The Groznyj Grad Living Novel

Nika was surprised, but didn't display the fact for long.

"Thank you, Captain. I appreciate your protectional alarcrity."

He broke a wry smile.

"Ah, Miss...Pasiphäe. Named for the celestial body, I assume, and not for any rural bovine predilections."

He rose and walked around the table, pausing.

"I'm sorry- did you have a rank I should address you by? As yet I've been largely unable to ascertain whether the Flame Patrol follows a hierachy or an anarchy."

He glanced at Rakitin.

"This lovely girl is a immolationist," he said, courteously, as if she were an aerialist or a ballerina. "Isn't that something?"

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“Call me Katerina.” She corrected quickly. “After the tenth person asked me about my fondness for livestock, I sort of lost all respect for the code name.”

The Greek myth was a sick joke that The Fury had found morbid humor in revealing to her, even though the origins of her name were much simpler: a moon in Jupiter’s orbit.

She watched Liadov, uncertain if he were mocking her, or just being overly kind. “No rank,” the woman answered, “because we follow a bit of both. Anarchy and hierarchy. Structured anarchy, or whatever you’d like to call it. I haven’t earned a rank yet.”

Pasiphaë glanced at Ippolit as Liadov prattled on about her profession. What a funny little man, the other investigator, with ears that seemed much too large for his head. Like the wings on a bomber, really. She caught herself laughing, and took a sudden interest in her boots.

“Immolationist. That’s a good description for it, even though it’s not as glamorous as you make it sound. We can’t all be necrophiles, I’m afraid.” For the first time, she realized there was a metal pail near the table against the wall. Nothing strange about that, other than the pale ash-gray severed arm sticking out of it, as if rising up to wave hello.

It was so detached from reality that she could easily pretend it wasn’t real, and chose to in the conscious part of her mind.

“I’ve been told that you’ve found a second body. Probably not the best time for a lovely candle lit dinner date and friendly conversation about burning Krauss’ arboretum then, huh?” She invited herself farther into the room, and peered down into the bucket. An arm, a few fingers, part of charred a leg on ice. The body they found in the greenhouse, the name that had been all over Groznyj Grad: Molokov.

“Not that I have much of an appetite right now anyway… a real shame. Such a lovely place you two have here. I love what you’ve done with the decorations and all.”

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Nika laughed.

"One does what one can. Although we were supposed to have a permanent arrangement by tonight."

He glanced at the clock.

"The Majors seem to have become distracted by more pressing duties, however. So Polya is making do."

Irinarhov stood by, stoic and silent, watching with a gaze that was warm and dark like mink. His eyes spoke patience, but well-veiled predatory eagerness as well- he was keen to get to the search.

"Look at you," Liadov said, pausing. "Do you know what you remind me of, Captain Irinarhov? One of those life-sized warrior statues they buried with King Cheops in the pyramid. Guarding unto death and beyond."

He glanced back at the slender, waif-like woman, eyeing her dark, choppy coif with appreciation. It was deconstructionist. Well-suited to the mythos of the strange cosmonaut.

Or was she really a waif? It might have been an illusion of the suit. She looked like a war orphan to him, someone forced to work in an industrial factory and wear the uniform of the man who held the job before her, now fighting at the front.

"It's never a bad time," he said, smiling, "but this search promises to be key. At least I hope it will be. Rakitin and I will need to go along. Would you like to accompany us?"

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Kassian looked at Liadov curiously, but then nodded in silent acceptance. It was flattering. There was something about the dark image that he found appealing. A sentry who weathered the years, an immortal guardian.

If he could manage such a thing, he would.

But the room was a bit crowded for him to feel entirely comfortable with casual conversation. Instead, he stayed silent and let the focus leave him once more, waiting quietly.

After a few moments, though, he found his curiosity peaked by the severed limbs on the table near Lieutenant Rakitin. Not that he had any desire to indulge in morbidity, but Kassian found himself wondering.

He'd seen the first body up close, and had noticed the clean cuts that had severed the limbs, even under the charred surface. These limbs were untouched by flame and would provide an even clearer sample of the killer's skill.

Kassian paused, but then stepped closer to the table, to get a closer look.

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“You intend to find a body in the middle of the night?” Though her question was for Liadov, her glare landed on Kassian. “I thought you’d already found it.” Katerina shook her head, turning away from the bucket of remains. “But if you want to find their owner in the pitch dark, you’re going to need a big flashlight.”

She unhitched the radio from her belt “The Fury doesn’t believe in CODEC.” the flame soldier offered with a slight smirk. “Too many voices in his head already. So let me phone home, and I’ll see what I can do for you.”

Pasiphaë started for the door, her attention turning to the radio. “Mission control: is anyone there?”

A comrade answered back, before long. “Deimos here.”

“I have a bit of a situation here…”

“We know something’s not right. They’ve called a meeting in the main hall of the East Wing. Mandatory for all personnel. Io and I are on our way right now.”

The woman frowned, thoughtfully. “How soon can we have the fleet of hovercraft in the air?”

“Why?”

She looked up to Liadov, then to Kassian. “There’s another body. Without overhead search lights, they’ll never find it.”

In the background on the other end of the conversation, there was muffled cursing. “We’ll let the captain know as soon as we see him. Ten, maybe fifteen minutes then.”

“Very good. Over and out.”

She smiled to Liadov on her way out the door, even knowing he more than likely missed the gesture. Then, she thought of something off handedly. “Your Moscow Slasher may have some purpose to serve after all, fighting the good fight. Maybe you’ll return the favor when you go home. Maybe a few of the nastier notations on his record with MDV will magically disappear, hmm?”

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Nika shook his head, flashing her a smile and a raise of his eyebrow.

"What are you, a gypsy? Trust me, he doesn't have the charms to barter. You'd do better on your own."

He shrugged.

"I can't erase the murder of all those women. What else is there to expunge?"

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“Say what you will about me,” she feigned insult, turning away though she smiled still, “but keep my dead Romani grandmother out of this.”

Glancing back over her shoulder at Liadov, the woman pouted a bit. “What about Phobos then? He’s harmless, not a threat to anyone! Out of his fucking mind, but he wouldn’t hurt a flea. What can you do for my little Phobe?”

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As soon as the woman entered, the tension leaked out of Ippolit's body like an IV drip in reverse. So the Flame Patrol soldier skulking around and causing them trouble was the woman they'd heard about, not one of the...others they'd heard about.

He was almost disappointed. He'd been expecting someone scarred and hulking, someone more resembling the monster of myth than its misguided mother. This was just a petite, pretty woman, more girlish than anything.

Good lord, she even giggled.

Rakitin had always felt a little bad for the minotaur. Locked up in a maze and fed once a year, anyone would get angry. Poor thing. It wasn't its fault it got caught up in a divine domestic squabble.

Irinarhov stoof in the corner, for all the world like-- well, exactly like Liadov said.

"There are stories," Rakitin said quietly, "about revenants, faithful retainers who refuse to let death interrupt their duties."

He smiled slightly at the captain as he came closer, stepped back to let him examine the remains.

"You do look like you could be one of them."

The Flame Patrol's words trickled into his consciousnes gradually.

Rakitin's face froze into a mask like drying plaster. His limbs stiffened. He kept his eyes down, and listened for Liadov's response.

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Kassian wasn't sure what to do with this sudden spate of compliments, but he nodded once more.

"Thank you," he said, briefly, gaze shifting to the severed limbs as he drew closer.

The severed end had a smooth look to it, like a butchered steak, not the raw, half-chewed look of wounds that had been sawed.

"Do you - " he started, glancing at Rakitin, but broke off when he saw the man's face.

Rakitin looked pained, head held low and hunched as if expecting a blow.

Kassian frowned. Clearly, he'd missed something, but it didn't seem to have anything to do with his presence. The lieutenant seemed entirely focused on something else, and didn't even look up.

He glanced across the room, eyes flicking from Liadov to the woman. They had been talking about a murderer - the Flame Patrol serial killer that Liadov had told Kassian about earlier, he presumed.

Kassian's gaze flicked to Rakitin again, but he said nothing this time, merely watching and observing. Learning.

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Rakitin let his breath out, slowly. He should have known. He may have risen to the bait, but of course Nika wouldn't. The man was many things, but Ippolit had a feeling that corrupt wasn't among them.

Strange, that this women who apparently knew of her comrade's crimes would seek to protect him. A distasteful variation on filial piety.

Rakitin looked up at the sound of a name that sounded familiar.

"Phobos?" he said. He remembered the jittery flame soldier with a bouquet of glowing mushrooms. "We could put in a good word for him with the lizard aliens."

He was half serious. The poor kid had looked terrified.

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"That harmless little wingnut has an MVD record?" Liadov said skeptically.

Then he shrugged.

"Tell me what he has in ink, and I might be able to whitewash things to a more pleasing state."

He paused.

"But only if they're harmless infractions. No murders, no rapes, no war crimes and no violent assaults with weapons. Those stay."

He shrugged,

"Anything else, any sanctions, travel restrictions...I can remove them."

He turned to Rakitin.

"Did you want to come on the search, Lieutenant? Can you put this on ice?"

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Rakitin nodded gratefully. Unlikely as the 'donor' still being alive was, staying in the lab poking at a man's limbs while he could be somewhere slowly bleeding to death stretched even Ippolit's tolerance for the macabre.

"Might as well," he said. "I doubt we'll find out anything more from these tonight."

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Ilya briefly heard murmurs of raised voices. Strange.

Maybe the wall was thin on this side.

The shadowed figure hadn't yet seen his approach. If he could just take them by surprise, he could knock them out, call for backup, job done.

As he got closer, he realised he needed to find a new vantage point - there were no more crates, and just enough light to make his outline as visible as his target's.

He would've managed it - if it weren't for a cat skulking across the yard.

It did nothing but look, questioningly at two humans slinking near a building in the dark, but it took Ilya two moments too late to realise that as soon as the other person had looked, he had been reflected in the cat's eyes.

He lunged, but it was too late.

They ran, and as well they should. Ilya hadn't the prerequisite spring to utilize his full strength, but he had still come disturbingly close to shredding their clothing from their skin, knife in hand.

He cursed as he hit the ground, having been flung off from his attack. The Major would fucking kill him. Hindsight was a dirty little bitch: he should have just used his gun to disable, and call it necessary under the cirumstances.

He pulled himself up quickly, ignoring his bruises, but typically no-one was in sight by now.

He looked at the knife in his hand. He hadn't even met flesh, he thought self-depraciatingly...

... but he did have a nice strip of cloth in his palm.

He turned his codec back on.

"Major?"

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No answer.

Ilya began to approach the building's entrance, to catch up with Kassian. Maybe he knew what was going on.

He stepped inside to find a member of the flame patrol, apparantly in the middle of a girlish outburst.

He blinked. There was a distinct lack of fire and charred bodies, so assumably Irinarhov had everything under control.

"Found someone snooping around the back of the building," Ilya said to him, realising it would be futile, at this point, to try a covert conversation in front of two MVD investigators.

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Kassian had his hand on his gun when the inner door opened and admitted Imanov, but he slowly eased his grip.

"What happened?" he asked, moving forward, frowning.

Pale dirt was smeared across parts of Imanov's uniform - knees, forearms, chest, probably his back. It looked like Imanov had been in a scuffle.

He stopped in front of Imanov, gaze intent, automatically scanning for any injuries.

Kassian still didn't like the guy much, but he was a brother Ocelot.

And besides, Isaev would probably be pretty pissed if Kassian let Imanov die on his watch.

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Ilya shook his head, regaining his awareness.

Their eyes met. It was an odd moment, cobbled out of the need for professional courtesy and the predator's awareness of each other's territory.

Pale eyes, dark eyes, each pair as strong.

"Someone was around the back. Kept out of the lights, so I couldn't get a good look, but they were definitely scoping out the area. They got away," Ilya muttered in distaste, not willing to admit he got caught. Ocelot would shoot him some spare orifices for that.

"But I did get a souvenir," he stated, holding up his knife, ragged fabric still clinging partly between his hand and the blade. He looked to Liadov and Rakitin. "Should I give this directly to yourselves?"

He looked around, suddenly noticing something. "... Where's the Major? He's not answering codec."

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"He's organizing the search," Kassian said. "We're to go with the investigators."

He nodded toward Liadov and Rakitin.

"We were just about to head out."

Kassian eyed the strip of fabric still clinging to Imanov's knife. It had been close then. He imagined the MENTs would want Imanov to recount as much as he could recall about the scuffle, while things were still fresh in his mind.

He wondered if it had been the killer, or just one of the would-be assassins from Flame Patrol. Either way, whoever this suspicious person was, the ALL PERSONNEL that had gone out actually gave him the ideal circumstances to help him get away.

Kassian frowned, glancing at the fabric again, eyes narrowing suddenly.

"See if you can get a canine unit out here," he said to Imanov. "The scent on that should still be fresh."

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Ilya returned the expression. He bristled at being ordered by Irinarhov.

He did make a good point, however. Best do that before the little scrap was dissected in a lab.

"It'll take time. It's best I report this direct to the Major, as we're heading that way. Saves all the fucking runaround trying to find competency."

Ilya's tongue often ran away with him, rather oblivious to admitting in front of their two charges that the chain of command at Groznyj Grad was worthless outside of Major Ocelot and Colonel Volgin, respectively. Raikov's enthusiasm for his work was proportional to how long he had been in the Colonel's quarters.

"Not far, I hope," Ilya muttered, stepping closer to Kassian cautiously, trying not to let Liadov or Rakitin hear. "Moving uniforms, more confusion with felled targets."

It didn't seem to fall in line with the kind of sociopathic character Ilya's mind had concocted - an anonymous kill in a crowd - but really, who knew anything?

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Kassian's brows lifted, but he merely nodded.

"Whatever you say," he said, cooly.

As far as Kassian was concerned, Imanov was in charge. After all, he was the unit's second, regardless of Kassian's actual rank.

Kassian actually didn't want the responsibility of ordering people around. He worked better alone. But he didn't know if Imanov had rejected his suggestion because he truly thought getting a canine unit would be too difficult, or if this was about Isaev.

But he wasn't in the mood to get in a pissing match with Imanov over it, either.

He turned to the MENTs. "Get the gear you need. We're moving out now. We'll rendezvous with Ocelot Unit, then join the search."

Kassian paused, his gaze going to the woman. Pasiphaë, Liadov had called her. Kassian knew the myth. The code name was rather unfortunate.

"You're coming with us."

It was not quite a question.

Kassian moved toward the door then, pulling his Makarov and checking the safety.

He glanced at Imanov.

"Want me to take point...Lieutenant?"

It came out a little more pointed than he wanted it to, but if Imanov had to assert his authority to make himself feel better about Isaev sleeping in Kassian's bed last night, Kassian would let him have it.

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Ilya gave a sharp nod.

He dearly wished for them to be dismissed.

He had a lot of violent energy pent-up.

"We should move quickly."

He still felt uneasy about that person eyeing the other wall. What was that all about?

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Nika buckled into his greatcoat and set his ushanka on his head.

The tension between the Ocelots was suddenly palpable, and he laughed out loud.

"My god, you two," he said, shaking his head. "People will say you're in love."

He put his hands over Rakitin's ears.

"You're scaring Polya with your masculine chest puffing. Please, think of the pathologist."

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Kassian grimaced at the thought, but then rolled his eyes.

He paused long enough to slip his balaclava back on his head and adjust his beret.

"Far from it," he muttered, but only loud enough for Imanov to hear.

Liadov was right, actually. He shouldn't even care.

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Status set.

Ilya was going to have it out with him, one way or another. As soon as Ocelot let them off the leash, even.

"Fuck your mother," Ilya responded quietly and flatly.

Fucking Liadov, too, for pointing out the obvious and aggravating it all. Ilya 's immediate thought was grumbling about it to Andrei - fine choice of family friends and all that...

... and then remembered he didn't really know what he was going to say to him.

God, if only he could go back two weeks.

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Kassian looked back at Imanov steadily, meeting the man's icy gaze.

Imanov hated him, no doubt about that.

It occurred to him to wonder why. Obviously, it was about Isaev, but Imanov had seemed to take a disliking to him from the very start, before Isaev had even begun to pursue Kassian.

He supposed some people just rubbed others the wrong way. And Kassian had come into the squad bristling, with a standoffish attitude bordering on hostile. He almost regretted that now, but what was done, was done.

Isaev was another matter entirely, but as Kassian thought about it, he felt a brief flash of remorse - not for anything he'd done with Isaev. No. He wouldn't give that up for the world.

He felt sorry for Imanov, now left out cold.

Imanov probably wasn't very happy about Kassian and Isaev's current arrangement. It probably even hurt, regardless of the depth of whatever feeling Imanov had for Isaev.

Was it love, Kassian wondered, or just tight-knit brotherhood? Regardless, either way, Imanov probably resented Kassian for occupying his friend's attention.

Kassian guessed he couldn't blame him, but that didn't mean Kassian would back off because he felt for the guy.

He paused.

"Izvintye, Imanov," he said quietly.

He meant it, though that changed nothing.

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Ippolit rolled his eyes and batted away Nika's hands.

Inwardly, he was surprised to find that he didn't really mind it much. Being treated like a little brother.

There was something odd about the two soldiers. They were eyeing each other like a pair of territorial tomcats.

Captain Irinarhov's sepulchral calm had shifted as soon as the young blond man had come into view, though his dark eyes had lost none of their wariness.

People. It was none of Rakitin's business.

"Don't mind me," he said wryly. "There's worse things than people getting along like dogs and monkeys."

Like a limbless corpse in the mountains somewhere.

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Nika grinned.

"I'm just taking the piss out of them," he intoned, conspiratorilly, pitching his voice so that only Rakitin could hear. "Can't have our bodyguards killing each other."

He straightened, fingering his brace of Makarovi, making sure they were accessible, even though he doubted he would need them.

Or that he'd even be able to get a shot off if he was threatened.

Imanov was ostensibly the squad's quickest draw aside from Ocelot, and he was sure that Irinarhov was no slouch either.

"She's funny," he remarked, about the woman. "Who wouldn't want the pleasure of our company?"

This last was whimsical, more wry than anything.

"Let's go. Lead off, Lieutenant. Captain."

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"I can see how that would be a problem," Rakitin murmured, eyeing them. "Last thing we need is more bodies. I'll run out of freezer space."

He let his voice rise to a normal level.

"It's understandable," Ippolit said. "We're not as interesting, what with never spontaneously combusting." His eyes rolled up in comtemplation. "Well, except for that one time. But then, labeling a set of chemicals 'Absolutely Do Not Mix' is sheer provocation."

His eyes flicked to the speaker that had issued the All Personnel some time ago. He packed the unfortunate remains away, took off his gloves, and headed for the door. "We should, er, probably hurry."

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Kassian turned away.

He and Imanov had more to say to each other, he knew, but this wasn't the time or the place, not when there were more pressing matters, like dead bodies and people lurking around the outbuildings.

"I'll take point."

He moved past Rakitin and exited the building, careful not to pause directly under the sodium lights. Kassian took several paces beyond and stopped in shadow, then carefully looked around.

The surrounding buildings sat silently, with no telltale shadows. They would keep their secrets this night, apparently.

"It's clear," he called, voice pitched low. He waited until the MENTs exited the building and gestured for them to follow.

Kassian set a quick pace. He rarely took point in any given exercise, instead preferring to trail the group and keep watch over all his charges at once while he kept an eye on their surroundings. With Rakitin and Liadov behind him, he felt out of touch, but forged steadily ahead, cutting behind buildings and taking the long way around, instead of the obvious path.

Not an ideal situation, but he would make the best of it.

As they neared the East wing, Kassian spoke over his shoulder, but did not turn to glance behind him.

"The directive was an ALL PERSONNEL, so that means Flame Patrol will be there," he told the MENTs. "Try to minimize contact. We'll be running interference."

He let the way inside. Ahead, Kassian could hear voices echoing in the main hall. They weren't too late, then.

[Continued in Night Search for Corpus 2]

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“Great.” Pasiphaë mumbled, more to herself than to anyone. “A pissing contest, and I’ve left my cock in my other flame proof suit.” It was tiresome enough watching the constant bickering between her own unit mates, arguments which often escalated to physical violence, brawls in the mess hall, broken bones and visits to the infirmary. There was one line that was never crossed though: flamethrowers were never drawn. It was the only unspoken rule that hovered in the back of their minds.

Ocelots, she thought, must have some similar code. The unit wasn’t as spotless and unified as it appeared. Fascinating.

“I appreciate the invitation. I really do.” She nodded to Kassian. “But the Fury will absolutely spontaneously combust if I leave the hovercraft out here.” The woman wondered in the back of her mind if the sniper wanted her to go with them for her own safety, or the safety of his charges.

“So I’ll go with you just as far as that clearing, and then you boys will have to take care of yourselves from there.” She laughed at the absurdity of her own statement. “Besides, someone has to go wake Iapetus for the picnic in the East Wing.”

In this distance, two white lights moved across the black night sky, in the general direction of the weapons complex, before disappearing below the tree line. Io and Deimos, her mind supplied, coming down from the mountain. She thought that if she listened close enough, she could almost hear the distant hum of the hovercraft because the night was so silent, no frogs croaking, crickets chirping, or owls calling to their mates. It was impossible, given the distance, even if the atmospheric conditions allowed for it.

“I’ll find you later, then.” She promised Kassian.

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