[identity profile] ilya-imanov.livejournal.com
Ilya stared at the ceiling.

Was Andrei going to be back here to sleep tonight?

He missed the simple things deeply - falling asleep with a lazy smile from some last-second dozy joke, sharing warmth, secret midnight excursions to the gym...

Every single bit of it.

Ilya chewed the inside of his lip. He was better at carrying on with the way things were now, but somehow he just couldn't let it go. Hard, when he passed the guy all the time, and smiled and pretended nothing was wrong.

And he didn't want to. He really, really didn't want to.

He heard the sound of bootsteps in the corridor, and sat upright. Who was that, he mused, trying to place the rhythm of the footfalls.

Too heavy for Charushkin. Besides, he was already in his bunk. He seemed to have turned himself to bed earlier the last couple of nights.

Ilya's heart opted to jump a beat, much to his annoyance, on the slightest hope it would be his door opened.

If not, he'd find out who it was. He needed a good comrade right now.
[identity profile] ilya-imanov.livejournal.com
It wasn't entirely unusual to be at the range without Ocelot in charge, but it had been quiet. It figured, really, with Irinarhov in charge.

Usually, when Ilya was left in charge, it was a good chance to relax, laugh and fire off a few rounds without Ocelot calling out a variety of motivational insults every time someone missed a shot. It had been an odd morning, with everyone strangely focussed on what they were doing.

Even Ilya, as he mulled over his dilemma a few more times, each turn cementing his decision a little further.

And so after practice, he dragged behind, letting Andrei wander past with a smile. Matvei dashed off as quickly as he'd arrived.

He leaned up against the wall, waiting, with all the patience he could spare.

Finally, almost everyone was gone, he stepped forward, and walked over to Irinarhov.

The sniper looked up coolly, apparantly expecting no more than talking business. Those were the only times they spoke to each other, outside of cordial nods of acknowledgement when passing each other.

No backing down, now.

"Can I have a word?" Ilya asked, seriously.
[identity profile] ilya-imanov.livejournal.com
He reached out and drew Imanov to him, holding him tightly, like any good brother would.

"I don't want to tell them either," he admitted, softly, close to Ilya's ear. "We'll do it together, Ilyasha. Tomorrow. Not tonight."

There was strength in numbers, Andrei knew. Breaking the news would be less than enjoyable, but it was unavoidable.

His fist stroked Ilya's back rhythmically, slowly.

"But I won't let you do it alone."

Ilya crumpled into Andrei's arms, hooking his own over Andrei's shoulders, clutching to his uniform tightly. If his body gave into exhaustion, no-one would be able to tell; Andrei would hold him upright.

His face held the expression of pain, but it was safely pressed against his friend's uniform jacket, where it was safe to let the lid off of the bottle, slowly, just for a moment. He inhaled, quietly, taking in the smell he equalled with safety and comfort.


Ilya had wanted to get it out of his system, to not have to think about it ever again, but Andrei knew him better than he knew himself. Sometimes, his sense of duty overrode his own well-being.

It was a horrid, selfish thought that prickled at his conscience, but he'd rather it was Sergei. If it had been -

... He couldn't imagine Andrei absent from his life.

"But I won't let you do it alone."

"... Promise me," Ilya murmured quietly, so no-one else would hear, "not to go anywhere by yourself."
[identity profile] capt-kasya.livejournal.com
[Continued from "Meanwhile, back at Groznyj Grad..."]

Kassian didn't think he should be the one to say it, but with Imanov still reeling from the shock of their discovery, it fell to him.

"There was another killing tonight," he said to Isaev over CODEC. "Aside from the mechanic."

He paused again.

"It was one of us, an Ocelot."

Kassian realized he was feeding Isaev information piecemeal, the way he'd learned it, trying to lessen the blow. But there was little that could be done to mitigate what he had to say next.

"It was Gurlukovich," he said. "Sergei."

Kassian closed his eyes briefly. "He's dead."

There was more to say, but he fell silent, to let his words sink in.
[identity profile] capt-kasya.livejournal.com
They were still for a moment, in the wake of Major Liadov's query.

Then everyone looked at Imanov.

Isaev had told Kassian that Imanov had gone to a university and studied psychology. That made him the obvious choice in Kassian's book. Kassian hadn't even completed his secondary education before he'd have to leave in order to work at the factory.

Kassian wondered if there was anything in Imanov's psychology books that talked about this, murders committed out of some deep-seated need, fueled by this cycle of escalation that Liadov had talked about.

Probably. It sounded like it happened often enough that experts had coined terms for it, after all, some deeper explanation than merely knowing the difference between having to kill, and wanting to kill.
[identity profile] major-ocelot-2u.livejournal.com
Ocelot paced and champed at the bit in the hall of the East Wing, twirling his guns and scowling at nothing.

The hall should be filling up soon.

The ALL PERSONNEL had gone out over the loudspeakers, and every unit was expected to report. He had also personally contacted his counterpart Major, his first Lieutenant, and after hesitating, sent a CODEC to Gurlukovich.

"Imanov seems to be indisposed. If he shows up with the AP bulletin, I'll have him follow me in second point. If he doesn't, Sergei, I need you."

It would be good in two ways, thought Ocelot. First, he could observe Sergei's command ability without the stomachache of putting him out front in direct conflict, and two, Sergei could be relied on.


"If Imanov shows up, I'll have him lead a second party. Either way, Serhyoza," he added, "I'll need you by my side."

As he waited for Raikov and his men to appear, he counted the diamond in the tiles with a furrowed brow.

Inwardly, he scoffed at his own impatience.

What's the hurry? Dead things tend to stay dead. Not like he's going anywhere.

How had they missed it?

Had he been selecting his victims only from non-essential personnel?

Ocelot made a short, audible noise of frustration.

If the killer had gotten ahead of them this much, he could already be selecting his next victim.
[identity profile] capt-kasya.livejournal.com
[Completed - continued in Second Victim, Part II]

Kassian let the badge Liadov had tossed fall to the ground next to him, instead of making an attempt to catch it, keeping his hands on his rifle and his gaze trained.

"Sorry," he said, quickly. "No disrespect, Major."

He knew it would look that way anyway, given his background, and general disdain for the MVD. Things had changed, though, in ways he hadn't even sorted out yet.

But a sniper who lost focus, even for a moment, was usually sooner or later a dead sniper. Kassian had a faint scar at his hairline that attested to that sobering truth, save for the fact he'd been extremely lucky.

He kept what Liadov had just said about a second body in the back of his mind, a cold and remote fact. Detachment. A sniper's armor against the world.

Or at least Kassian's armor, though lately it had developed a few chinks.

The knowledge that he hadn't seen or talked to Isaev all day, not since they'd woken up that morning, lurked like a shadow in peripheral vision, one that was just a little too defined to ignore.

"I'll use it when I need it," he told Liadov, referring to his MVD clearance. "Go ahead get back inside. I'll cover you, and report when I've reached someone."

Technically, he should have called Imanov first, given that they were partners in this venture. Or at least tried Ocelot's frequency as the MENT had requested. Either would have been acceptable variations on standard operating procedure, but as Liadov retreated to the door, Kassian tuned his CODEC to Isaev's frequency instead.
[identity profile] nikanor-liadov.livejournal.com

Nikanor Liadov:

Nika raised his head slowly, but didn't stop what he was doing.

He remained holding the cadaver bag open for an industrious Rakitin, who was cradling Molokov's severed calf like a newborn, rustling it carefully into the sack.

"Gorgeous," he replied pithily.

It wasn't unpretty. The ash and smoke had billowed, sculpted and plumed. Transforming the greenhouse into something new, a functionless sculpture.

Once it had been utility. Now it was art and form.

He wondered who he was talking to. The gravelly tone was not one he'd heard before, and he had a pretty good forensic ear and memory for voices.

"Actually, we're just removing some dead meat. Don't mind us."


"Oh, hello," Ippolit said. He waved an arm, realized it was not, strictly speaking, his, and set it in the bag Liadov was holding open while the MENT shot him a look of amused tolerance.

So the shadow shaped like a man in a space suit was, in fact, a man in a space suit. Just went to show that you never could tell.

"Sorry to bother you," he chirped. "We'll be out of here in just a minute."


"Who is it?" Liadov asked Rakitin, mildly quiet, shaking the bag lightly to settle the arm down to the bottom, the way you would when selecting new fingerling potatoes in the Petrograd harbor.

After all, they still had two legs and assorted possibly-significant ash and timbers to gather up.

Rakitin was carefully unearthing the left leg from its sooty repose, letting excess ashes fall where they could compile them, and not lose them to the wind.

The greenhouse was now undeniably open-air, and not exactly breaking the unpredictable, occasional gusts of mountain wind.

"Bruising, or charcoal?" he asked, frowning, tilting his head for a better look.
[identity profile] raidenovitch.livejournal.com
Raikov didn't fancy much spending time with the MVD people, showing up uninvited, but knew he had little choice in the matter. However, as he subtly nodded to Ocelot, it didn't mean they wouldn't have as much fun at their expense as possible. Who knows, maybe it would scare them home.

More than a murder, he thought with a grimace.

He sighed, and dug into his pocket, having sent one of his swifter men to retrieve a plan of the entire base, for the benefit of the investigators. Criminal forensics experts might find that sort of thing useful; Raikov knew the entirety of Groznyj Grad inside and out. Ocelot could speak more for the surrounding areas.

"Where would you like to begin?" Raikov asked politely, aware it was necessary for him to do so as the Colonel's representative. "You'll need to familiarize yourself with the area before getting to work, I'm sure."

He held out the base plan to the pair, having no clue as to what they were planning, but hoping they would say "yes" and they'd get on with it, or refuse their offer and he wouldn't have to play host to them ever again.

The map was clear, plain, and basic. It was all that was needed at that stage. )

[OOC: Thread closed, continuing here]
[identity profile] gurlukovich.livejournal.com
It had been far too long since Sergei had seen Grozynj Grad. Not many people would say that sort of thing - no, most people were eager to get out of there, not to go back - but it was closer to a home to him than where he'd just been.

When news had come that his mother was sick, he still hadn't hesitated to jump on a plane for home. The fact that he never spoke about his family was sign enough that they didn't get along very well, but blood was still thick. He wasn't about to ignore his mother's illness. If it had ended up being bad enough that she'd died from it and he hadn't gone to see her one last time, what then?

Unfortunately, the reunion had been far from pleasant, but he had been expecting that. As it was, it seemed that his mother would recover. At this point, however, he didn't want to think on it any longer. There was probably only one person that would ask him more than a few questions about it. Luckily, the major was the one person he was willing to talk to about it.

As he exited the helicopter, the artificial gusts caused by the propeller blew dust into his eyes. He turned his head and coughed. It hadn't helped that the flight into the base had left him a little queasy. Usually it wouldn't be problem, but the fact that he'd gone straight from an airplane into a helicopter meant there hadn't been much time for his stomach to settle.

Now that he was back home, however, he got the feeling he'd be just fine. Pulling out his unit's trademark red cap and placing it firmly on his head, he scanned around for anyone familiar. Had anyone caught wind of his return and decided to come give him a warm welcome, maybe? He'd been gone for a while, so it was possible some of the others had been missing him. Then again, he could be hoping for too much. But if no one showed up, he could easily get back to his room to unpack on his own.
[identity profile] parabellum-p08.livejournal.com

“Welcome to Groznyj Grad.” Krauss chuckled, stealing a sideways glance at the investigators. He decided it would be best to play it all off as a routine, normal occurrence, both for his own personal amusement, and because such strange sights were common around the Grad. Better to let them in on the secret now, lest for the poor bastards get a nasty surprise later on.

“Are you gentlemen alright?” He raised an eyebrow, gesturing toward the yard full of naked and semi naked soldiers. “You act as though you have never witnessed morning roll call!”

It was easy to pick out Volgin, a mountain swathed in olive wool among the fleshy-pink unclothed crowd. The sooner he was able to pawn the investigators off onto someone else, the sooner he could retreat into his office, and drown his misery in Cognac.

“Right this way then. There is the man which you seek, by that tank, that’s Colonel Volgin.” He skittered along the edge of the crowd, not particularly inclined to venture into a writhing sea of naked men. Unusual, for the Major, but he was still heartbroken over the loss of Stefan.

“Colonel!” He called out, “we have a slight --” problem, was the word he wanted to use. “We have visitors.” Krauss did his best to smile, but it was useless, and hopeless.  

[identity profile] ilya-imanov.livejournal.com
The general unpleasant feeling of tiredness was the only real lingering sign of his illness left, and Ilya still wasn't allowed to leave the fucking medical room. Quarantine, blah blah blah. He was fed-up, bored, slightly lonely, and itching to reclaim command: he had no idea how things really were, and doubted that Andrei, as good a friend as he was, would let him know if things had fucked up in his absence.

Although Andrei's note had provided him with some comfort. He'd carefully unfolded it and re-read it several times. It was currently sitting in his breast pocket, and it made him feel like his friend was a little bit closer.

Strange things to miss... )
[identity profile] charshy.livejournal.com
(OOC: Ilya's introspective stint in the infirmary alone. Do visit him until he gets better, won't you?)

Ilya despised being sick. )
[identity profile] gurlukovich.livejournal.com
Sergei was seated in a chair in the infirmary, his head placed into his palm, trying his hardest not to pout.

He'd been forced to walk alongside the doctor's jeep while his leg continued to make a fuss, explaining how he'd stupidly ventured too close to the swamp area and ended up getting intimate with a crocodile's teeth--on his leg. Then again, this sort of thing must have happened before. At least he hadn't been rendered unable to walk. Then he would have been laying in the middle of the denser jungle area, bleeding to death.

Not fun.

After his report, he'd ushered himself back to the infirmary for the second time that morning. Everyone else would be eating at the moment, but he had to sit and wait.

Prodding carefully at the makeshift bandaging on his leg, the boy let out a sigh and crossed his arms over his chest. It was just about numb at this point, though he knew it still had to be taken care of.

He was going to need crutches, wasn't he? Otherwise he'd tear the stitches and--

[identity profile] capt-kasya.livejournal.com
[PANIDYELNIK, 27 YANVAR, 1964 0530 hours]

(OOC: After roll call in the courtyard, at mess. All Groznyj Grad personnel, feel free to post!)

Read more... )


Jul. 17th, 2006 06:48 pm
[identity profile] raidenovitch.livejournal.com
(OOC: Feel free to start... incidents. This is another introduction, breaking-us-in-gently entry before we get stuck into the story/crack properly.)

Soldiers had best better get in line... )
[identity profile] lt-vulich.livejournal.com
(OOC: Whoever wants to jump in here can feel free. Let's start a big soapy naked man party)

Cuz everyone loves naked men )


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The Groznyj Grad Living Novel

December 2010

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