line. I will explain everything. If you won't be there, I will call one more time at 17:00.
I hold no doubt you will be followed or tracked. So act natural and try not to linger there for too long.
So long,
Your Brother Stepan
At first, Dima thought its a cruel prank, but then he examined the letter more closely - printed on the paper was, no doubt, his brother's handwriting. Only he could recognize it. Also, it had his unique signature too - another sign it was legit. A rush of emotions filled Dima - it seems he's not that alone after all! Stepan took the effort to contact him in this primitive way, though he understood why - a straight phone call would be too risky. But how did he know he was free? Who carried the letter? So many questions, and even fewer answers.
This conspicuously composed letter remains the only way for Dima to find them out and possibly get reunited with his brother...
The following day...
...
Dima has yet to recover from his 1-year imprisonment, as evidenced by his sorry-looking jogging attempt. But he had to do it - after all, there's little suspicious about a jogger. Huffing for air, Dima finally reached the payphone that was mentioned in the letter. While in neighboring countries payphones are becoming more like museum pieces, in Moldova they are still widely used by the populace. And there are many of them too - perfect for making a private phone call.
Taking a few moments to recover, Dima checked the time - 11:59. It's almost time...
The clock finally hit 12:00 and after a restless wait, it actually rang. With shaking hands, but still trying to appear casual, Dima picked it up...
...
Dima could not but feel a bit betrayed. After all, he hoped and deserved more than 2 minutes of conversation with Stepan. Spending an entire year in Order's custody should have made him miss his little brother more... But Dima knew his brother well - he was always the authority and always knew what to do. This time, especially, Stepan sounded very serious and urgent. "Yeah, it's better not to linger here for longer" - Dima put the phone away and went ahead. He had to move those 3 million dollars fast.
There will be a time when he reunites with Stepan, and then they can talk it all out, plan their eventual comeback. Dima smiled slightly and started jogging again, now with more vigor than before. It's all going to be okay.
Meanwhile, in an unknown location...
A few minutes later the Eastern Legion official left Stepan's office and walked down the stairs to where the rest of his entourage were waiting. He absolutely loathed the fact that The Legion had to deal with these scum, especially with the very likes of Stepan Morar - a shifty, but incredibly resourceful Moldovan gangster, who only a year ago was the most powerful man in Moldova. Now, he was reduced to a closed-off and vengeful man without respite and only one goal - to get back at Volhynians and Order who destroyed his empire.
"The end justifies the means, comrade" - said his fellow soldier. "Thanks to all this cash, we will finally manage to get back at the Tsar".
The official nodded in agreement - "Смерть цареві".
-----------------------------------------
December 4th.
--------------
Kyiv, Tsardom of Volhynia
----------------------------------------
The past several months were far from peaceful in Kyiv. Anti-Volhynian occupation activity has increased lately, but violent accidents have decreased in frequency. Order Inquisition activity in Kyiv has decreased to focus more on Moldovan integration and surveillance of eastern regions of Ukraine.
12:00
Reports of attacks with small-arms, mortars, and explosives have been reported in several locations around the city. Being the first attack of this magnitude by Ukrainian rebels in months, the Volhynian military command issued a high alert to all local military garrisons, military police, and military intelligence groups.
12:04
One of the Order's military garrisons closest to the biggest flashpoint was also put on high alert and issued an order to mobilize and prepare to deploy...
12:15
Смерть цареві!
...
...Order garrison in Vinogradar reports... suicide bombing... 24 KIA... All personnel be advised - ...Eastern Legion infiltrators present in the city... Notifying the high command, activate all units and standby for orders...
...
-------------
Avdonin mansion prison
Tsardom of Volhynia
--------------
"End of recording..." muttered the inquisitor and turned off the recording device. Letting out a bored sigh he took out a cigarette, lighting it while watching a wretched-looking, skinny human figure sitting in front of him. The figure's sunken eyes were racing across the room, all while avoiding the inquisitor's burning gaze, fingers shaking once he felt bitter, but craving inducing smell of his interrogator's cigarette smoke.
Letting out a couple of short smoke puffs, the inquisitor leaned forward. Still gazing into prisoner's face, he asked:
A blank-faced Inquisition jailor who stood by Dima's cell's door took a step forward intending to punish the insolent gangster for his language with a firm smack across his bony face, but Inquisitor stopped him just in time. "...no need to whack him anymore..." muttered the Inquisitor to the jailor, while gesturing Dima to stand up. He was led out of the cell handcuffed towards mansion infirmary, probably for the first time in weeks.
--------------------
2 days later...
Chișinău, Republic of Moldova
Dima stepped out of the bus first after a long, uncomfortable journey. Taking a deep breath of chilly air, he started to shiver - it was freezing in Chișinău. Dima looked around and looked at the bus station clock as it switched its electronic display to temperature - minus 5 degrees celsius.
His Order handler who accompanied Dima on the journey stepped out and tapped on his shoulder - "okay, kid, you're free to go now... Welcome home, I guess..." and disappeared into the nearby huddled crowd of bus passengers. Dima stood around bewildered and looking around for at least some idea on what he should do next. He was now truly free after an entire year spent imprisoned by Order. And for a moment he had absolutely no idea on what's next.
Finally, he noticed a row of taxi cars, some battered some brand new looking, waiting for clients in a neat row not far from the bus stations. He quickly walked towards the nearest one - a white mediocre-looking Mercedes. The said taxi car driver - a typical looking plump middle-aged Moldovan man with an old wool sweater and a smile half-full of golden teeth, emerged from the nearby corner holding a styrofoam cup of coffee.
"Need a ride sir eh? I'm free now, hop in if so"
"Can you take me to Strada Dolna 14?"
"Yeah sure I do. Hop in, I think a snowstorm is coming. Lemme tell you I dont want to get stuck in traffic when it happens eh" - said the taxi driver as he gestured towards the sky.
-------------
Roughly a year ago Dima would not need to use a taxi. Instead, he would have one of his guys come over to pick him up in a luxury imported Land Rover. Or he would take a spin through the streets in one of his own expensive cars. Not anymore. One year ago the Volhynians and Order killers smashed apart the entire criminal establishment of Moldova, sending him and his compatriots from the top of the food chain straight to the bottom. He had no cars anymore, no "guys" that would take care of his business and later hang out in downtown clubs or mafia mansions with him.
The driver attempted to break the silence in his car, speaking something about the new government which was a junta, essentially a puppet by Tsardom of Volhynia. He mentioned how he somehow misses the old Moldova, as he would receive nice tips from tipsy gangsters who would drive around the city on nights together with their girlfriends, mistresses, and overall - people were somewhat freer than now when foreign supported clique took over and turned everything upside down. But even then, he loves the current situation more - "buncha hotshots from Volhynia coming here these days, lots of work, less corruption, I like it".
Dima sneered and turned to the window - he used to be one of the most recognizable and powerful men of Moldova, and now not even a generic slob who drives a taxi can't recognize him - one of Morar brothers. He did see that streets have changed - no more groups of inner-city gangsters walking around and reaffirming the true order of Moldova. People seem content, but worried, stiff. And soldiers - there were Moldovan soldiers on almost every corner who have essentially replaced the old, completely corrupt police. Their kits were far more modern and new than before - clearly, the new junta has been supplied by Volhynia.
Finally, the taxi arrived to Dima's destination - Strada Dolna 14. It was a more upper-end 10-floor apartment building project, though still surrounded by older soviet era blocks. Dima owned an apartment here that the junta "generously" decided not to confiscate from him, unlike his other estates that he and his brother Stepan owned.
Dima handed the grinning gold-smile driver his fare and stepped out of the car. The snowstorm started to intensify now, but before walking towards home Dima stood for a moment and examined the building from the distance. What he noticed on the roof sent his blood pressure racing from anger:
"A STRONGER, PROUDER MOLDOVA!" loudly pronounced a tacky propaganda billboard, with General Borislav Popovic's face, as if it was heroically looking into the bright and plentiful future of the country. The fat bastard who handed Dima over to Order agents was really, in fact, ruling Moldova now. And as an insult to the injury, Dima knew he could not do anything about it... The fallen-from-grace gangster felt as his malnourished limbs started to freeze again and he quickly set forward towards the apartment building.
The lift ride to his 8th-floor apartment seemed as it took ages. Finally, he reached his apartment door and got in - the apartment seemed clean and heated, which means someone was recently here. "Bastards bugged the apartment" - Dima thought. Not bothering to take his boots off, Dima walked over to a nearby couch, tossed his coat on the floor, and laid down.
It was finally quiet, peaceful, and even tranquil. After a full year of a dirty, drippy prison cell, this simple apartment seemed like a safe haven for the man. But Dima knew - he is being watched. There's no denying it. Order would not have released such a valuable asset like him if they didn't intend something. You could bet someone was here before him and installed surveillance equipment to listen to him. Hell - his own cell was 100% bugged. He could not make any calls to anyone without someone listening.
Despite the sweet quiet, it was impossible to sleep or even attempt to rest. Dima was alone. All his henchmen and friends were either dead or imprisoned. His brother Stepan is gone - Order spent an entire year fruitlessly trying to extract his location from Dima. His and his brothers' holdings and assets are seized, save for this single apartment... and 6 million dollars in his emergency savings account whose existence Dima successfully kept hidden from his captors. But then again, if he started using these funds somehow, the authorities would immediately notice and he would land back into prison cell fast.
"What am I supposed to do now?" - kept thinking Dima, who was at his most vulnerable for the first time in his years.
*KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK*
Dima awoke from his shallow slumber, heart racing as a sound of knocking door startled him. He turned on the nearby lamp and sat still. The door knocked one more time and Dima could hear someone urgently walking away from his door.
"Who the hell was that?"
The man sat on the chair for a few moments more, feeling his heart pounding and wind howling outside. Some drunk mixed up apartments? Junta police? Volhynians sent their assassins? Increasingly more paranoid ideas appeared in Dima's mind, but he got up from the couch and rubbed his eyes - "If they wanted me dead, they would have broken down the door already".
An envelope
Dima was staring at a thick looking brown envelope that the mysterious visitor left him at the bottom of his door. The paranoid thoughts once again appeared - "...there was this one Islamic terrorist that Tchvonians killed with a poisoned letter...", but Dima quickly recollected himself, picked the envelope up, and went inside. There was nothing to fear, but with a pounding chest and cold sweat Dima carried the letter to the living room and opened it up...
Dear Brother,
I very much hope that this letter reaches you. I have heard that they have released you at last. I'm also alive and well. We need to talk, unfortunately, we can't meet at the time.
Milescu street 27-4. Near Lyceum. A payphone near a liquor store. Be there tomorrow at exactly 12:00. Answer it - I will be on the line. I will explain everything. If you won't be there, I will call one more time at 17:00.
I hold no doubt you will be followed or tracked. So act natural and try not to linger there for too long.
So long,
Your Brother Stepan
At first, Dima thought its a cruel prank, but then he examined the letter more closely - printed on the paper was, no doubt, his brother's handwriting. Only he could recognize it. Also, it had his unique signature too - another sign it was legit. A rush of emotions filled Dima - it seems he's not that alone after all! Stepan took the effort to contact him in this primitive way, though he understood why - a straight phone call would be too risky. But how did he know he was free? Who carried the letter? So many questions, and even fewer answers.
This conspicuously composed letter remains the only way for Dima to find them out and possibly get reunited with his brother...
The following day...
...
Dima has yet to recover from his 1-year imprisonment, as evidenced by his sorry-looking jogging attempt. But he had to do it - after all, there's little suspicious about a jogger. Huffing for air, Dima finally reached the payphone that was mentioned in the letter. While in neighboring countries payphones are becoming more like museum pieces, in Moldova they are still widely used by the populace. And there are many of them too - perfect for making a private phone call.
Taking a few moments to recover, Dima checked the time - 11:59. It's almost time...
The clock finally hit 12:00 and after a restless wait, it actually rang. With shaking hands, but still trying to appear casual, Dima picked it up...
...
Dima could not but feel a bit betrayed. After all, he hoped and deserved more than 2 minutes of conversation with Stepan. Spending an entire year in Order's custody should have made him miss his little brother more... But Dima knew his brother well - he was always the authority and always knew what to do. This time, especially, Stepan sounded very serious and urgent. "Yeah, it's better not to linger here for longer" - Dima put the phone away and went ahead. He had to move those 3 million dollars fast.
There will be a time when he reunites with Stepan, and then they can talk it all out, plan their eventual comeback. Dima smiled slightly and started jogging again, now with more vigor than before. It's all going to be okay.
Meanwhile, in an unknown location...
A few minutes later the Eastern Legion official left Stepan's office and walked down the stairs to where the rest of his entourage were waiting. He absolutely loathed the fact that The Legion had to deal with these scum, especially with the very likes of Stepan Morar - a shifty, but incredibly resourceful Moldovan gangster, who only a year ago was the most powerful man in Moldova. Now, he was reduced to a closed-off and vengeful man without respite and only one goal - to get back at Volhynians and Order who destroyed his empire.
"The end justifies the means, comrade" - said his fellow soldier. "Thanks to all this cash, we will finally manage to get back at the Tsar".
The official nodded in agreement - "Смерть цареві".
-----------------------------------------
December 4th.
--------------
Kyiv, Tsardom of Volhynia
----------------------------------------
The past several months were far from peaceful in Kyiv. Anti-Volhynian occupation activity has increased lately, but violent accidents have decreased in frequency. Order Inquisition activity in Kyiv has decreased to focus more on Moldovan integration and surveillance of eastern regions of Ukraine.
12:00
Reports of attacks with small-arms, mortars, and explosives have been reported in several locations around the city. Being the first attack of this magnitude by Ukrainian rebels in months, the Volhynian military command issued a high alert to all local military garrisons, military police, and military intelligence groups.
12:04
One of the Order's military garrisons closest to the biggest flashpoint was also put on high alert and issued an order to mobilize and prepare to deploy...
12:15
Смерть цареві!
...
...Order garrison in Vinogradar reports... suicide bombing... 24 KIA... All personnel be advised - ...Eastern Legion infiltrators present in the city... Notifying the high command, activate all units and standby for orders...
...