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 Posted: Tue Nov 25, 2008 6:28 am
Ниакнатан---------- The Motherland. Cold, desolate, infertile, and unfortunate. Home. Soviet or not, we cannot fail to see that we are stronger than they! We have what they do not: superior weapons and men numbering in the millions! We will win this war. The Reich will forever rue its decision to attack us![OoC]
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Posted: Tue Nov 25, 2008 6:49 am
История
World War II was only the beginning. The Cold War, gone. Soviet Russia has been slowly boiling under the thin sheet of ice that is Russian democracy, just waiting to spill out and retake what had been lost. The time came in 2023, when, after years of internal struggle, Germany entered into its Fourth Reich under Herr Ludwig Panzer, the great-great-great grandson of the inventor of the Panzer attack tank. Russia, fearing another invasion, took action against the Kommel Party, springing forth a massive war. On the brink of nuclear disaster, Russia sent in its two best sniper teams, De and Yu, to assassinate Panzer. Caught in a cross-fire, the teams were so perfect that their bullets actually collided within Panzer's head. Although he survived, he died of metal poisoning just forty hours later.
However, both sniper teams dropped out of contact just after the confirmed hit, and two years have passed without any communications. Searches were called off after seventeen months of fruitlessness, and the four were presumed dead.
Then, just days ago, a weak signal was disovered just outside of Potsdam, near Berlin. It was Morse Code: "POW. Torture. 4 alive."
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Posted: Tue Nov 25, 2008 3:50 pm
Правила
1••• If you are here, you are literate. My literacy requirements are as follows: minimum of one paragraph per post (of five-to-six paragraphs) - no limit.
2••• Follow all guild rules and regulations.
3••• Follow the ToS.
4••• Change the profile only where indicated. If your character, for some reason, has nothing in the category, say, "None."
5••• Indicate OoC as such at either the beginning or the end of your post.
6••• PM the profiles to me with the full name of your character as the title.
7••• I am God.
8••• No modding, powerplaying, etc. Super-hero-like powers are not human. We are human. We need to eat, sleep, breath, rest, and everything else. We cannot run for a mile in sprint without repercussions.
9••• Have fun, because I said so, and no other reason. >:]
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Posted: Tue Nov 25, 2008 3:59 pm
Профили[size=14][color=color1]First Middle Last[/color][/size]
[size=11][color=white]-----[/color][color=color2][A quote or saying about your character or just one you like.][/color][/size]
[imgleft][picture url here][/imgleft]
[align=right][size=10][b][color=color1]Sex[/color][/b]
[here]
[b][color=color3]Age[/color][/b]
[here]
[b][color=color1]Primary[/color][/b]
[primary weapon; remember, snipers]
[b][color=color3]Secondary[/color][/b]
[secondary weapon; remember, snipers; generally a handgun]
[b][color=color1]Personality[/color][/b]
[at least on paragraph]
[b][color=color3]Biography[/color][/b]
[at least one and a half paragraphs (8-9 sentences)][/size][/align]
[align=center][size=11][color=color2]Username[/color][/size][/align]
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Posted: Tue Nov 25, 2008 4:02 pm
Команда Снайпера ДFier Shalashaska -----[Let us fight for what we believe in!]  Sex
[Male]
Age
[21]
Primary
[Dragunov SVD Sniper Rifle]
Secondary
[Single Action Army Revolver]
Personality
[Fier is the type of guy who will fight for what he believes is right. He won't kill random innocents or anything of the sort to achieve what his goal is. When it is unavoidable, he would try to find another solution to the problem instead. Fier has been known to be able to handle a sniper rifle extremely well, and have a unique taste in revolvers. He has practiced and performed tricks with a loaded revolver before, just for the fun of it.]
Biography
[Fier was born during the more peaceful years of the war. However that didn't mean he did not see his share of bloodshed, as his parents were murdered during a raid on his hometown. He was only 11 when he escaped from his hometown, trying to forget what had taken place. The last thing he had left from his hometown was a revolver that was given to him by his father, and a bullet in one of the chambers. While wandering he was recovered by a group of soldiers who saw Fier's revolver and took him in. Scared, he tried to scare them away by shooting at a falling leaf that came from a tree. Even though it hit, the soldiers still took them in, now seeing that he had a great shot. They soon trained him as a sniper and seeking to free his homeland of strife, he took on the job as one of the snipers of the De squad.] ChronosXIII Dmitry "Dima" Pyotr Tarasov-----"Knowledge is of no value unless you put it into practice." ~Maxim Gorky Sex
Male
Age
Twenty-seven
Primary
The Swiss-made Sig Sauer SSG 3000 sniper rifle
Secondary
A pair of Austrian-made Glock 18C Selective-fire pistols
Personality
Dmitry is the type of person who thirsts for knowledge of any sort, be it medical knowledge, engineering knowledge, or even random bits of trivia. Because of this, he knows at least four other languages, including German and English. He tries to learn something new every day. Sometimes he likes to go off on random tangents to his comrades when something reminds him of a fact he learned, but it doesn't happen whenever he is on a serious mission. In general, Dmitry is a cheerful sort; he is the stereotypical friendly Russian to those he holds dear, particularly the other three Snipers. To all others, he is cold and unfeeling, like the hard winter wind. Whenever he is asked about his past, he always likes to make up a different story; sometimes it is about being orphaned with a sister, and having to take care of her, resorting to being in gangs to get her money for her expensive hospital treatments when she suddenly died - and other times it is about his abusive father who beat him up along with his older brother. He always winks when he's obviously lying, though with his training it is rather difficult to tell sometimes without the wink. He only goes by "Dima", his nickname, with his friends.
Biography
Born as an albino, he had trouble in public schools fitting in because of his white hair and red eyes, getting C's and D's as he quickly lost interest in school. As a consequence, kids often picked on him, and he quickly learned to defend himself. An older child became his friend and taught him Tae Kwon Do, to the point where he would be considered a red belt (the belt right underneath black belt). Sadly, the bullying would not cease, so Dima's father dyed his son's hair and moved them into the big city when he was about age 12. His father sent Dmitry to a school with more people. By then Dmitry's eyes had changed from red to blue and brown respectively - his already albinistic condition changing the concentration of melanin in either eye, thereby giving him heterochromia. Surprised at how kind the other children were to him, he made friends with nearly everyone in the school, including several of the teachers. He soon became first in the class, getting nothing but straight A's in school. A shooting happened at the school in his Senior year, but he managed to incapacitate the shooter before he caused any casualties. Lauded for his bravery, he got a very good deal from the Army, and since then has trained to be a killing machine. He has seen many of his friends die, and does not want to kill unless it is absolutely necessary - however, all of his targets have been necessary. Metanaito
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Posted: Tue Nov 25, 2008 4:03 pm
Команда Снайпера ЮAleksandra Veronika Nikitina -----Real men fight and real women cook. But true women fight and true men cook.  Sex
Female.
Age
Twenty-nine.
Primary
Remington 700 | Case
Secondary
Colt 1911 .45
Personality
Having been raised a boy, Sasha (her nickname) was never like all the other girls. She, in fact, believed she was a boy until she took biology in her third year of high school. She has the mind of her male counterparts, but she tends to be less masculine and more sensitive. Because of her odd state growing up, she had not distinguished between males and females, and so she found herself able to be in love with either sex. Interestingly, she has very few female-stereotyped mood swings, and instead keeps everything to herself without letting anyone know what she is thinking. By this virtue, she was able to be a great infiltrator and spy. She was recruited into the Red Army when she was only sixteen, being sent into different countries for reconnaissance work. She was able to fit in easily because of her quietness, as well as gather much information. Her vast stores of knowledge had been tested by scientists who discovered that she actually uses approximately four times the amount of brain space for learning than the average female. She is a ruthless killer and generally has no regrets when she shoots a man, woman, or child.
Biography
Sasha was born to a single mother who had prostituted herself. Because of her child, she was no longer able to keep her ‘profession,’ so she had to find real work. Sasha was forced from the time she was a toddler to work like a boy to provide her own money. The boys did not notice her as female and treated her as a boy. She even swam with them (including skinny-dipping), bathed with a few of them, went to the same bathrooms, and did everything together that girls would never do with boys. They knew she was a girl, but did nothing because they knew she was forced to be a boy. In all, she grew up in boys clothes, and never wore a brassiere even when she started ‘blossoming into a woman.’ It was not until her third year of high school, when she was recruited into the Army, that she was told the truth. Then she was forced to read anatomy and biology books so that she would know. Although the news was devastating, she dealt with it so well that the Army recruited her, anyway. After running numerous infiltration missions in Germany, Italy, England, U.S.A., China, and North Korea, she was given the option to continue her work or to join her choice of military operations. She chose to be a sniper, for she admired them and their perseverance. Being one of the first female snipers was not easy. She was ridiculed and beat up nearly daily until she was chosen to assassinate Herr Panzer. Willowed Karina Marie Alzyrin -----Dance as though no one is watching you,
Love as though you have never been hurt before,
Sing as though no one can hear you,
Live as though heaven is on earth. " - Souza  Sex
Female
Age
26
Primary bolt action
DSR – 1 Subsonic sniper rifle
Secondary
Browning Hi-Power
Personality
Karina is very cynical and jaded, from having lived most her life on the streets, and kills because she believes it is necessary for the world to become a better place. An existentialist, she believes that she should take responsibility for the world and better it by ridding it of evil people. From her work and her life on the streets, she knows that life is short and believes that people should make the most of their lives, regardless of what others think, but only as long as others are not hurt in the process, although she excuses her killing by believing that the world becomes a better place with every evil person she kills.
Biography
Karina was born to a German mother and a Russian father, and so is a German by birth, though she grew up with her father in Russia, as her mother left soon after her birth. Her father, a hardworking man, spent most of his time working in factories in order to keep them both fed, and so she grew up on the streets, becoming hardened to the tragedies and crimes all around her in the city. Having always hated her father’s lifestyle, she dropped out of schooling early and ran away from home, getting involved in gangs, and learning to use a gun to protect herself and her “family.” After realizing that she had a sharp eye and good aim, she helped her “family” by removing their enemies, becoming more and more talented at the art of assassination until she began to make a career out of it, leaving her “family” and making assassinations for more important people, who were willing to pay and pay well. However, those who know of her also know that she is very picky with her commissions and is as likely to turn one down as she is to accept it, as she must feel in her own mind that the person deserves to be killed.
Born left-handed, she trained herself to be able to shoot with her right hand as well, making her ambidextrous, and giving her an advantage against those who are only right- or left-handed, as she always carries two guns with her and can shoot equally well with either. SilentBreeze90
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Posted: Tue Nov 25, 2008 4:05 pm
ОткрытоHey! Here's an update: included in the profile, please state which sniper team you're in! :]
Also, it is given that the characters will be speaking Russian, but, for our purposes, it will be translated to English. Any other language should be translated as that language [i.e. German, French, Italian]. If there is any actual English in the roleplay, please indicate it as such, preferably something like, "He then said in English, 'You will die.'"
Please remember that this roleplay should be in third person, not first, and certainly not second. :]Secondary CharactersThis is for any secondary characters (i.e. German soldiers, Russian soldiers, etc.) that are given to me. :]Günter "Zorn" Johannes Stryker-----"Herr Panzer... sie werden nie vergessen."
-----(Lord Panzer... you shall not be forgotten.) Sex
Male
Age
Twenty-two
Primary
The German-made G24 sniper rifle
Secondary
The German-made Heckler & Koch G36 assault rifle
Personality
The words "loose cannon", "powder keg", and "time bomb" do not even begin to describe General Stryker's personality. He has a quick temper and does not tolerate weakness in the ranks. Herr Panzer was his idol, and made Günter almost believe in a God when Herr Panzer told him he was doing a "good job, and made him proud". Now that he is dead, he plans to get revenge as quickly as possible on the Russians that did this to his beloved Herr Panzer. He has somewhat of a mother complex, seeking out women who might make up for the mother he never had growing up as a child. Once he learned basic sniper tactics, he started developing a God complex as well. When angered, Günter will usually resort to violence first, and treating the offender like dirt second; men that are a foot taller than him with five times as much muscle mass cower in fear when he gets angered, as he is an agile fighter and will use practically any means to get revenge. He got his nickname, "General Zorn", from the German word for wrath. As the saying goes in the German Army, "Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned... but a woman scorned hath no fury like General Zorn."
Biography
An army brat born and raised, Günter was always expected to join the army when he was old enough. His mother refused to let him, but when she was found dead by enemy spies who had tortured her for the location of her husband, the young boy swore he would get revenge. He quit school as soon as he could to join the German Army, a fact of which his Father was extremely proud. He grew up training to be in the army, never making it past Fähnrich (Ensign) until his father died in a brutal battle. He basically then rode the coattails of his father's good name (who was a General) to reach the position of General himself in a few short years. However, he did train hard during that time to gain the skills necessary to be a good General, serving Germany well for many years and even turning the tide of battle a few times with his brilliant tactics. He was even called "Stryker Zwei" by a few of his other officers, hinting that he was just as good as his father in battle. When Herr Panzer was killed, he was given a crash course and fourteen weeks training in sniper battle tactics so that he could protect the next ruler from the Russians. Now his only goal is to make the Russians pay for the death of Herr Panzer. Metanaito
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Posted: Wed Dec 03, 2008 7:30 pm
Deep below the surface of the German soil, a group of three German soldiers stood above a girl in her twenties with blond hair and brown eyes. Though she looked to be German by heritage, her past had obviously proved her to be otherwise. No true German would attack their savior, the leader who was meant to give them more power than even Hitler had given them. No German would attack Ludwig Panzer, shooting bullets into his body and leaving him to die of metal poisoning. Two years ago, this girl, dubbed Hellfrau (light woman in German) for her light features compared to the other, darker girl they’d captured, had participated in their exalted Kaiser’s assassination, and the soldiers wanted desperately to know just who she was and where she’d come from; they were willing to do anything to get that information.
Karina screamed as pain lanced through her body from the electrical prod the German soldiers were temporarily experimenting with on her body. She blinked blearily at the captain who stood before her asking questions in German about her, but made no sound in answer to his inquisitions. No matter what they did, she couldn’t give in to them; that would be tantamount to accepting her mother back into her life after these 26 years of hard living on the streets. No, she wouldn’t… no, couldn’t give in. She would hold out as long as possible before giving in to their demands and spilling out her life story for them. She had to hold on, just a little bit longer, a little bit longer, and maybe they’d be found. At least that was what she told herself through the seconds that seemed to stretch into years of electrical shock.
The German soldiers, angered by her stubborn silence, began their torture once more, holding the prod to her for a longer amount of time than before in hopes that the prolonged pain would loosen her tongue, but they might as well not have bothered. They’d tried so many things to get her to talk; a little electricity was the least they’d done to her body in the past two years of holding her here and attempting to get information. They’d tried physical, mental and emotional pain, they’d even claimed that her partner, dubbed Dunkelfrau (dark woman), had caved and told them everything and that she’d only be affirming her story, but the blond had never spoken a word, going through the pain with little reprieve, and trusting in her partner’s ability to do the same.
The captain slammed his hand into the soundproof concrete walls with a loud shout of “Verdammte Scheiβe!” (“Damned s**t!” Exactly, but used in slang as “Bloody hell”) in frustration as Karina remained silent to his inquiry and stormed out of the room, his two subordinates silently following after, giving her a slight reprieve from their ministrations. Slumping against the wall she was chained to, the girl let out a sigh of relief, finally able to show how much of a toll the constant pain was taking upon her body. Taking inventory of her pains, she wondered how long it had been since they’d first been captured. More importantly, how long had it been since Sasha had escaped for a short time, most likely sending out a message to the Russians while she’d been out? How long would it be until they were rescued… or killed for the secrets they knew?
((Oh, and I forgot to say this in my last pm, but... I hate to do this so early in the rp, but I’ll probably be gone until Saturday because of my finals… So sorry.))
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Posted: Wed Dec 10, 2008 4:26 pm
Close your eyes and look away;
Fate exposed and won't let me stay. Two years, one month, fourteen days, eight hours, thirty-two minutes, and seven seconds. Ten seconds. Eleven. Twelve. Thirteen. Fourteen. Fifteen.
That was how long it had been since the snipers’ bullets had hit their target. So accurate were the heavily trained soldiers that the bullets not only impacted at precisely the same moment, but also had collided within the brain of Panzer, killing him less than two days later. Too bad they were captured. Too bad they were stupid enough to stay in one place altogether. Too bad they were overrun by hundreds of German soldiers. Too bad they had no other choice. Too bad they were captured.
Thirty-five minutes and seventeen seconds.
A barred door was kicked down. Heavy footsteps clicked in tandem.
Thirty-six minutes and forty-one seconds.
The room was empty. Six men in German uniforms scoured every nook and cranny. One man, clad in a shiny beret and carrying the stereotypical whip walked with large, deliberate steps into the room where one soldier said hurriedly, “Leeren Sie sich, Sir!” [Empty, sir!]
The leader slapped the man. “Sie ist hier. Schauen Sie näher.” [She is here. Look closer.]
The uniformed men scoured the room again, only to turn up nothing. “Sie ist nicht hier, Sir. Wir haben überall geschaut.” [She is not here, sir. We looked everywhere.]
“Schauen Sie dann oben, Lustiger Mann.” [Then look up, Funny Man.]
Sure enough, a ceiling tile was moved and it bulged slightly at one point. In bad Russian, the leader said, “Come down, or we to shoot you. Will we do. Come and pain to be not great.” She knew they lied, but she knew they would shoot her, too. She jumped from the ceiling tile and landed on her feet, her knees bending to lessen the impact, and she ended up squatting on the floor, looking up at the leader. “See you? Lovely woman with dark hair. You are to be safe now. To come with me. Now.”
She was wearing rags, just whatever the soldiers felt like giving her. She was starving, weak, numb, and in great pain. Countless times they had tried to rape her. Every time they had failed. Her body may have been in excruciating pain and agony, but her mind would never give in. She was trained to say nothing, to do nothing, to show nothing to the enemy under any circumstances. They had told her that her friends had already caved and that they wanted her just to give up and tell them. She knew differently. She knew her comrades would never give in, even in face of death and horrendous torture.
“You are unlike the others,” the leader—the general—said in perfect Russian. “You are stronger of body now than any of them, and you still vie for freedom. But… you will have none. Nothing you do will bring your precious Red Army to save you. Even if you send out an SOS to them, they will never be able to find you. You are lost. You might as well give up. You might as well give in.”
She raised her face to make contact with his eyes. She slammed her hands onto the desk and glared. “Giving in is not something I can do. I am a soldier of the Red Army, not one of your puny soldiers who, under a simple thumbtack, would give your mother’s birthdate if we so desired it. We will never give up: not me, not my comrades, not the Red Army, not Russia herself. They will find us and you will die.”
“Quite a mouth,” the general stated with an agitated tone, “but we shall see if your mouth is able to stay shut under water. Shall we add twenty thousand volts of electricity to your breasts? Shall we drip hydrochloric acid upon your forehead? Shall we scourge you with rusty nails? Shall we put you on the frying pan? So many choices; I think we must try them all!” He laughed and began to cry from his laughter. “You WILL succumb to us! We ARE the Reich’s Right Hand! We will have WHATEVER we desire, and not you, not your comrades, not the Red Army, not even Russia herself will be able to stop us!” His voice had extreme anxiety and anger in it, and he signaled to the door and two men came to her and dragged her off to be tortured more.
Once inside the room, she pulled the pistol she had swiped from one of the men and shot both in the back of their heads. She leapt to her feet, grabbed their guns, and broke for the armory. The gunfire would probably be heard for a while in the concrete halls, so no doubt there would be ruckus, but she had to get out of the hellhole in which she and her comrades were trapped.
She kicked open the armory door and quickly took out the three men standing guard with three quick shots. She was a trained sniper, after all. She jumped the counter and grabbed her Remington 700 and assembled it, leaving the case behind; she would not need it. She quickly pulled on some pants and a real shirt, threw the Remington over her shoulder so that it lay on her back, placed her beloved Colt 1911 in her pocket, and placed the MP-5 on her shoulder, getting ready to fire if needed. She took a breath and jumped from behind the counter.
It had now begun. Hope will fall tonight with broken wings,
descending entity in me.
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Posted: Wed Dec 10, 2008 7:20 pm
Dead silence... That is all that Fier has heard for the last two years. With the exception of the torturing which occured every day to him, no life, sound, or light was shed upon him.
His daily torturers have already spent some time with him, and it seemed that every passing day, they seemed to be less and less interested in the intel he had stored in the depths of his mind. They made torturing him sort of like a passtime, seeing how far he could last until they grew bored and left.
Every time however, Fier saw that a relatively young looking guy never threw a punch at him or stared eye to eye with him. He seemed afraid of what his comrades were doing to him and had the kind of look that said that he didn't want to be at that cold and dark cell, but rather with a family in a warm, inviting place. For 2 years he had been the same way, and he had been the only one of group who had not touched Fier at all.
Fier gave a heavy sigh and leaned back against the stone wall reminiscing about his hometown, and how it felt almost the same exact way before it was raided. He also started to think about the day he was captured. The day where everything stood still for a second, then moved as soon as Ludwig Panzer was found shot in the head by four sniper rounds, which seem to have collided together.
Suddenly, Fier hears a sound from the outside of the cell. Sitting up and stretching a little, he hears the footsteps of four German soldiers coming towards his cell. The cell creaked open, while at the same time, a ray of light entered his cell from their flashlights. The group entered, one of the men being the young man, looking more scared than usual. All of them were armed this time, the first time this year. Two of the soldiers took hold of Fier while a burly looking German soldier started to laugh. He grinned saying in German, "It's time for some extra fun today."
Fier suddenly recived a punch by the German soldier, and with few seconds between, faced many more. Fier, bracing for these punches, saw that they intended to stay for a long time. But like how he suddenly recieved the first punch, it stopped. The German soldier brought up the young soldier and told him, "Have some fun with him," in German. The two start fighting and the two holding Fier let go of him letting him fall to the floor, so that they could have their turn.
In the distance, a shot was heard, and while every soldier turned around to see where the shot came from, Fier quickly got up and snapped one of the German's neck. Swiftly reaching over for the soldier's sidearm, he shoots the two Germans hovering over the young soldier in the head. Raising the pistol towards the young soldier, Fier saw that he was trying to aim his gun at him. However, there was a minute of silence and stillness between the two. Finally, Fier decides to move and while moving towards the soldier he lowered his gun, while the soldier tightened up and raised it. He is looking at Fier with fearful eyes, and instead of shooting him, he ended up lowering his gun as well. Fier, knowing a little German says, "You are... Good man," then chops him in the neck, not killing him but knocking him unconsious.
Fier runs down the corridor with the handgun he had taken and finds the room where his gear was thrown in after he had been stripped down and placed in rags. Entering the room, a few lights came on and he found his gear scattered around in it. After changing into his old clothes and slinging his rifle around his back, he found his revolver in its holster. Sighing with relief, he went around the room looking for ammo for his guns. Finding enough to last for awhile, he took out his revolver and loaded 6 shells into it. After closing the chamber, he twirled it around his middle finger a little and put it back in its holster. Exiting the room, he made his way towards a small ray of light which came from under a door. Getting ready to enter, he took out his Single Action Army and said, "My, my, my... The price of freedom is so high these days."
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Posted: Thu Dec 11, 2008 8:50 pm
The Russian looked up as the German foot soldiers entered his holding cell once again, with the usual cruel smirks on their faces. They were not the ones being held as prisoners, therefore they were superior. But Dmitry didn't care who was superior. All he cared about was what his comrades were going through. The soldiers - and the General that frequently visited him - had told him many things about his comrades that couldn't possibly be true. They would never betray the Motherland. They would never betray him, either.
Dima blew a white strand of hair from his face - his hair had been able to grow out several centimeters, revealing his white roots. The Germans, surprised at this, cut off his hair as an experiment to see if it would grow in to be the same color - and sure enough, he now had twenty five centimeters (about 10 inches) of white hair, dirty and matted from the terrible conditions of the holding cells. But Dmitry didn't mind; after all, his hair color had caused him nothing but trouble. He kept a bemused smirk on his face as the General, once again, stepped foot into his cell.
General Günter Johannes Stryker cracked his knuckles underneath his pure white gloves, dressed in his full military uniform complete with shining metals and polished boots. He scowled at the "White Russian", as the others had started to call the man, who had not divulged anything about himself save for a story about his past that changed with every visit. Seven hundred and seventy five point eight three repeating days that the Russian had been toying with him.
Seven hundred and seventy five point eight three different stories that the man had told him about himself, none of which could possibly be true.
"So, weiß (white)," the General finally spoke in his native language of German, stepping closer to the man that had caused him so much grief and anguish over the past few years, "Do you wish to tell me the truth now, or are you going to insist on lying to me again?"
"Welcome once again, General, to my holding cell. I still have not had time to decorate it and clean it properly." He joked, alluding to the fact that the General had looked disgusted when he entered the cell for the first time, proclaiming it to be "much too filthy for his liking". Men like him had never slept in the great outdoors or played in the mud. He was too much of a spoiled brat, and Dmitry knew it. In fact, Dima was sure he knew more about the General than the General knew about him.
"Cut the bull, Russian scum." The General growled, holding out his gloved hand to a foot soldier who offered him a pistol. He held the barrel in his hand, and put his arm to its proper place by his side. "The same questions I've asked you for two years still need to be answered, and I'm tired of hearing your damn fairy tales." Günter tightened his grip on the barrel, waiting for the Russian to say something. When no reply came, he barked, "Speak, damn you!" Again, the Russian refused to comply. The General clenched his jaw tightly and swung his arm.
WHACK! The stock of the pistol collided with the Russian's head, sending him sprawling to the floor. "If I can't talk and get it out of you, then I'll have to beat it out of you! Who are you, and why did you assassinate Herr Panzer?!"
"Violence will not get you anywhere, General," The Russian replied in German, "so I will kindly have to say: verpiss dich (f*** you), General Stroo-kah." The White Russian wiped blood off his cheek as it dripped from his temple. He emphasized the pronunciation of the General's last name, just to anger him; he knew that was one of the few things that set him off - he was, after all, called "General Zorn" behind his back. Dmitry loved how easy it was to anger the younger man, who was probably only five or six years older than the legal drinking age in Germany.
Just as the General was about to strike again, gunshots were heard in the corridor. "Check out the disturbance," He snarled to one of the foot soldiers, who awkwardly saluted and ran out as fast as he could. If the other Russians were causing trouble, he may just have to blow the White Russian's head off and be done with it; he was REALLY starting to work on Günter's nerves...
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Posted: Thu Dec 11, 2008 10:23 pm
Live in the moment…  Karina closed her eyes as she counted the gunshots from outside the cell she was in. Two in quick succession; someone had just killed their guards. It was probably Sasha, whenever there was a ruckus and someone had escaped, it was almost certainly Sasha. She was the type who couldn't sit still and let them keep her prisoner for long without any attempts at escape.
Two more quick shots were fired, but from the opposite direction. It seemed one of the guys had decided to make use of Sasha’s escape as a distraction to kill their own guards and escape. She wondered who it would be: Fier or Dima? As she mused over the question, she twisted her arm in its restraint, pulling down slightly as she did so, and was glad to see that the enforced starvation the Germans had given her had been good for one thing at least. The chains, fitted perfectly for her arm two years ago, were now loose enough that with a little effort she could slide her hands out when necessary. She’d guessed that it had been possible for weeks now, but she hadn’t really seen fit to attempt an escape. With everyone else still captured, it didn’t really make sense to leave on her own; she couldn’t leave them behind after all, but now, at least two of them had begun to move for freedom and she’d probably never get a better chance than this. Hopefully the others would know not to look for her in her cell though she’d never even hinted that it was possible for her to escape. That had been a ploy to make the Germans might think she was docile and resigned to her fate, so they wouldn’t watch her quite as closely. It seemed to have worked, and she easily picked the lock on her cell to find that there wasn’t a single guard outside her door.
Grinning at her good luck and planning, she stole through the corridors, dodging around corners and behind doors whenever she heard the sound of boots slamming against the floor. Hearing three more shots, she frowned in thought, considering. Had Fier and Dima both escaped? Shaking her head slowly, she decided against it. Her intuition told her that assuming they’d all escaped would be dangerous; it was far safer to assume that one of her previously escaped teammates had shot more people to get their weaponry. Suddenly she heard a very familiar voice from a door just to her right and she barely dodged out of sight as a group of German soldiers came hurtling out the door towards the sound of the gunshots. Sighing in relief at her close miss, she leaned against the wall for a few seconds before cautiously emerging from her hiding place. Still, the door which the men had streamed from was standing wide open and she’d have to pass it to continue the way she had been heading. Biting her lip, she made her way behind the door, careful not to touch it in the slightest so that it wouldn’t move and give her away. She peeked into the room from the space between the door and the frame caused by the hinges and caught her breath as she saw Dima with a very familiar looking German man. She wondered who he was, but when she couldn’t quite think of where he was from off the top of her head, she assumed that he must have been one of her tormentors once or twice, though he wasn’t one of the regulars who had been showing up the most. Peeking back into the room again, she considered her options. Dima was on the floor, bleeding from a cut on his temple, but he wasn’t actually restrained, so he could, theoretically, overcome the German soldier, though it was hard to say for sure after the abuse he’d suffered and the stature of the soldier before him. Besides, the dark-haired man standing over her friend had a gun, a huge advantage over her own weaponless state.
She wanted to slam the door shut and run out of sight before he could reach her, but her feet stayed glued to the floor where she stood and her hands refused to reach out and push the solid metal door in her face. s**t, she couldn’t leave Dima here to possibly be killed in the time it would take her to get her weapons and come back. Sighing at her own stupidity, she moved out into the doorway with her hands raised as she spoke in the language she’d learned as a youth at her father’s insistence, “Guten Tag, mein Herr. Können Sie mir sagen, wo ist die Toilette?” (Hello, Sir. Can you tell me where the bathroom is?)
She sighed at her own idiotic question. It figured her mind would come up with a completely inane question to ask when she was trying to distract this man from Dima. A rather useless question that would probably fail its task now that it had come out of her mouth. … Later you may be dead.
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Posted: Fri Dec 12, 2008 8:24 am
A few seconds after he had sent the foot soldiers out to quell the disturbance - probably caused by the fiery Russian girl with black hair - he heard a soft female voice behind him. A woman? In a military holding facility? Unheard of, unless she were a prisoner. "Sie Russen versuchen zu entgehen? Es ist schade," (You Russians are trying to escape? Pity,) the German spoke without turning around to face the girl. "Ich muss sie informieren, dass…" (I must inform you that...) Günter surreptitiously switched his hand position on the gun, so that it was being held the proper way. Then, he shouted as he whipped around with the speed of a cheetah, "Sie diesen platz nicht lebendig verlassen!" (You will not leave this place alive!) He shot once, twice, expecting to meet his target.
What he didn't expect, however, was the White Russian behind him to kick his legs from underneath him.
The first bullet hit the ceiling and ricocheted into a far corner. Dima ducked as the second bullet went straight through where his head had been a few seconds before. He quickly grabbed the pistol - thankfully the General was stunned for a few seconds, so Dmitry didn't have to wrestle him in his weakened state - and sprinted out the door, closing it behind him and locking it from the outside. "Thank you, Karina!" He spoke in his native Russian, so glad he could use it again. "Without your quick thinking, I may have had to deal with Günter for an eternity. I don't think I would be able to handle that brat for another second."
Dima smiled at the girl whom he had learned to regard as a close friend, before offering the pistol to her. She could shoot equally well with both her hands, which was a vast advantage in this place with many sharp corners and passageways, and as such he didn't know if he had the strength to hold even a pistol for long. The Germans, figuring out quickly that Dmitry could speak German fluently, had been trying to use him as an information source. When he did not talk, or lied to them as he always did, they starved the "White Russian" until they were forced to feed him to keep him alive. For the past year he had been refusing to eat even the biweekly gruel, so the Germans had to nearly shove the food down his throat to keep him alive. As such, he had not eaten in a week and a half. "I heard gunshots... I assume that means Sasha and Fier have escaped." Dima looked around in the corridor, hoping to spot a glimpse of his two other comrades, but there was no one there except the two of them. "We should hurry, before we're caught. I'll follow you, Karina. I think I'm useless in this state."
"Verdammt Russen!" (Damned Russians!) General Stryker shouted at the doorway, hoping they were still in earshot so he could further express his hatred for them. He shoved with all his might against the door, but it would not budge. Great doors to hold someone in a room - terrible doors if you were the prisoner. Günter backed up again and ran at the door, trying to break it down - but again, no luck. Three more tries proved to be of no help, and he slumped against the wall to take a breather. He'd get out of here - and when he did, the White Russian and his comrades would be in trouble.
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Posted: Mon Dec 15, 2008 3:00 pm
Live in the moment… Karina stood rock still as the German soldier pointed his gun towards her with a shout. She wasn't afraid of dying, it happened to everyone, and death couldn't be worse than the endless pain they'd suffered. In the few seconds before he shot her, she stared into his face, and something about it stirred in her memory. Why was he so familiar? She knew now that he hadn't been one of the ones to come to her cell; she would have remembered such a violently temperamental man, but then where could she possibly have recognized her face from?
Her observation was interrupted when he flew backwards, his arm flying upwards so that his first shot towards her went completely awry and his second shot was directly pointing towards where Dima had been only seconds before. She blinked at the sudden change in events, but took it in stride, taking the gun when Dima offered it to her. “I believe that I should be the one thanking you, my friend.” She replied back in Russian, “I didn’t really do much to help our positions; you were the one to ease us from the tight spot.” Staring at the closed door before her, she couldn’t remove the soldiers face from her mind though she desperately wanted to.
As Dima began to speak again, she nodded without really listening, still lost in thoughts, but snapped out of her funk when the man within, Günter, Dima had called him, screamed something vague at them through the thick metal door. “Oh! Oh, yes, I guess we ought to go before the soldiers come back, hm.” She finally answered Dima though her voice was rather distracted as she led him on towards her original destination, the gun held securely between both hands. With weak limbs, it would be better to have the support than if she only used one arm to hold the gun.
Suddenly, she couldn’t help her curiosity anymore, “Dima… Who was that man in there? Have we met him before in a previous mission?” A sudden sound of boots came from down the hall and around a corner, some ten or twenty, she guessed, far too many for her to want a confrontation with only one gun. Pushing Dima quickly into a room and entering after him, she carefully positioned the door, leaving a finger’s space between the door and the jamb to look out at the soldiers through. She sighed in relief as the soldiers disappeared again and looking rather apologetic for her sudden push into the room, she grabbed his hand and, a bit more gently this time, pulled him back into the hallway as she continued leading him towards where the other two would hopefully be waiting for them. … Later you may be dead.
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Posted: Tue Dec 16, 2008 10:40 am
Dmitry was just about to answer his comrade's question about the General when he was suddenly pushed into the nearest room, with Karina close behind. Thankfully the room was empty, except for a broken wooden stool. Getting an idea, he slowly and carefully pulled on one of the legs. The glue snapped off with a slight popping sound, giving him a rudimentary club to defend himself with. It was light enough that he could carry it without too much trouble. When he saw the twenty-some soldiers rush by, Dima smiled at Karina, forgiving her already for pushing him because it was necessary, and slowly followed the other sniper out the door with his new club in hand.
"I suppose you would like..." Dima swayed suddenly, steadying himself by pressing his body against the wall until the passageway turned upright again. The lack of nourishment was really hitting him hard, however, he refused to show any of this in any of his facial expressions; he merely smiled at Karina, dismissing it simply by saying, "Sorry, comrade, a dizzy spell. I am fine now." He would not show weakness until they had escaped for good; another few hours of fighting for his life wouldn't hurt. Dmitry stood back upright, tightening his grip on the makeshift club. "As I was saying, I suppose you would like an answer to your question." He murmured softly, glancing down the hallway behind them for any signs of life. "That man was General Günter Stryker. He introduced himself the first day we were trapped in this hellhole." Dima heard a noise, but when he suddenly whirled around he was only met with the image of a rat scurrying across the floor. He slowly relaxed and smiled, continuing on with his introduction of the foul, violent man that he'd become an acquaintance of in a few short years.
"From what I could tell from the other soldiers talking about him, his father was in the military service as well, and he followed in his father's footsteps. Most of them call him 'General Zorn' behind his back, though it seems a fitting name." He gave an amused smile at that, knowing that Karina would understand what the word "zorn" actually meant. "Sadly, I don't know much more about him, except that he wants us all dead for the death of Herr Panzer. However, I think he wants us alive until we talk, so that he can get back at our Motherland for what we've done. He found out I spoke German, so I became his personal concern. He even nicknamed me the White Russian... he didn't seem surprised so much as intrigued, like I was an interesting specimen, when he found out I was an albino. He looked down at me like I was a bug. I hate men who use their rank to dominate others." Dmitry tugged on the hem of his shirt, which was falling apart anyway, and got a piece of fabric long enough to tie his hair into a ponytail out of his face. It was getting rather long, and he was tired of blowing random strands of hair out of his way. He stopped only long enough to put down the club and tie up his hair tightly, and then picked the club back up and took faster steps to catch up with Karina.
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