A HEIST GONE WRONG.
A GANG SHATTERED.
Volya Angelov, known by the public as the Priest for his cult-like following, knows how to make a deal and take what's rightfully his. He and his criminal prodigies have siphoned Gorod Krestov's wealth for years...
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♰ NOVYYE SAINTS 08: RED ——————————————————
Bones creak. Skin breaks. Blood splatters the floor and there's no way to tell whose veins it belongs in.
"Get back! All of you back!"
Mysh continues to grapple with a loyalist prisoner despite the cacophony of orders shouted by an NKVD Captain and his squad of Mosin-armed sergeants. She jerks her head back and forth, trying to pinch any extremity between her teeth like she did with Anatoly. Forearm, palm, leg, finger—it doesn't matter as long as he lets go.
All the while, Leva's revolver quakes in her grasp. It jumps around, leaping out the top of her hands, grips slick as buttered bliny.
"Are you a damn dog, man? Let go!"
"Forget him, help Yudashkin!"
"Put the gun down! Put it on the floor!"
"On the ground! Get on the fucking ground!"
Two gunshots silence the frenzy.
A third rips through the chest of a rival prisoner.
His blood floods the cell and drains out the door, mingling with the water pressed out of her clothes on its way out.
"Get him out of there! Grab Yudashkin!"
Hands sink into the starched collar of the dead guard's uniform and they reel Mysh back. She kicks the entire way until her head strikes the brick wall.
Through watery eyes and a fuzzy head, she's witness to the guards as they bound back into the cell, beating out what resistance remains in already-bruised bodies.
A swarm of navy, black, and red muddles together. There's red on everyone: the guards, Volya, the prisoners, the anarchist, Leva.
Mysh's vision sharpens, and her mental fog burns away, leaving her with just enough balance to get back on her feet. She stumbles along the wall, trying to scramble out of sight before the NKVD men realize she isn't their comrade, Yudashkin, rather that she is a criminal herself and a woman.
Women weren't allowed to serve in the prisons. They made excellent spies according to the Commissariat, but didn't possess the brutality needed to be guards.
They were also ignored until a rational tactic was needed instead of force.
"What are you waiting for?" she calls. "The door is open! Free yourselves! Escape!"
Three men claw their way out of the cell, slipping through or breaking the hands of the NKVD officers while the others continue to resist. They make a mad dash for the far side of the cell block, skirting around the corner to avoid the barrage of shots ricocheting off the brick.
Mysh and the prisoners throw themselves on to their stomachs, hands wrapped over their necks and heads.
