NationStates Jolt Archive

The apartment was dark, just like the rest of the city. It had been raining for nearly 48 hours and the city was soaked to the skin, but still it rose like any other day and began to hum.
Pizza boxes, bottles of wine and Glasses littered the floor, along with letters and papers from a month ago, this was not the apartment of a family, or even a couple.

An alarm rang out in the semi-darkness, in clothes littered bedroom a hand emerged from the darkness and hit the clock that vibrated and sang across the bedside table. Eventually the hand gave up and pushed the whole table over. The clock buried itself in the carpet and continued to ring.

A figure now emerged from under the duvet and headed towards the shower; it washed, brushed its teeth and wandered into the light in Boxer shorts.

Mikhail Damidov was in his early 30’s, his eyes usually changed with the colour of the sky, so today they were a dark grey, he was about 6 feet tall and was quite thin, despite his poor, fat ridden diet he had kept in fairly good shape. He ran his fingers through his damp brown hair and sighed before opening the blinds.
A soldier with a gun stared back at him, Mikhail just sighed and stared at the Poster of the “Action Comrade” doll that had become all the rage with kids recently.
he turned and switched on the TV, it roared into life with the news as he went back into his room to get his uniform.

“…lso this week we are gearing up to celebrate our leaders birthday, turn out is expected to be around 2 million people will swell into Warsaw ready to celebrate the 50th birthday of our great and glorious leader, Comrade Illianov.
Mikhail snorted, and snapped the TV off again. He was in his militia uniform and headed down the stairs to his waiting jeep. He reached the bottom of the stairs and check to see if he had any mail, the woman just shook her head. Mikhail sighed again, bid her good morning and headed for the door, he stepped outside and was soaked by the downpour. He grabbed his keys out of his pocket and ran for his jeep.
The vehicle most commonly used by the Militia forces was the Jeep, it was just a UAZ as used in the army suitably converted for police use.
The engine growled into life and he headed for the Militia offices on Pedmosky Street. He had been driving for about 10 minutes when his radio crackled into life.

“We have officers on the ground who have found a body in the Cantunov district, any takers?”
Mikhail picked up the microphone and replied.

“Captain Mikhail Damidov, calls it”

The Cantunov district was where all the members of the politburo lived when not on business in the main part of Warsaw. Another spate of minutes passed before Mikhail saw another jeep much like his own parked up by the road. He pulled up behind it, the breaks squealing in the wet weather and wandered down to where he could see two officers in lesser uniform and the body of an old man, one of them looked up and saluted, Damidov did not return the favour.

“Found any identification?”
“No comrade.”
“Better get him out of the water, the forensic scientist will be here soon.”
“We can’t lift him comrade, he’s to heavy”
Mikhail sighed and began to make his way down the river bank, he and the two militia men heaved the body out of the water and onto the river bank, just as the forensic scientist arrived.
“Lovely day isn’t it Damidov?”
“Shut up Krostov and do your job”
“Fine, fine… well he obviously drowned, but there might be other factors, I’m going to have to get him to the morgue for identification excetera, but it seems odd he’d be here of all places, unless he was a politburo member……”
Krostov’s voice trailed off at the end of his sentence, he swallowed a couple of times before getting the militia men to help him put the body into a waiting ambulance to be taken to the morgue for identification and post-mortem, Mikhail sighed again and clambered into his jeep and followed.


ooc: this is really my first proper attempt at something different and on the nationstates board. I hope you will enjoy reading it as I write it up, expect chapter two around Sunday, also constructive critisism is welcome :)

bump for interest

<Tag>

bump for interest

*Tag*

20-1-7

20-1-7

that's a different way of saying tag isn't it?

20 = T
1 = A
7 = G
You win the prize!

20 = T
1 = A
7 = G
You win the prize!

ya i realised that in the first to seconds of seeing it, i meant more like a welsh style "isant itT?"

as in more "Oh i get ya" kinda way

Chapter 2, the Body.


The Morgue was grey dank, dark and smelt strongly of disinfectant. Mikhail was sure that Kostov just loved the stuff, almost as much as he loved poking around dead bodies.
The scalpel bit into the bluey-white skin of the man, the incision glistened red and wept slighty as the scientist’s hand wrenched the skin apart and began to furrow around with the insides of the deceased. Mikhail looked on wearing a pair of gloves himself… protocol.
“Hmmm...” Kostov was feeling around inside of his chest, every so often it squelched.
“Well he definitely drowned, but look at these bruses around his face, suggests he was hit or hit himself under the water before he died, I’m going to have to open up his head to see what trauma there could be in his head.” he looked up and withdrew his hand from the dead man. “Also I’m going to check his dental records, we might be able to identify him then, and actually I’ll do that now, I’ll call you with the results ok?”

Mikhail nodded and squeaked his way back to the entrance, he sighed. This seemed like another day, another murder, but something deep down stirred in his gut making him think this case would be special.

Mikhail’s apartment, 12:00a.m

The phone began a little jig across the desk, it was also playing a version of “Moon River” Mikhail groaned and rolled over and picked it up.
“Mikhail! Good your awake, I found the dental records at last…”
There was a considerable pause, eventually Mikhail gave up.
“Well who is he?”
”He’s…. Comrade Blustov”
Mikhail sat up.
“THE Comrade Blustov, the retired minister of industry?”
“Yes, THE bloody comrade blustov, question is, why is he dead?
“Indeed….ok tomorrow I’m going to go investigate the area, ask around and such, see what I can find.”

Mikhail blipped the phone off and laid back in his bed, he pondered as to why such a prominent member of the party would be dead, before rolling over and sleeping again.

tag

OOC: If you are alive when you drown, your lungs are cut off so there won't be water. If you're dead when your dunked, though, the lungs are water tanks.

((Might as well tag))

Tag

Chapter 3, The house

His car growled along the empty street, in Communistpoland you took a bus or tram or train, walked or stayed at home, unless of course you were a member of the politburo or one of the services you got some of the few cars available.
Mikhail knocked the jeep into third gear and sped along Illianov street towards the murder scene and the estate where the politburo members where.

When he got to the small bridge that lead into the estate, a guard walked out and flagged him down.
“Anything I can help you with Comrade?”
“Yes I’d like to see former comrade Blustov’s dacha.”
“I’m afraid I need your identification and Party card comrade…”

Mikhail grumbled and retrieved the necessary documents before the soldier finally waved him through, he pulled up at the rather modest house, two stories, medium sized and built a bit like the old “upper class” houses in the middle of Warsaw.
He got out of his jeep shutting the door with a snap. He walked over to the tall iron gates they were illustriously carved for a “man of the people”, he also spotted the Thick and heavy padlock that held the gate firmly shut, he cursed before looking for an easier way in. he walked around the house and saw that it was surrounded by a 7ft high wall all around, Mikhail ran his fingers through his hair and thought about what to do, he breathed out slowly and looked at the gate. He put his foot on the bottom and steadily clambered his way up, he the lay on top of the gate and had just brought one of his legs over when he lost balance and fell over into the gravel, he screamed at the sudden sharp pain in his side and got up slowly. He gently rubbed his side and winced before limping his way towards the house.
Interestingly the door was ajar and was blowing slightly in the breeze, a few dead leave scuttled into the porch and through the door.
Mikhail reached into his coat and withdrew the M6D pistol and cocked it, he trained it on the door and moved slowly towards it, he pushed it open and it creaked on it’s old hinges, he made sure the room was clear before looking at the old dank hallway, it was covered in dust and seemed like it hadn’t been inhabited for decades, what he did however notice was the smooth pathway through the dust that continued up the stairs.
Mikhail followed it taking care not to make any noise on the stairs as he ascended them. The trail ended at a door which he again carefully opened.
The room was pretty clean compared to the rest of the house. In it was an old oak desk, swivel chair and a camper bed that looked recently slept in. On the table was a small black book with a golden hammer and sickle on it.
Mikhail sat in the chair and opened it, it was a dairy, he flicked through the pages seeing various day to day events such as “Shopping” and “At Vodka”, but on the 23rd of January 28th of February an 8th of June there where little hammer and sickles, Mikhail frowned and pocketed the book, at that moment the phone rang on the table, Mikhail froze, he looked at the phone as the noise drilled through him, eventually he picked it up.

“Blustov? Blustov? Is that you? Answer me! Who is this?”
“A comrade” replied Mikhail.
The person on the other end of the line started breathing shallow and fast, he could hear it before the tone rang silent.

Mikhail returned the receiver to it’s holder and began to walk down the stair when he heard another car pull up.

tag

Chapter 4 – Unwelcome Visitors

Mikhail could hear the metal on metal clanging as something hit the gates hard, eventually there was a crack and groan, he now had two options, find somewhere to hide, or confront whoever it was coming into the house. He chose the first option and headed down into the hall, he knew that if he went off of the pathway, his footprints would be spotted in the dust; he lent over slightly and opened a door, and inside the room was like the others, a polished wooden floor. However a faded Persian rug sat just the other side of the door, Mikhail took a chance and jumped into the room, his heel just clipped off of the rug and made a clear mark in the dust, he closed the door quietly behind him and listened, fighting the rate of his breathing.
There were three of them, each one blundered up the stairs making as much noise as possible, when he could hear them tearing the office above him apart he opened the door and crept slowly out, he was outside and had seen what had “opened” the gates, a standard issue police battering ram, he jogged back to his jeep and got in, he then headed back home, he had spent long enough walking over somebody’s grave.

The soldier waved at him as he sped past, he nodded and kept an eye on him, he watched Mikhail’s jeep for a short while before heading back to his guardhouse.

“ok Kustov I went around his home..”
“And?”
“Nothing that’ll help us I’m afraid.”
He lied, he was walking fast with a cell phone to his ear, he had to go see someone he knew.

“Look I’m going to investigate Blustov’s background at the records, in case there might have been anyone who wanted him de-OOF!”
Mikhail wasn’t entirely sure what had happened, but he realised he was on the ground surrounded by various Gehenna Plushies.
“Why don’t you bloody militia men watch where you are going? Do you realise how long it takes for me to set up my store?”
Mikhail just blanked the screaming shopkeeper and carried on towards the huge grey building before him, the building was nearly 100 feet tall in front of him, it has a glass roof and was guarded by two heavy oak doors, instead of heading for them he walked around to the side and rapped on a rather unimpressive green side-door.
it opened with a creak and a bespectacled face stared back at him.
“Hello Markus, I want some information on someone.”
Markus sighed, opened the door fully and let Mikhail in, it closed with a clang.

Better
Up
My
Posts
also i wont some more people to read it :P

Chapter 5 Musty Records

Mikhail followed Markus down the spiral steps, he stopped at a pine desk and flicked open a book.
“Sign your name will you? Then ask me what you want and we’ll go find it.” His voice was a dull monotone with a slight German accent to it.
Mikhail sighed and scribbled his name before turning to Markus.
”I want everything on ‘Comrade’ Blustov”
Markus Blinked
“You’re the second person to ask after Blustov’s files, what happened?”
“What do you mean Second?”
“Well Comrade Krushov of the POLINSA was in earlier, he was after Blustov’s files from 1960 to 1985, I don’t know why, I never did those years myself, but you can look at what is left.”
Markus fumbled in his pocket and withdrew a set of keys, mainly brass ones that sang and jangled in his hand as he walked down the corridor, on each door was a set of years… 1900-1920 1921-1930 1931-1940 1941-1950 1951-1960 1961-1980
Mikhail frowned at the last, odd door number, Markus smiled.
“Since the computer age, we managed to store a lot more in a lot less space, we have tapes from 1971 in there.”
He fumbled with the keys again, each one giving off a different note as he dropped it and it slid round his key ring, eventually he held the correct key and slid it into the keyhole, several locks clicked as he turned the key, and pulled the door open.
“Let’s see now...”
He clicked an old metal light switch next to him, the first light came on, then the next and the next an the next, the two rows of papers and tape stretched on forever.
“Now then, what year was it?”
“Err all the files on Blustov”
“Righto, follow me.”
His feet echoed around the small thin room as he mumbled the years off, eventually, near the back of the room on the right hand side, he stopped, turned then craned his neck looking at the many boxes on the shelves that probably hadn’t been moved since they were put there. He reached up for a box and handed it Mikhail.
“There you go all the information of Blustov from the years you wanted, you can take that box out for a day or two if you want, but I need it back before anyone notices.”
Mikhail hefted the box of tapes; it was a heavy musty wooden box and rattled whenever Mikhail moved. Markus Smiled.
“Well off you go.”

Mikhail turned and left, hefting the box all the way back to his jeep.
He was home about an hour later and was plucking tapes at random and putting them into the tape driver he had attacked to his PC, it took a while so in-between he checked on the few records that were still on paper. This continued until well after the nightlife of Warsaw had quietened down.

Chapter 5a Missing years
1971… nothing 1972… nothing 1973…. Nothing 1974, 75 nothing. 1976…Mikhail reached into the box and looked for the tape, nothing. Hit tipped the box out and searched through the contents… nothing. He growled, there was a reason as to why these tapes were not there, whole years lost, lost in records perhaps… A voice echoed in his head.
“…of the POLINSA was in earlier today.”
He clenched his fist and snarled. “Comrade” Krushov had those specific years for a reason, a reason he now knew he had to find out.
He sighed, he had done enough work for today, Mikhail stood up and looked out of the window, the bar across the street was still open. The Neon sign flickered, Mikhail licked his lips and headed for the door.
He crossed the street quickly and ordered a shot of Whiskey.


OOC: I know this post is short, but I am now looking for one person to RP as a foreign journalist that’ll tag along with Mikhail for most of the rest of this story.
post here if your interested.

BUMP

fine people not intrested?
I'll leave the offer untill Friday, then do it myself.

fine people not intrested?
I'll leave the offer untill Friday, then do it myself.