Meanwhile, back at Groznyj Grad... [Night Search Corpus 2]

[raidenovitch.livejournal.com]

Raikov's boots struck the floor hard and fast, as he paced furiously around the central building.

He was not pleased. Not pleased at all.

Being thrown off of Ocelot was not the greatest moment, but he could grudgingly admit that Ocelot was needed elsewhere.

So, of course, as soon as they had all left, it had been just him and the Colonel, and a shared wicked grin.

And they'd just settled into the mood when Raikov had been turfed out, again.

He was too annoyed at the whole situation to say much to the Colonel, although he was not personally angry with him. Jesus motherfucking bastard christ, he couldn't concentrate on a thing.

And the worse part was he couldn't go back to his quarters to deal with it himself, not when he was supposed to be keeping tabs on absolutely everyone on-base.

Anyone who came near him right now would live to regret it.

Comments

[ilya-imanov.livejournal.com]

Ilya's mouth opened, but no sound came forth.

This... wasn't possible.

Sergei. Sasha. Ocelot's favourite, practically his kid brother, Matvei's friend, the object of his and Andrei's friendly teasing, slightly shy, intelligent and quiet...

Not any more. He was none of those things. He was dead.

Ilya wanted to throw up. He wanted to run.

He'd killed men before, of course he had. He was a soldier. But this... his Sergei, lifeless, not killed by chance, not by his lack of skill, but some sadistic bastard, someone they knew, and Sasha hadn't suspected a thing...

"Oh god," he whispered, quietly, lost in the murmurs of voices around him, that he could barely hear.

Had it not been a brother Ocelot, he would not have reacted nearly as badly. Had it not been a friend...

He direly needed a smoke. Several. Fuck, a whole motherfucking packet, followed by a shitload of slivo to blind himself to the scene before his eyes.

His hands shook slightly, as he tried to calm himself.

I need Andrei, he thought.

He will make this bad dream go away, his subconscious soothed him, uselessly.

[capt-kasya.livejournal.com]

Rakitin moved past Kassian, kneeling down next to the body. Kassian straightened, and stepped away.

He'd liked Gurlukovich. The kid had always been friendly, in spite of Kassian's reticence, never taking it personally the way others apparently did, nor had he pushed too hard.

After a moment, he looked over at Imanov.

Imanov's face was pale, mouth slack, eyes glassy, and right then, he looked young too.

Kassian walked back to Imanov, stopping at his side.

Imanov didn't look at him.

He hesitated for a moment, then reached out, and put a hand on Imanov's arm. Somehow, given the circumstances, he couldn't hate himself for doing it, either.

[nikanor-liadov.livejournal.com]

Liadov sank down onto one of the wooden benches, resting his hand on the wall. He hadn't known this Ocelot, and honestly he couldn't see him all that well. His vision was blurred, but even compromised as he was, he knew the familiar shape of one prone object better than almost anything.

"Gun," he managed, with an unsteady wave of his hand. "Over by the locker bay."

He breathed a few times, closed and opened his eyes. He could feel the cold sweat on his brow but he forced himself to hold his head up.

"He had his sidearm out. He saw the killer."

[ilya-imanov.livejournal.com]

Ilya felt the press, vaguely. He felt very numb at that point in time.

He silently reached out for the back of Kassian's hand, and gently pushed it away from him. A polite, grief-stricken, "thanks, but no thanks."

He wanted Andrei, dammit. He would understand. How could the sniper, the stranger in their midst, possibly understand, how many times they and Sergei had laughed and argued and fought and joked...

He couldn't do anything. He couldn't move. He felt like if he sat, did anything, he would break. It was just... too much.

Andrei, Andrei, Andrei, he willed, hoping his friend would somehow sense his distress, and seek him out.

[capt-kasya.livejournal.com]

Kassian withdrew.

Fine.

He supposed he couldn't exactly blame Imanov - after all, he wouldn't want Imanov's comfort in a time of distress, but even so, Kassian had been moved to offer his.

Because Imanov was a brother Ocelot, because he was a soldier.

Because he was a human being.

Kassian had embraced men before, near-strangers even, united by moments of grief and suffering.

There were times when it was just important not to be alone. But Imanov's disdain obviously ran deeper.

He would remember that.

Kassian turned, instead, to Liadov.

"Do you think - " he started, then stopped as he saw Liadov's face.

The MENT was paler than Imanov, and sweating. He looked unsteady on his feet.

There were no reason for Liadov to react in such a way, unless -

Kassian frowned, and stepped forward. "Major? Are you all right?"

[nikanor-liadov.livejournal.com]

He wasn't sure. Talking. Who was. To him?

Or not. But tired.

So tired.

"I think..." Nika said slowly. "Maybe..."

He sank down against the wall, slowly, with the give of undry glue.

"I got it," he slurred, pawing awkwardly at the tile, as if he would push himself up. "Never mind me."

[capt-kasya.livejournal.com]

Kassian surged forward, and dropped to a knee at the MENT's side.

"Liadov!" He grabbed Liadov's arm, and slapped his face, hard enough to sting. "Stay with me."

He turned his gaze quickly over his shoulder.

"Rakitin! He needs - he's diabetic. I think he's going into shock."

Death could be rapid, Kassian remembered.

Liadov had told him that, when he'd inquired after the MENT's health in a pause during Kassian's interview. The MENT had smiled wryly at the mention of death, like it had somehow amused him.

He turned back to Liadov.

Hopefully, Rakitin would know what to do.

[nikanor-liadov.livejournal.com]

Nika felt the impact of the strike and gritted his teeth, absorbing it, feeling it.

And he was aware of Irinarhov, staring into his face, his near-black eyes and piercing raptor-like gaze.

Good, that was good. Hurt. The sniper's shouldering arm was strong, the slap stinging, jolting him momentarily.

He knew he was slipping into incoherence, so while he had a scattered spell of lucidity, he reached forward, graspng clumsily at the sniper's forearms, raising pale green eyes, hedonic and fevered with fatigue.

Locking them onto Irinarhov's and speaking with slow, measured words.

"Breast pocket," he intoned. "Glucogen."

He jerked his hands to clutch the sniper's face, steadying their gazes, pulling him close enough to hear his faltering voice.

"Syringe. Not in the muscle. Adipose. Shallow."

His lips shuddered.

[hajimenoippolit.livejournal.com]

As soon as they entered, Rakitin knew that there would be no need for an identification, this time.

Blond like nearly all of the Ocelots,fair and pretty when he wasn't hidden beneath a balaclava.

He'd promised to show Ippolit the crocodiles.

Rakitin knew better than to let personal sentiment interfere with what needed to be done. How fortunate he'd had practice. His gloves were already on.

Immediately it was obvious this was different. No elaborately macabre pose. No works of grotesque art. This was a rush job.

Rakitin knelt by the corpse.

"The killer could still be nearby," Rakitin said. "He's still fucking warm."

Liadov was right. A sidearm lay by the lockers, as though knocked away. The amalgam of data didn't fit the modus operandi.

Rakitin's own gun at his hip was a weight of reassurance, for as little good as Gurlukovich's had done him. Whoever this was, he was fast.

"It doesn't fit," Ippolit muttered. Looking down at the still face of the boy who had laughed, and said, You're too hard on him. Looking for information. That's all a body was. Remnants. A message. After the rest had fled. Namu Amida butsu. "Our killer likes everything completely under his control. This must have been a mistake. Maybe he came back here to wash off blood-"

It didn't sink in that something in Liadov's voice had been off until Irinarhov called his name. The sniper's voice was taut with urgency.

Liadov was collapsed against the wall.

For a vertiginous instant, Ippolit thought that the murderer had phased through the gaps in time to slip a knife into Nika's gut.

Then reality snapped back, and Ippolit was peeling his gloves off and joining Kassian at Liadov's side.

Diabetic. He had said something about that. Hadn't he? He'd said it as if it were of no great importance.

"Nika!" Rakitin said sharply. He was pale, and his eyes were unfocused. He was always controlled, composed. Seeing him like this was frightening in ways a strangled corpse was not. "Stay with us."

Ippolit looked to Kasya.

"What did he say?"

[capt-kasya.livejournal.com]

"He said he needs a shot."

Kassian was already digging in Liadov's breast pocket.

He pulled out a pair of ID badges and a small leather case that had been worn smooth and soft by time and use.

He opened the case. Inside were two syringes and two small vials.

Kassian pulled the vials out, frowning as he examined them. They had rubber tops, he realized, and labels. One was marked “glucogen.”

"I don't know how - " he started, offering the vial and syringe to Rakitin.

"I'll talk you through it," Rakitin said, immediately.

Kassian frowned.

“I’ve only ever injected rats, actually. And, er, dead people don’t need a lot of shots.”

The MENT flashed a brief, apologetic smile. “But I understand the theory perfectly well,” he added.

Liadov's hands slipped, falling from Kassian's face to clutch onto his uniform with waning strength. There was no time to argue anymore.

“All right,” Kassian said.

"Put the needle through the top of the bottle, then press down on the plunger." The MENT mimed the action. "Then turn the bottle upside down, and pull the plunger back to fill it up."

Kassian complied, watching the syringe fill up with colorless liquid.

"Make sure there aren't any air bubbles. Good. Now inject him below the stomach," Rakitin said.

Kassin tugged Liadov's shirt up and his waistband down to expose a strip of pale flesh. Liadov's belly was trim and sleek, but not as thick with muscle as Isaev's. Still, Kassian had to work a little to find a bit of loose skin. He pinched it between his fingers, and angled the needle.

"Just like that. Go ahead," Rakitin told him.

Kassian took in a deep breath, and pushed the plunger.

[ilya-imanov.livejournal.com]

Ilya saw what was happening, but he felt frozen.

He and Liadov were in two different kinds of shock.

He might've not had much love for the man and all his associations, but he would never have just let someone...

Rakitin and Irinarhov seemed to have the situation under control. Neither of them had been so deeply affected as Ilya.

Sergei was still on the floor, ignored. Just another corpse, now.

Ilya's hazy mind wished he could just be administered a shot, like Liadov, to take away all of the shock.

[nikanor-liadov.livejournal.com]

A pin-prick. A pinch.

Nika identified that slight pain sensation with relief and renaissance by now, and he made a low noise of raw gratification at the injection.

It was a sound that might have marked him as a masochist to an objective observer, someone who had never experienced the release of righting endorphins.

And maybe, he thought vaguely, it felt not unlike orgasm- or at least like the eleventh hour reviving kiss of a passing prince.

The recovery from a hypoglycemic episode always astonished him- even as he was regaining his equilibrium and his sense of well-being, he was thinking it shouldn't be so easy.

Just a little sugar, and he was right as rain- provided of course that it didn't go too long, and as of yet it never had.

He was careful; very careful. Always.

Sometimes there were things he couldn't foresee- factors he hadn't considered. Lack of sleep, stress, having a cold- these were all things that were capable of upsetting the perfect balance he'd carved out for himself.

Nika felt the familiar sense of flooding radiation, the swelling wave that reoriented his world, and he nodded slowly, encouraging it, flexing his fingers and feeling his coordination return.

He opened his eyes, very slowly, and looked at Irinarhov with a wanly gratified smile.

"...you did that very well," he said. "I appreciate the assistance."

His attention veered toward the corpse once more, businessminded again, even though he knew better than to push his physical recovery.

"I'm sorry. The timing was terrible. I should have realized..." he paused.

His eye fell on Imanov, who looked stricken, like a pillar of ash that could be blown away at any moment, standing over the other Ocelot's body in quiet disbelief.

"Poor kid," he said, softly. "Get him out of here. Get him drunk."

[capt-kasya.livejournal.com]

Kassian let out a slow breath.

"Thank Lieutenant Rakitin."

Kassian tilted his head toward the man at his side. The pathologist was leaning over Liadov, gaze hooded with concern.

Kassian guessed that Rakitin would be able to tell if something was still seriously wrong. To Kassian, Liadov seemed much more coherent now, at least, but still looked pale and weak.

"He told me what to do," Kassian said.

Like a good spotter, he thought.

He gave Rakitin an approving nod.

Liadov's eyes could focus now, Kassian could tell. He watched the MENT look around the room.

Kassian glanced over his shoulder, following Liadov's gaze.

Imanov stood behind them, still looking sick and pale. Kassian didn't have lot of sympathy left for the squad's second, but he supposed, for Isaev's sake, he should find some.

"He doesn't want anything from me," he muttered, but then looked back at Liadov. "I'm going to call Lieutenant Isaev. Just rest for a moment, and then we'll get you to your quarters."

He paused, frowning, searching Liadov's face again for any lingering sign of weakness.

"I'll be right back," he said, both to Liadov, and Rakitin.

Kassian left Liadov under Rakitin's watchful gaze then stepped out into the hall, raising a hand to his ear as he tuned his CODEC back to Isaev's frequency.

[andrei-isaev.livejournal.com]

Andrei roused slowly, fainting aware of the chirp of his CODEC chime. He'd been facedown in his bunk, limbs sprawled across the finite real estate, but unconstrained by it. His fingertips dusted the floor.

Drowsily, he pushed himself up on his arms and tamped his finger against his ear.

"Isaev," he mumbled incoherently, through the hair that veiled his face.

[capt-kasya.livejournal.com]

Kassian could tell from the blur in Isaev's voice that he'd woken him.

He winced, regretting it now, even though he knew it was the right thing.

"It's me," he said into the CODEC, and then paused.

"I have to tell you something, Dasha, but it's not good."

Kassian took a breath, pausing again.

He hesitated, uncertain, unsure of how he was possibly supposed to break this news.

"... are you there?"

[andrei-isaev.livejournal.com]

"...Kasya," he drawled, smiling awkwardly through his groggy slept-in voice. "Don't tell me you're backing out on your promise. Lightweight."

Then he frowned, rubbing his face. Pausing, for a beat.

Even half-asleep, Andrei sensed Irinarhov's inarticulate hesitation.

"...Why do you sound so grim?" he asked suspiciously, with drawn-out reluctance.