Krasnogorje Dinner Theater

[vostok-n2o4.livejournal.com]

The greenhouse was barely visible from the roof of the East Wing -- over the hill and through the dense greenery. The Fury stood balanced precariously on the ledge like some great black vulture ready to take flight, transfixed with the small clearing in the woods.

Beside him, a single flame soldier waited in khaki drab, arms crossed over his chest, gasmask dangling limp in his hands, short platinum hair damp from the rain and clinging to his forehead. The infamous Lieutenant Io, never too far from the cosmonaut-commander.

It always rained at Groznyj Grad, but for once, the cosmonaut could find no reason for complaint. He only wanted to destroy the greenhouse, not burn all of Groznyj to the ground.

Not just yet, anyway. That was something thrilling to consider…

And besides, it was better rain than snow.

So he paced back and forth on the narrow ledge, radio clutched in one gray-gloved hand, detonator in the other. Absentmindedly, he noted that it was a very long way to the ground, nothing to worry about though, not equipped with a jet pack.

“Captain!” A voice crackled finally over the radio, “he’s got a fucking grand piano in here.” Distant sour notes soon followed, as if to illustrate the soldiers’ point.

He laughed, yes that seemed typical of Johann Krauss, sitting in his greenhouse and playing Bach or Wagner to his precious lilies, or whatever the hell it was he played all the time. “Fill it with C-4 as well,” he answered finally, “and tell Phobos to quit screwing off.”

The Fury did not wait for the reply; footsteps on the rusted metal fire escape that hung on the side of the building caught his attention, not the tell-tale heavy bootsteps of the Krasnogorje soldiers, burdened under their heavy gear -- no, someone else entirely.   GRU, perhaps.  Maybe even Ocelot himself, coming to watch the fireworks.

“We have company.” the pale Lieutenant announced, glancing at the Fury for some signal of how to precede.

“Yes.” The cosmonaut observed.

“Shall I kill them?”

“Not yet.  At least wait until they reach the top.”

Comments

[elyseexpatriate.livejournal.com]

The Sorrow was distracted from the sight by a tug on his sleeve.

"'s cold," the girl muttered.

Ah. Right. He had almost forgotten them, these elements that affected the living.

"Let's get you back, then," he said.

The doctor's quarters should still be safe.

They took a circuitous route toward the building that hulked solid and black against the sky, as if in defiance of the recently demonstrated mortality of architecture. After going to the trouble of...preserving this secret, it would do no good to be seen.

"Nadine, was it?" The Sorrow said conversationally.

The going was slow, for the both of them. The girl had to pick her way over rocks, roots, and forest-floor debris. The Sorrow had to take care not to let his legs pass through them.

[vostok-n2o4.livejournal.com]

The Fury waited patiently as the Major and the sniper discussed him, dissected his every thought, speculated on his motivations. He listened mostly out of curiosity, only picking a few words here and there over the wind and dull roar of his jetpack.

Isaev appeared, suddenly, unexpectedly. Even from his side of the smoked glass, the cosmonaut could tell how pale and unkempt the lieutenant was. He questioned for a moment perhaps one of his men had done something to upset the Ocelot soldier; Deimos found sadistic delight in such perverse endeavors.

He was fully prepared to take his leave and let them settle it themselves; the thrill of standing among the smoldering ruins was too much temptation. The soldiers were disbursing anyway, no need to hang around --literally and figuratively-- any longer and waste rocket fuel.

The cosmonaut had not expected his own lieutenant to burst through the rooftop door and run towards him, shouting and flailing. Phobos and Deimos followed, then Iapetus, Pasiphaë with her RPG-7 slung over her shoulder, and a few more flame soldiers already struggling to replace their gasmasks.

“A corpse!” Io shouted, “they’ve found a corpse in the greenhouse!”

“It was all clear when we departed.” Deimos offered, stopping just short of the ledge where the cosmonaut hovered. “We checked it three times, top to bottom.”

The Fury considered his words, then nodded. There was no reason for disbelief; they would have admitted, Deimos especially, to murder. Bragged about it, even. If they had gone so far as to drag the unconscious man who put up such a struggle back to the East Wing so that he would not perish in the blast, then they certainly had nothing to do with the alleged corpse.

“Meet me there.” The Fury ordered. Turning, he flew off into the approaching darkness, leaving the Krasnogorje patrol standing there in the thick black smoke that remained.