NationStates Jolt Archive


A Nightmare Unfolds

Soviet Bloc
06-03-2005, 04:20
February 11th
0615
---------------------------

"Comrade, is everything in order?"

A man, shaded by darkness spoke up, "Aye sir... I say we make that bastard Dokhturov pay for what he's done..."

The first man scoffed lightly, emitting a growl of sorts, "I agree... The little bastard should die. That's why we must succeed." A short pause later he continued, "Have you gotten Tankian and Evgeniy in place?"

A single word came from the second man, "Aye."

"And prepared?"

"Aye... Roos, you should not be so stressed... This is like stealing candy from blind children. We have the upper hand. Serj and Evgeniy are well-trained men, they know what to do... I say you calm down, take a nap or something, the fireworks won't start until afternoon "

"Advice noted... I think I will... I'll see you in three hours."




February 11th
1005
-----------------------------

Ruslan Vladikovsky's eyes slowly opened, scanning the confines of the small room. His eyes settled on the heavy, reinforced door. Funny, he thought, I don't remember the door looking like that... He pushed the thought out of his mind as he let his head back down onto the pillow, he peered at the ceiling, letting his eyes adjust. He could hear some distant talking, some closer whispering, almost in the same room, although he was certain it was in another room. His eyes focused on the fluorescent lighting enclosure. His eyes grew wide as they flickered from the light fixture to an identical one off to his right. The lighting in the room he fell asleep in was a single incadescent lightbulb, mounted in the center of the room. It came back to him now, the door was a thin wood one with an elementary latch with scratched and chipped red paint. He took a deep breath in as he raised his head..

"Good morning Mr. Vladikovsky..." The words punctured Ruslan's tense aura, he knew something was wrong and those words just confirmed it. His head slowly turned to face a figure, enshrouded in radiant light, he was a black spot against a bright background. "Anything I can get for you?"

He stuttered at first, "Who... Who are you?"

He heard a slight sigh, "Ahhh... Ruslan, I suppose I should turn off this light behind my head. Maybe that will help you." Ruslan could hear the figure twisting and then a snap and a click, the light faded. As Ruslan's eyes adjusted, the figure turned to face the man.

Ruslan's eyes grew big and then snapped shut, "Hektor... You scared the shit out of me... I thought... I thought..." He slowly looked back at the man who was now known as Hektor. He became choked up as he surveyed Hektor's features, "You... You did, didn't you? You were one of them all along?"

Hektor gave an approving nod, "Yes, Roos... The Kagan was highly displeased with what you have been doing." A sly, knowing grin played across his lips as he stared at the immobilized Ruslan.

"But... But... No... It can't, you can't. This isn't happening."

"Oh yes it is... But the real thing hasn't yet begun..."







His eyes snapped open, to a world of darkness... His breathing was shallow and he knew he was sweating, he just couldn't feel it. "It was a dream... Just a dream." He breathed a sigh of relief. Now where's the light switch, he thought, fumbling his hand around. Nothing. He felt strange, something wasn't right. Maybe he was still dreaming, he wasn't sure. He couldn't feel anything, aside from the rythmic pounding of his heart, which grew ever stronger as his fears heightened. His arms moved about, as did his feet. They contacted nothing, they felt nothing. He opened his mouth to scream but became conscious of something wrapped around his face, his mouth. The only thing he felt was the resistance of his mouth and lips to do anything. They couldn't move any more. His breathing became shallower and shallower, until the oxygen supply stopped and his lungs were now a vacuum. His mind raced as his heart continued to pound, he wanted to breath so bad... But nothing was there. Nothing. For nearly a minute he sat with only the oxygen left in his lungs until the air returned, he breathed heavily, accepting the air as a Godsend.

Now, he was in a panicked fury, his eyes darting about in the pure darkness. His ears listening to absolutely nothing. Like the vacuum of space. He gathered his strength and released a scream, which he couldn't hear. What the hell is going on?! Why can't I see?! Hear?! Please... He broke down, sobbing.





"How's he doing?"

"Just entered the guilt phase, sir... We're waiting for the lieutenant to get down here so we can get some true information."

"Alright, keep an eye on him."

"Yes sir."





He had been sobbing for the better part of two hours, until he lulled himself into a sleep... A restless slumber which erupted into a whirlwind of activities.

"Ruslan... Ruslan"

Ruslan, walking down 34th Avenue in downtown Rostov, spun around. No one was there. He winced as he continued on.

"Ruslan... Tell us. "

He spun around again to greet an invisible foe, no one was there. He turned back and broke into a full-blown run, blazing down the vacant sidewalk.

"Ruslan... Tell us. And this can all stop."

He continued running attempting to escape his stalker, he zigzagged through alleyways, through buildings, plazas, and streets.

"Ruslan. You can't run nor hide."

With endless fury, he continued running, glancing back with eyes filled with fear. Just then, his boot caught on a dislodged sewer entrance. He flew forward, his face and chest skidding across the pavement. With chest heaving he pulled himself up and continued for a few more feet before collapsing to his knees, his chest heaving. His upper body fell forward, his arms catching the fall. His head hung low as he began bawling.

"Ruslan, just tell us."

He brought his head up, "TELL YOU?! TELL YOU WHAT?!" The scream was filled with agony and fear. He couldn't remember the last time he saw true daylight.

"Tell us, where they are..."

"I DON'T KNOW! Damn you..." His held fell and in between sobs he spoke, "I don't... Know what the hell... you're talking about... Please, just let me go..." He brought his red face up, glaring into the hazy sky.

"We can... If you tell us where your friends are hiding."

Through shallow breaths, he continued in a quiet voice, "I don't know..." He felt an electric jolt pierce through his body, snapping his determination and strength and sending his body into a convulsion. He collapsed onto the pavement.

"This can all stop... All you have to do, is tell us where they are..."

Amid a stream of sobs, Ruslan spoke, "I... I... They're... They're at the... In... I can't." A second jolt ripped through his body, he flopped onto his side before rolling onto his back. His watered and blood-shot eyes opened to a gray sky. As the tears poured out, the clouds swirled, revealing a patch of blue, radiant sky.

"Ruslan. Tell us."

Ruslan's eyes focused on the bright blue, amid an ocean of gray. His mouth opened but nothing came out.

"All you have to do, is tell us, and this will all end."

He spoke, in a voice quieter than a whisper, "They're... They're in Zlatograd... In the old Zhumlyadobivsk warehouse..."








"Run a check, tell the Zlatograd municipal guard to check it out with their M-08s."

"Yes sir."





"Ruslan, are you telling me the truth?"

The man spoke in calmer voice now, accepting his inevitable fate, "Yes... I'm sorry for everything I have ever done. Everything. I knew this was wrong. I'm sorry." His eyes closed as he laid his head back onto the pavement, warm sunlight hitting him in the face. He broke down into an uncontrollable sobbing, he was truly sorry. He could not stand it any more.

"Very good Ruslan..."





"What's the news?"

"Zlatograd reports that that warehouse is filled with the vermin, that's where they are alright. We don't need him any more."

"Alright... Cut him."





Ruslan opened his eyes for the last time, into a never-ending darkness. The same neutral environment where he had thrashed and screamed, to no avail, that very first day. For now, he was weary and tired of it all, the struggle. Everything. He remembered his eerie dream, the warmth of the sunlight in his face. He yearned to return to it. And he did. He felt the life drain from his body as his mind returned to its dream state. He was lying on the pavement of an empty city. His face was warm and he knew it would be alright. His heart stopped and his brain died minutes later from a lack of oxygen.





"Alright, sir... He's gone." spoke a senior non-commissioned officer as he pulled his face from a monitor.

A first lieutenant, situated across the room from the man replied, "Good, get STEAM to remove the body."

"Aye sir."







February 11th
0800
-----------------------------------
Hours earlier...

"Alright, everyone knows their objective?" A hail of affirmatives arrived with seconds. "Good. Gregorov, lead the way." The man speaking was a lieutenant, situated in a disguised OMONIA vehicle, parked a few blocks away but monitoring everything that went on via previously placed cameras.

"Roger."

From an alleyway a block away from the old apartment building where Ruslan Vladikovsky had based his insurgency, emerged a half-dozen black-clothed individuals, a crimson-red goggle covering their eyes. The team, wearing the super-slim VEPR NGSFS (special forces system), slipped into the abandoned street, SR-90A3s raised to meet any foe. The team quickly covered the few hundred feet to their objective's home. A large, beckoning stone building stood sentinel among run-down apartment complexes and old warehouses in this forgotten slum of a neighborhood on the east side of Rostov.



The building was home to the so-called 'Insurgency for New Leadership', which was an organization created to oust Dokhturov from power. Although the INL was small, it had some impact, as its logo, a navy blue curling wave against a white background, depicted. The INL was responsible for small attacks on government officials, although most were negligible, they had piqued the Kagan's attention. An OMONIA agent deep within the INL leadership had relayed their plan for a debilitating strike on the nation. Through massive bribing using stolen funds, the INL had successfully purchased well over sixteen tons of assorted ordinance from Kazakhstan rebels and the shipment was shipped, via truck, to an abandoned warehouse in Nhevsk, a sizable city about two hundred miles from Rostov and about sixty from the town of Zlatograd.

INL plans were simple, to destroy the ARSB's leadership in order to institute a more moderate leader than the conservative Dokhturov, a leader like Chlevenkov, the modest man who accepted friends from both sides of the political spectrum. There were few citizens who disliked the charismatic and generally likeable Dokhturov, so the INL wasn't very effective in turning the populace against its 'ruthless' dictator, Dokhturov, who managed to maintain himself as a likeable man, a man of honesty and respect. He was, but he hid his 'dark side' from the populace, using his popularity and charm to keep the people from noticing his ever tighter grip on them. The INL wished to stop it, their objective was to kill Dokhturov, and now they had the plan to do it. A series of attacks would cripple the government and open a wide door to the INL to claim power. The plan was simple, and effective, however Vladikovsky never knew his right-hand man was his worst nightmare, and his greatest enemy...



The six man team slid into an alleyway, hunkering down behind a pile of debris. Gregorov slung his SR-90A3 over his shoulder and reached into his midnight black vest, producing a grenade. He raised himself to his full six foot four inch frame and reached up to a ventilation shaft which gave the lower floor its fresh air. He pulled the pin on the grenade and squeezed the handle, he lifted the grate and set the grenade on the edge. With the physical attribute acceleration system, he slid the canister in with enough force that it ended up more towards the middle of the building.




A man, seated at a run-down couch and reading a three-day old newspaper glanced up to a man seated across from him. "So, you think Roos can do it?"

The second man looked up, a cigarette hanging from his mouth, "What? Do what?"

"Kill the Kagan. Do you think his plan'll work?"

The second man chuckled, "Without a doubt young Groz... Have you seen it? Ingenious."

The first man smiled, "I hope so..." He paused for a second, his head turning slightly, "Did you hear that?

Shaking his head, the man replied, "Nope, what is it?" A metallic clang surprised the two, the two peered to the ceiling while the first gripped a 9mm pistol he had in his lap. As the two tensely stared at the ceiling, their world began changing. Waving. The two collapsed within minutes, knocked out by a powerful gas.





"Alright, thermal says they're down. Let's move."

The six men slid alongside the outside of the apartment building, quickly moving up to the door. A quick thermal scan revealed two targets lying on the floor. The man in lead, Gregorov, slipped open the door and moved inside, visually scanning the room. Three more men followed to secure the area. The remaining two men moved up to examine the two knocked out men, removing them of their weapons and tying their hands, feet, and gagging them. The two were dragged into a corner and draped with a heavy blanket.

Gregorov and the three other men, after securing the first floor, quickly moved to the second story of this three story complex, which overlooked well over a dozen more single and double story buildings. Via his direct neural interface system, Gregorov, team leader, addressed the three men in his team, "Alright, LOCCOM says the target is on the second floor. Resistance is to be light as most of his security detail his assisting in the preparation at the abandoned warehouse in Zlatograd. He'll only have about a half dozen personal guards. We've dispatched two, and now there's three more. Agent Lykov is awaiting us on this floor. Only one of his guards will be on the second floor, the other two will be upstairs. Rykovskiy, Chevnokov, you move upstairs, dispatch the two guards and rendezvous with Lykov. Me and Malakov will capture Vladikovsky."

The two men, Rykovskiy and Chevnokov, confirmed the orders and quickly ascended the stairs to the third story. Gregorov and Malakov continued on their floor to a waste basket which sat, seemingly innocent in the hallway, but actually directing the forces to Vladikovsky's room. As the men approached an open doorway, the light sound of music emanated from the open door. Within, Vladikovsky's guard sat, listening to tunes from an old radio, a Bizon SMG resting on his lap. His head bobbed to the music, unaware of the black figure approaching from outside his peripheral vision. He felt nothing as Gregorov positioned his left hand to rip back his head, while poising his right hand with his 8 inch combat knife. In a slick, effortless maneuver, the NGSFS's physical attribute accleration system assisted Gregorov in wrapping his hand around the guard's face and jerking his head back, snapping the vertebrae and his spinal column. His right hand buried the eight inch blade into the man's chest, grinding up the heart and lungs. With a final swipe, he severed the head and dropped it out the open window. He kicked the body onto the floor and stepped over the growing puddle of blood.

As they neared the room with the garbage can in front, Gregorov checked the room with his NGSFS-mounted thermal imager. The objective was lying on his bed, asleep. Gregorov made the command to move and the door was opened slowly, revealing a rundown room. The contents were vague. An old bed in the corner was where Vladikovsky slept. Next to the bed was a TV dinner table which held a single pistol. A closet on the far wall held assorted coats, a pair of boots, and a bag of garbage. A window was covered by a black blanket and a single incadescent light hang from the ceiling.


Gregorov quickly pulled up a syringe loaded with an intense sedative. Gregorov approached the slumbering Vladikovsky, adjusting his right hand in order to inject the sedative directly into the man's bloodstream, via the blood vessels in his neck. With a swift prick, the needle was in and the sedative was injected. Vladikovsky only managed to flutter his eyes, descending into an incredible slumber...






Gregorov's neural interface beeped, message came through and entered the auditory section of his brain, "Major Sergeant Gregorov, did you capture the objective?"

"Yes sir..." The reply was as though he had spoken, but in all reality, it was merely pulses of electricity returned to his commanding officer.

The reply came an instant later. "Good, escort the objective to the senso-depriv chambers at Strakhengrad." Strakhengrad wasn't the real name of the area they were going, it was a soldier-given name, a slang term for the sprawling military compound which housed the nation's premier senso-depriv team, the 1491st Internal Pscyhological Warfare and Information Extraction Battalion. The facility's slang name was combing the words 'fear' and 'city', which was plastered across a sign welcoming military personnel into the primary facility. In reality, it was Ghevarin Joint Military Operations Compound, a work of technology and art, one of the most superbly designed command and control centers in the entire nation. Over fifteen thousand operational staff called it home, not including thousands of military personnel.

Gregorov nodded to affirm the message, jogging to his team. The group quickly moved towards the rally point where they boarded a waiting MV-87A 'Coba' VTOL transport. The transport's twin turbofans whined as the craft mustered her strength to lift the transport into the air, her thrust vectoring system quickly swiveling up to propel the craft to well over six hundred miles an hour, far faster than the traditional helicopters they had used before. The ride was smoother as well, with nice seats, especially since it was an OMONIA, and more importantly, Strakh Soldaten craft.

In mere minutes, the MV-87A dropped down into a recessed landing zone, a massive metal barrier sealing out the mid-day light. The chamber lit up with flourescent lighting as the turbofans whined to a stop. The rear ramp dropped and a dozen-man team of STEAM operators, dressed in their customary red jumpsuits, greeted them, quickly assisting them in escorting Vladikovsky into an internal waiting room where the OMONIA team was replaced with a specially trained element of the Strakh Soldaten, outfitted with a more fearsome breed of VEPR NGCS, this one labeled as the SSES, which was an enhanced and improved NGCS, capable of more strength and situational awareness. The team hurredly set out, disappearing behind thick doors, which hydrualically closed afterwards. As the doors closed, the OMONIA team noted a recent addition, the words "Добро пожаловать к Ваш Худший Кошмар." The men chuckled yet wondered what cruel things happened beyond that door to deserve that designation. It read: "Welcome to your worst nightmare."


Beyond the door were stairs... And more doors. Finally, a massive, cavernous room appeared, deep below the Russian soil, with three prominent vault-like doors dominating an entire wall. Through-out the room were computer stations, and more doors, which led to secure rooms filled with monitoring equipment. The group moved towards the second vault. Massive hydrualic rams pushed the multi-ton doors open, gleaming stainless steel locks receeding into their holds within the door and within the frame. Within the room there were no tables, no torchering machines, nothing... Nothing but a door, a one-way window, and three massive tanks. With all the doors closed inside the room, not a single ray of light could be seen and there were meters of sound-proofing material.

This is where the Strakh Soldaten meandered out, leaving the STEAM crew to prepare Vladikovsky for what would soon be his worst nightmare. He was stripped and covered in a thick oil, incapable transmitting touch and providing a neutral feeling. Over that came a thick wet-suit, itself offering no feeling. Next, his face was covered with a gel padded helmet and oxygen mask. A solution was squirted into his mouth, it dribbled into his throat, numbing the entire area of feeling. Then, a surgeon, now well practiced in the art of implanting a direct neural interface, completed the operation in a makeshift operation room within the vault. With the DNI implanted, the STEAM crew hauled Vladikovsky to the middle tank, enshrouded by a perfectly black layer, absorbing light. A wheeled stairway rolled into place and two divers appeard, bringing Vladikovsky up to the top of the chamber, there, they slid Vladikovsky into a neutral electrolytic solution. The two divers followed him into the tank, quickly attaching a battery of sensors before finishing it off with the neural interface cable. Now their job was complete, each man slid from the chamber and locked down the hatch. A switch at the top terminated the lumenescent glow of the tank into an impenetrable black vacuum. Another switch created a light electrical field, turning the water-like electrolytic fluid into a gel and numbing Vladikovsky's nerves.


The operation was ready, the team quickly left and the massive door shut, the rays of light slowly disappearing the massive chamber until a thunderous noise confirmed that the locks had engaged. The entire chamber was sealed, no light, nothing. Vacuum pumps quickly ridded the chamber of air, creating a vacuum of which no sound could traverse. The room's temperature was lowered to a neutral, room-type temperature, creating a massive, neutral environment.

Now, torture would begin. This torture was far less humane than the more 'conventional' torture methods, this would get into their head, deprive them of everything. They had no sensory feelings, nothing, they could not feel, they could not hear, they could not see, nothing. With this, they were at the hands of 'God', the lone operator who spoke to the poor man who sat in complete neutrality, yearning to feel. They were putty in his hands...







====================

February 11th
1130 Local Time
Zlatograd


"Alright, this is Night Owl One, we are approaching target. Mission confirm, over?"

"Mission confirm. That is the target, proceed with mission. Eliminate target."

"Roger, Night Owl out."

Citizens of Zlatograd, a light, sunny town only dozens of miles from Rostov, noticed the light roar which approached from the north, some came out to gaze, others did not, realizing it was a military aircraft, which often flew over this city on flights from Rostov to Tevnekov Flight Center. However, this roar was different, closer, at a lower altitude... And changing. It seemed to quiet down, not because it was too far away, but because engines were slowing down, reverting thrust. Now, many came to view, outside hovered an incredible sight.

The MV-87A Coba designated Night Owl One, hovered over Rychstov Square, a blue trail of exhaust keeping her at a steady altitude. No one had seen such a vehicle. Then came a terrible roar, its 30mm chain gun, mounted in a semi-turreted bubble beneath the side-by-side cockpit, opened up. A van seated on the curb erupted into a ball of flame as did a series of cars. A series of roars erupted in quick secession as the aircraft fired off dozens of 57mm rockets, which rocketed from their wing-mounted pods. The rockets tore into the Zhumlyadobivsk warehouse. Next came four ATM-15D guided missiles, which sheared through the brick walls and into the insides of the imposing structure. Then, the explosives in the building ignited, lifting the massive tin roof off, propelled by hot, expanding gases and trailing thick smoke. It crumpled into a ball as it hit the colder atmosphere and quickly fell into the street.

Lieutenant Colonel Serj Stanislav grinned, he was the pilot of the aircraft, and the gunner, who ran the 30mm cannon. He loved the destruction created by his co-pilot/weapons officer Major Damien Gulenkisky, the two were a very good match, complimenting each other well.

"Serj! Look! Target coming out of the door!"

Stanislav rocked his head and spotted the burning man, sprinting from the door with an assault rifle in his hand, the cannon, wired into his DNI, already had him targeted. Stanislav opened fire, tearing the man apart. The largest object hitting the pavement was the assault rifle, everything else was in shreds. A dozen more men came tearing out, one firing haphazardly at the Coba with a Kalashnikov, all twelve men were gunned down with a hundred-round burst from the 30mm.

From a side street, a six-vehicle convoy arrived, their black paint scheme confirmed that they were District Police. Quickly, they had piled out as the convoy parked, dozens of armed men filtering into the street. A single man ran out of the warehouse, his back aflame, and was gunned down by a hail of fire from the District Police. A number of vehicles from the fire department now approached.

The Coba's mission was done, the warehouse was aflame, and the Kagan could enjoy his day without worry... Stanislav quickly redirected thrust and rocketed from the scene, returning to the station at which he had launched. In the end, three hundred and six terrorists were killed as they were briefed on a plan to assassinate the Kagan during the afternoon's parade in Rostov in two hours. The city itself was less than fifteen minutes away.



OOC- Lmfao, this really had no purpose aside from boredom. So... Yeah, I figured I'd post it since I wasted enough time making it, so, say what you want, if you want to, it doesn't matter to me.

Aww, here goes...