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The Fury staggered across the roof of the armory, helmet in one hand, a half empty bottle of vodka in the other. They had been celebrating, he and the flame patrol, but he couldn’t exactly recall what the cause for celebration was.

No matter. It probably wasn’t important anyway he told himself, stepping off of the edge of the roof. He fell, until the good sense kicked in to activate his thrusters, and flames lit up the dark, cold night. The bottle of alcohol hit the concrete far below and shattered into a million pieces, but he didn’t notice.

The cosmonaut landed again on the roof of another building, though he wasn’t entirely sure what building it was. That, he laughed, wasn’t important either. He was still generally in a mood for celebration, even if the flame soldiers had drunk themselves into a complacent stupor and passed out long ago.

“Someone’s been fucking around with the gravity again.” He mumbled to himself, fighting to keep his balance on the steep slope of the roof.

The soldiers he passed earlier had not been keen on his drunken ravings about purifying the earth in flames, but that didn’t bother him either. They were simply brainwashed, and needed to be purified right along with the rest of the world. It was delightful when they went screaming into the night, flailing and on fire.

Again, he stepped off the roof, deciding that the fight against gravity was not worth fighting, and he departed for the rooftop of a building he recognized: the main radio transmission building, it was hard to miss with the massive antenna that stood behind it, stretching into the clear night sky.

He was startled to find someone else occupying the rooftop, an Ocelot soldier, he thought, though it was hard to tell in the dark. The Fury shook his head to be sure he was seeing things correctly, then gathered his composure once more, and addressed the young man. “Fucking Ocelots.  Are you the one who’s been fucking around with the gravity around here?”

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The Groznyj Grad Living Novel

December 2010

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