“So it’s not a whore.” Io mumbled, unaffected. “Does this mean I can have my coat back? It’s fucking freezing.”
The Fury glared at him, as if to emphasize that the Lieutenant’s outburst was morbidly inappropriate. “You complain about being cold. I have the perfect remedy for that. Set a man on fire, and he’ll be warm for the rest of his life.”
Io had a point though, however tactlessly he had made it. If it wasn’t a defenseless young girl, hacked to death under a terrible ax, then it was difficult to care. The death of a woman was always tragic, the death of a man, a fellow soldier, was routine.
The lace teddy, however, was far from the ordinary. A soldier with such interests almost deserved such a fate, and the Fury nodded, agreeing with himself. There was a world of difference between small and quiet comforts late at night in silent, dark barracks, and the depravity splayed at his feet.
“I don’t understand.” Deimos spoke finally, more to himself than anyone else. “It… he…wasn’t here when we were setting the explosives.”
“It was.” The Fury answered, certain. “It was here all along.”
“Something like this… why go to all this trouble if you’re not going to leave it where people can see it?”
The cosmonaut glanced briefly at Deimos in the dim light, dark hair disheveled and ashes streaked across his dark face. Romanian, he thought for a moment. Definitely Romanian. “That was the exact reason you were finally apprehended for murdering those eight women in Moscow. Whoever did this wanted to make sure no one ever knew. It was their own dirty secret.”
The Fury paced, considering it all, unbothered by the ashes his heavy footsteps stirred up, or the embers that settled on his suit.
Io retrieved his jacket as soon as his commander looked away, not even bothered to dust off the human ashes before zipping it up.
The cosmonaut replaced his helmet, securing it snugly, as more of a symbolic gesture than anything. “This was not committed in anger. It was purely for the thrill of destroying something completely. The sexual thrill.” The burned out husk of a metal barrel caught his attention, and he considered it for a moment. The only place his men had not checked: the fertilizer tanks. There was no need to check them, no one would be particularly apt to hide there, and the noxious chemicals would only add fuel to the fire.
“It was a private affair between this poor bastard and Johann Krauss.” He continued, picking something up out of the twisted metal. A human arm, mostly intact, with a bit of charring around the stiff fingers. “No one was ever supposed to know.”
“Krauss?” Deimos questioned. “He doesn’t have the stomach for this sort of thing. But that patrol soldier was quite determined to keep us from taking the greenhouse. Determined like a man with something to hide.”
There was a peculiar coldness that crept in, even despite his space suit, and the Fury shivered. It was only befitting, he thought. “The Sorrow? Are you there? Have you come to escort this poor soldier to the other side? Perhaps you can ask him what happened, how he died?” He was, of course, talking to thin air again.
The Krasnogorje patrol were unaffected. It was normal to find their commander talking to voices in his head about the speed of light and blowing up the moon.
no subject
The Fury glared at him, as if to emphasize that the Lieutenant’s outburst was morbidly inappropriate. “You complain about being cold. I have the perfect remedy for that. Set a man on fire, and he’ll be warm for the rest of his life.”
Io had a point though, however tactlessly he had made it. If it wasn’t a defenseless young girl, hacked to death under a terrible ax, then it was difficult to care. The death of a woman was always tragic, the death of a man, a fellow soldier, was routine.
The lace teddy, however, was far from the ordinary. A soldier with such interests almost deserved such a fate, and the Fury nodded, agreeing with himself. There was a world of difference between small and quiet comforts late at night in silent, dark barracks, and the depravity splayed at his feet.
“I don’t understand.” Deimos spoke finally, more to himself than anyone else. “It… he…wasn’t here when we were setting the explosives.”
“It was.” The Fury answered, certain. “It was here all along.”
“Something like this… why go to all this trouble if you’re not going to leave it where people can see it?”
The cosmonaut glanced briefly at Deimos in the dim light, dark hair disheveled and ashes streaked across his dark face. Romanian, he thought for a moment. Definitely Romanian. “That was the exact reason you were finally apprehended for murdering those eight women in Moscow. Whoever did this wanted to make sure no one ever knew. It was their own dirty secret.”
The Fury paced, considering it all, unbothered by the ashes his heavy footsteps stirred up, or the embers that settled on his suit.
Io retrieved his jacket as soon as his commander looked away, not even bothered to dust off the human ashes before zipping it up.
The cosmonaut replaced his helmet, securing it snugly, as more of a symbolic gesture than anything. “This was not committed in anger. It was purely for the thrill of destroying something completely. The sexual thrill.” The burned out husk of a metal barrel caught his attention, and he considered it for a moment. The only place his men had not checked: the fertilizer tanks. There was no need to check them, no one would be particularly apt to hide there, and the noxious chemicals would only add fuel to the fire.
“It was a private affair between this poor bastard and Johann Krauss.” He continued, picking something up out of the twisted metal. A human arm, mostly intact, with a bit of charring around the stiff fingers. “No one was ever supposed to know.”
“Krauss?” Deimos questioned. “He doesn’t have the stomach for this sort of thing. But that patrol soldier was quite determined to keep us from taking the greenhouse. Determined like a man with something to hide.”
There was a peculiar coldness that crept in, even despite his space suit, and the Fury shivered. It was only befitting, he thought. “The Sorrow? Are you there? Have you come to escort this poor soldier to the other side? Perhaps you can ask him what happened, how he died?” He was, of course, talking to thin air again.
The Krasnogorje patrol were unaffected. It was normal to find their commander talking to voices in his head about the speed of light and blowing up the moon.