❝One man with a gun can control one hundred without one.❞
—Vladimir Lenin
We're a little more than a week into our new training, and I already know it will be the best month here. What does this training revolve around? One of my favorite things about being a soldier: weapons.
It's been weird, I guess. Throughout our entire time here, we weren't allowed to have weapons on us; we'd be fucked if some North Korean soldiers started strutting around our base because of our lack of inability to defend ourselves. Chul never gave an explanation of why he took all our guns, and no one was brave enough to question him. But with the start of this new training, Chul has granted us the honor of wielding weapons once more. And boy, do I love these new weapons.
On the first day of our new training unit, we were lined up in front of a large, locked-up building that Chul and Daeshim wouldn't even let us look at for too long. After giving us a big lecture about rules and responsibilities we have ("Tone down your astronomical stupidity, fuck nuggets," Chul said), Daeshim unlocked the building using his handprint. Behind the large doors was everything we had been dreaming of: an enormous arsenal with hundreds of weapons hung on the walls, on stands, and behind glass. Guns, explosives, and things I don't even know the name of.
We've been told that the AC has access to the most advanced weapons available, and we've not been disappointed. After another quick reminder to not shoot each other and act like responsible soldiers, Chul introduced us to the most basic weapon we will all have: a TFX Brexton Fully Automatic Assault Rifle with a 6.32mm caliber, or as we all simply call it, a TFX.
God, am I glad to have a gun back in my hands.
Because the TFX has a strap, we're easily able to carry it over our shoulder around, which we are instructed to do. While it is like most other rifles, it has some special features that normal soldiers do not have with their guns. For example, the magazine is larger, allowing it to hold one hundred bullets — that's more than three times the number a normal rifle can hold. In addition, these bullets can fire much faster when it is on spray mode. Of course, like many rifles made nowadays, it has a selective fire, meaning you can switch from different modes: single shot, which fires only one bullet; burst, which fires five bullets in a row; spray, which continues firing until the magazine is empty.
But the most intriguing feature of the gun lies within the design of the bullet. The bullet is made incredibly strong and penetrating. Combine that with the incredible fire-power of the gun and you get a bullet that can go through a wall! Or more preferably, a person. The goal is to be able to shoot enemies through barriers or to shoot down multiple enemies with a single bullet. Highly dangerous, and highly difficult to control.
After being introduced to the gun, we were taken out to the field where a shooting range was set up. Peggy got knocked to her ass by the unexpected firepower of the gun! We had to get used to taking in the recoil without our aim shifting. Yeah, I understand why these guns aren't distributed to normal soldiers — they wouldn't be able to operate it efficiently!
These aren't the only things we've been introduced to. There are, of course, even more advanced weapons that are not available for our entire unit. For example, the KJS Boxer Rifle. There are only about one hundred of these available for the entire American army because of how hard it is to make. Only the most skilled soldiers get to use it. What's so special about it? Well, it locks on its target and literally follows it. Around corners, behind walls, and across oceans. The bullet, in a way, has intelligence! It can even curve around objects that might interrupt its path to the target. As I said, there aren't many in existence, and we had to take turns trying out the one that Chul had from his personal gun supply.
The most destructive weapon (and possibly the hardest to control) is the RYG Rocket Launcher. Only the strongest of soldiers can fire it without literally being blown twenty meters back. My arms still hurt from attempting to fire it. Yeah, it didn't go well. Neither Alexander nor I were able to fire it. Surprisingly, Rory was. Well, maybe unsurprisingly; he's incredibly buff. The RYG was made to destroy tanks and cripple buildings, so I guess I'll be doing neither during my AC career.
There are several different types of grenades available to us. While Chul didn't give us any, he did show us them and demonstrate what they do. Of course, there is the normal explosive grenade with shrapnel. But in addition, there are fire, smoke, and flash grenades. Daeshim told us there are chemical gas grenades, but those are not allowed in modern warfare after what happened in World War I. The other ones are free reign though. While these are typically available for the normal army, the ones the AC uses are ten-times more damaging and dangerous. Normal soldiers aren't typically trusted with such lethal explosives, but we are.
Other than weapons, we have special armor. It's similar to the normal armor in design and protection. It is made of rare, light-weight material to make mobility and speed much more of a possibility. And speed is especially needed to be AC troops. This rare material is also used to make small, retractable shields we have strapped to our arms. Because of its strength, it can stop almost any bullet — even the one from the TFX. It can definitely save a life or two. While it can wear down, dent, bend, or break with enough damage, it can last quite a while.
One of the odder things we've been introduced to is flare guns. We learned about their use and different smoke color meaning back when Daeshim was teaching us a bunch of bullshit, but I guess we didn't expect to be given one. It'll come in use when we participate in missions where we happen to be spread out far and wide. As for now, there's not much of a use.
Soldiers of lieutenant colonel status and higher are also given special earpieces that are used to communicate to other commanders. The signal can reach over thousands of miles with clear audio and no interference. It's one of the only pieces of technology that the Russian hackers have yet to crack. Similarly, soldiers below lieutenant colonel status are given earpieces to communicate with their fellow soldiers and hear orders from their higher-ups.
We've been introduced to many other things, but these stand out the most. Last night, I stayed up for a long time, wondering how on Earth the AC could have all this advanced shit in their hands and somehow still have high death rates. You'd think they'd be going on suicide missions! Are they?
December 24, 2057.
The one year anniversary since the start of the war. How many more years will there be? Only hell knows.
Another dawn, another day of new weapons and equipment — who knows what it'll be today! Breakfast wrapped up a while ago and mostly everyone has started rallying up by the weapon arsenal, ready for new toys to play with, dressed in their uniforms and bearing their TFXs. Alexander and I, however, got distracted.
While everyone files out of the mess hall, we stand by the dog eating area, where some pooches are still eating (including Cat). However, Cat's wagging tail and chomping jaws aren't what captures our attention.
There, right by the several dog bowls, is a medium-sized pine tree, decorated pleasantly with lights, ribbons, and ornaments. It smells wonderful — a strange combination of cinnamon and vanilla — and shines beautifully like the full moon on a dark, cloudless night. The green leaves don't seem like they will ever wilt, but will remain its vibrant color forever. It's a... it's a Christmas tree.
Alexander and I stare at it in mutual silence, our heads tilted to the side in curiosity. I have a string of questions that I'd ask Alexander, but he's quick to ask me questions first. Questions I don't exactly have an answer to.
"What the hell is this doing up?" he asks, averting his gaze from the tree to me, his brows furrowed.
"Don't ask me. I didn't put it up."
"It wasn't there yesterday," he says quickly.
"Yeah, I know."
"These Americans celebrate Christmas?"
"Apparently," I shrug. I tap my bottom lip with my finger, thinking harder about it. Peggy and Vincent have made it a habit to occasionally sit with Alexander and me for some of our meals. This morning happened to be one of those days, and I recall something they spoke of. "Come to think of it, I think I remember hearing Peggy say something about hoping her gifts reach New York by tomorrow morning in time for Christmas."
Alexander's jaw drops, surprise written all over his face. "No shit! They celebrate Christmas in December?!"
I shrug, the thought being completely insane to me. Who the hell celebrates Christmas on December 25? It's such a random day! Frankly, I didn't even know they recognized a day as "Christmas".
"That's crazy," Alexander mutters to himself. "What the hell do they do on January 7 then?"
January 7 is when Christmas is celebrated in Russia. Well, I use "celebrate" very lightly. Christmas was made illegal around the year 2045. Now, it's illegal to even whisper "Merry Christmas" or own a tree. Not like our family could afford a tree anyway. Christmas isn't that important in Russia anyway. We celebrate the New Year like it's the Second Coming of Jesus or some shit.
"Maybe they celebrate something that has to do with blowing up fireworks," I say with a sigh.
"Do you think they celebrate the New Year on the right day?"
"January 1?"
"Yeah."
"We can ask Peggy. Who knows? If they're celebrating Christmas in December, they might celebrate the New Year in July."
"I swear, some of these American traditions are backward," Alexander murmurs.
I gingerly touch a red ornament, staring at my own distorted reflection in it. I don't mind my reflection and nearly laugh at it. I've seen pictures of beautifully-decorated trees in books, but I've never seen one in person. While it's not ten feet tall and looming over me like an ant, I think it's grand. To me, it's the best tree in the world. It sparks little bursts of happiness in me. A child-like joy I've never felt. I'm experiencing something that these Americans experience every year... and only about nineteen years into my life.
To think there are people in Russia who still will never see something like this.
As we bring Cat and Noodles back into our room and head to the weapon arsenal, I think about the New Year's tradition. On the New Year, a man called Ded Moroz, or Grandfather Frost, visits children and delivers gifts with his assistant/granddaughter Snegurochka, or Snow Maiden. The rich people in Moscow spend this day celebrating with parties, feasts, and plenty of vodka. Is that how Americans celebrate the New Year?
Alexander and I never believed in this story. First of all, we never got many presents as children. We could barely afford bread, let alone gifts for three children: Alexander, me, and my little brother. Living in a poor town outside of Moscow shaped us.
Alexander and I eventually caught on the idea of making money to help our family, so we made money in some not-so-moral ways. Until we reached the age of twelve, after which we...
Actually, I don't want to think about it.
♙♟♙♟♙
It's called Wings, even though there are no wings on it at all.
December 31, 2057.
The newest piece of equipment we've been introduced to is some sort of flying mechanism designed for individual flight. It appears to be a normal belt at first sight, but with closer inspection, it clearly is much more complicated than that. Attached to the sides of the "belt" are two little boxes with nobs facing downward. I assume that has something to do with the flying mechanic. The buckle of the belt also serves as a button, that when pressed, turns the Wings on and causes the buckle to glow blue. By moving in certain ways, we can control how high we fly, ranging from an inch off the ground to all the way up in the sky where there is no more oxygen.
I want to know so badly how this works, but Chul and Daeshim said they aren't allowed to release that information. Figures. That's what they say for a lot of the technologies we've seen. There are only seventy in existence, and two happen to be at Fort Geo for training purposes.
The thing about the Wings is that it's incredibly hard to operate. In fact, only eight percent of all current AC soldiers have been able to operate it. Daeshim says because of the mechanics, a person has to fall in a certain range of weights, heights, and shapes for them to even have a chance of working with the Wings.
Almost everyone immediately flew back, sideways, upside-down, or plummeted on the ground upon turning on the Wings — a sign of inability to operate them. Admittedly, I laughed when Rory was sent flying right into a wall.
I prepared for the same fate when it became my turn, but I was surprised when I was faced with quite the opposite.
After strapping on the belt and turning it on, the feeling of ninety-nine other people watching me, I was lifted gently about a foot off the ground, the sensation of flying filling me with ecstasy and excitement.
In total, only seventeen soldiers here were able to use the Wings, Alexander and I included. Everyone else was sent off to the shooting range with Chul while Daeshim taught us seventeen how to move with the Wings on.
This is by far one of the hardest things to operate. I think I'd rather fire an RYG Rocket Launcher with only one hand! It really focuses on core strength, correct positions of legs, and simply staying calm. Don't do what I initially did and panic when I was lifted ten feet off the ground and nearly fall right back down.
Yeah, it was a difficult introduction, and Daeshim told us that we'd be focusing on this for the next week while everyone else practices their shooting. He said we'll have to learn how to dodge bullets, how to shoot, how to carry other people, and how to use the Wings to contribute to AC missions... and all while flying. How the fuck am I supposed to dodge bullets whizzing at me while flying?!
I have that looming over my mind while I give Cat and Noodles a walk around the base. The best thing about this month is that we have so much free time. Lessons usually only take up the morning. The rest of the day is free for us to wander around. Some people practice shooting, some hang around with their friends, some try to pester Daeshim. I, like many other soldiers, spend it with my dog.
The bond has clearly grown between the soldiers and their dogs. Many of taught their dogs some tricks and run around the field with them. It's to the point where they'd take a bullet for their dog. Honestly, I can agree. No one is hurting Noodles without facing me first!
I sigh as Cat takes an unexpected detour towards a small pole. He sniffs the pole for a moment, then lifts his leg to mark his territory. I shrug it off and wait patiently for him to finish, gazing around the lively base while I'm at it. A couple of people pass by with their dogs or friends, gazing at me for a second before continuing on their merry way. Noodles sits in front of me, his tail wagging and tongue hanging out like a floppy sausage... eugh, bad comparison.
I catch sight of Peggy in the distance with... with Rory and his group of friends? I didn't know she hung around that crowd. All of Rory's friends tend to be obnoxious yes-men who spend their time taunting literally everyone else and laughing at Rory's jokes. Who'd think she'd be a part of their crowd?
I look away, figuring it's not my business. Cat seems finished with his business, so I call for him to follow me as I make my way over to the barrack building. The sun has begun setting and dinner will be rolling around, so I might as well find Alexander.
I usually don't like going separate ways with him, but he assured me we'd be fine away from each other for an hour or two. That's not the issue, though. I just... Alexander is important to me and I feel odd without him around. It's like I'm missing a piece of myself. He said, however, that he has something to do, and I didn't bother to question. Hopefully, he's back in our room by now.
With the dogs happily hopping and trotting behind me, we make our way back to our room. Although it's pointless, I knock before turning the knob and pushing the door open. Cat and Noodles rush in before me and immediately pounce on Alexander, who was sitting at the edge of my bed with his phone.
He tries to shove them away while they shower him with slobbery kisses, whimpering and squealing in excitement. As an attempt to avoid their affection, Alexander stands up, making it harder for the short dogs to reach him.
"You're back," Alexander mutters briefly, giving me a sideways stare.
"So are you," I reply, walking into the room and closing the door behind me.
"Mind getting the dogs off of me?" he blurts out.
Sighing, I call for the dogs to sit. They obey immediately but remain staring up at Alexander. "I don't understand why you don't show them just a little affection."
Relaxing a little, Alexander sits back in his place, setting his eyes back on his phone screen. "I don't want to get attached," he explains.
I furrow my brows and curl my lips down. "Why not?"
He shrugs as a response, but his lips remain sealed. I suppose he would rather not say. Instead of pressing further, I jump to the next topic.
"Well, come on. Dinner is in like two minutes, so-"
"I'm not hungry, (Y/N)," he interrupts, still not sparing me a glance. "Are you?"
There's an odd shift in the mood of the room, but I'm not sure what it is. I'd like to question it, but I doubt Alexander even noticed. I place my hand on my aching abdomen. It hurts, but not from hunger. As I've said, using the Wings require a lot of core strength. My abdominal muscles are incredibly sore. No, I'm not hungry.
I take two steps closer, hoping proximity will somehow reveal whatever is going on in Alexander's mind.
"I guess I'm not," I admit, striding over and placing my gun on the wall hook with Alexander's making sure the safety is on.
"Excellent. Let's stay up here," Alexander suggests with a charming grin on his face.
"And do what?" I ask.
Alexander shrugs, a sly smirk plastered on his confident face. "It's New Year's Eve, (Y/N). There's plenty we can do. This should be a fun night. Plus, I have a surprise for you. You have to wait until later to get it, though."
Giving in, I sit on the seat at the desk, staring at my reflection in the dark screen of the computer. "Now you're making me feel bad," I huff sarcastically. "I didn't get you anything."
"Well, the thing I got you is sort of for the both of us," he explains.
"So what?" I chuckle. "This is going to be our New Year's celebration?"
Alexander scoffs, "If that's what you want to call it, (Y/N)."
I turn in the swivel chair to face him, a grin creeping at the edge of my lips. "Wish we could join in on the festivals going on in Russia..."
A soft look crosses Alexander's face. "I wouldn't think too much about it, (Y/N). After all, Moscow is a territory of the Allies now. Their celebrations can't be that good without the sights at the Red Square."
There's a moment of longing between us. We've never had a real New Year's celebration, but there was one time when Alexander and I snuck into Moscow in order to experience it to the best of our ability. This was highly illegal for us to do — only certain people are allowed in Moscow, and we aren't apart of that crowd. Nonetheless, we wandered around the streets, our eyes wide and full of wonder. It was a great day for both of us. A day we surely will remember forever.
You'd think I'd hate Russia. I'm a soldier for America after all! To that I say... there's a lot more to the story. And my reasons for being here are not pure.
That doesn't really matter now. The chances of us ever going back to Russia are slim. We have more of a chance of dying as AC soldiers.
"If we're going to throw our own little celebration, then let's get it started," I say, hoping to lighten the mood.
I'm not sure what to expect for the night, but I know it can't possibly be all too bad.
Alexander takes the dogs downstairs briefly so they can eat while I shut the curtains and set up a movie we both voted for on the computer. By the time Alexander comes back, it's still in the starting credits. But being the way Alexander is, he demands we start it all the way from the beginning.
While the credits roll, we change out of our uniforms and into bathrobes (I had to force Alexander to wear it) for a more comfortable viewing experience. He rolls up his sleeves anyway.
Most of the night passes by like a blur. A fun blur. We watch three movies, making comments about how hot or stupid the actors are. After a while, we sit on the floor, pull out a deck of cards, and start playing P'yanitsa, a Russian card game. From what I've heard, it's very similar to a game the Americans play called "War". I wouldn't know.
After about ten minutes of playing, I take my chances and slowly move into questioning Alexander and what he was doing on his own earlier, figuring he might tell me now that it's all over.
"So, dearest Alexander of mine," I start innocently, gazing up at Alexander as he places down a card.
Before I can say anything else, he can sense something is up and immediately stops me. "Whatever you're about to ask, don't."
I cross my arms after slamming down my own card. "You don't even know what I was going to ask!"
He put down a seven, and I put down a three. Since his number is higher, he takes the cards and adds them to his deck. It's simple.
"Yeah, and I don't think I want to," Alexander teases, taking the cards.
"It's innocent enough! Come on, Alex!" I plead. I give him my most convincing pout and best puppy dog eyes. A second later, he sighs and sets down another card.
"Alright, what is it?"
A large grin grows on my face and I scoot in closer before placing down a card, internally growling when I see Alexander has the higher number again.
"I was just wondering what you were doing earlier? You know, when we separated for a while."
Alexander chuckles to himself and snatches his victory cards away. "Wouldn't you like to know."
"Come on, Alex," I tug on his sleeve. "You can tell me!"
He nudged my hand away and places down a card, "I was jerking off."
I glare at him, evaluating his expression and tone. In a second, I immediately call him out on his bullshit. "No you weren't, Alexander!" I hiss.
"Are you going to keep nagging me about it?"
"Yes."
"I doubt it."
"Try me, Alexander."
And try he did. Throughout the rest of our card game, I kept persisting, asking continuously and endlessly. He did his best to ignore me and focus on winning, but he started to break. Despite being close to winning, he forfeited the game and tried to shut me out by scrolling through the news, searching for updates on anything.
He should know better than to test my determination.
Finally, Alexander drops his phone to the floor and stares at me wide-eyed, placing one of his hands on my shoulder.
"Do you really wanna fucking know?!"
"Yes!" I smile.
"I was just talking to Vincent!"
I open my mouth, having expected him to say something more dramatic. Boy, was that a letdown. With the way he was avoiding my questions, you think he was in a secret underground base building a time machine or some shit. But that's it? He was talking to Vincent?
Well, the more I think about it, the odder it is. From what I've seen of Alexander's underlying smoldering hate, he isn't that big of a fan of Vincent. I'm pretty sure Vincent can't even tell! He seems totally okay with Alexander.
So why on Earth would Alexander go out of his way to talk to someone he doesn't like? Unless someone can help us advance to Washington's level (which Vincent can't do), we don't bother with people we don't like.
What I'm trying to say is that Alexander has some explaining to do.
I remove Alexander's hand from my shoulder and give him a squinted stare. "I thought you didn't like Vincent."
Alexander crosses his arms like a pouty child after being told that he has to eat dinner before having dessert. "What makes you think that?"
"Just a hunch, Alexander."
He glares at me for a moment, then looks down in defeat. "Yeah, you're right."
"So why would you talk to him?"
"To make an alliance, (Y/N)."
"What for?"
Alexander appears hesitant and bites his tongue, concern sparking just under his normally-stony expression.
"No reason, (Y/N)," he murmurs quickly as he stands up from the floor, offering me a hand.
He said this in hopes I'd drop the topic, but it's only made me more curious. What the hell is he hiding?
"I rarely hide shit from you, Alexander. Why do you hide shit from me?"
"Some things work better when fewer people know about it, (Y/N)," he explains.
"But we're a team, Alexander. You and I," I say tiresomely. "And if we're going to operate as a team, we have to start by acting like one."
Alexander seems a moment away from responding, my words surely pulling at some of his iron heartstrings. However, just as he opens his mouth, there's a ding sound from below. It came from Alexander's phone. A notification.
I reach down and grab his phone, gazing at the illuminated screen and nearly gagging when I see what had popped up. It's a message from this person.
"What is it?" Alexander asks.
Without responding, I unlock his phone and open up the chat, the name of the opposite person reading in bold letters on the top.
Lavien (Otets)
Otets is Russian for father.
No, not him! I groan and hand the phone over to Alexander, not bothering the look at the message. He takes it, and his face drops in a similar fashion to mine when he sees it.
"Cyka blyat!"
He runs his hand through his hair, stress growing on his face. He isn't happy about this any more than I am.
Alexander and I both refer to him as Lavien. Anything else would be too affectionate towards a person who was a grade-A asshole. After all the bullshit he put everyone he knows through... Fucking bastard couldn't even stay in Russia and moved to America with all the money we had, finding some whore to spend it on. Frankly, I don't even know why Alexander bothers to keep in contact with him.
"What does Lavien want?" I ask gently, knowing this is a very sensitive thing for him.
"Guess," Alexander growls, his slender finger tip-tapping on the screen furiously.
"Money?"
"Always fucking money."
I sigh and look down, suddenly feeling upset. If I could face that man and tell him whatever I wanted... God, I can barely remember his face. I never saw him much.
"You're not going to send it to him, are you?" I question, leaning over Alexander's shoulder. I frown when I see he's already PayPal-ing him about a hundred and fifty dollars.
"I don't know what else to do," Alexander admits, sounding the most helpless he ever has. He always feels helpless when talking to Lavien.
"Don't respond," I suggest, snatching away his phone and going back to his messages.
"I'd feel like crap if I did, (Y/N). Trust me, I really don't want to respond. It's easier said than done."
"He's the one who should feel like crap."
"Then why do I?"
I keep my lips pursed together, having no response to his question. I keep my gaze on Alexander as he silently moves over the computer, setting something upon it. A stream, it seems like.
Meanwhile, I look down to read his past texts. God, just looking at the past conversations sickens me. Lavien isn't a sly man, which he may or may not know. Honestly, the man is such a moron that he might be completely oblivious. I was once told that the stupid are too stupid to know they're stupid...
Well, how stupid could he be if he left Russia before it became a complete hell hole? I don't give him enough credit.
I reread some of the excuses and conversation starters Lavien has sent Alexander, feeling anger boil in me like a pot of water.
"Hey, son! Happy Valentine's Day! Did you find a partner yet? Haha! Anyway, I was wondering if you could send your old man some money! You know where to send it, haha!"
"Morning, son! It's almost Victory Day! It must be super special for you now that you're a soldier! Listen, your dad could use some money. Times are tough for everyone in Chicago! Haha!"
"Hi, son! Happy Wednesday! I could use some more money."
Yeah, I suppose his excuses became less and less flowery as time went on. However, I guess New Year's Eve encouraged him to amp it up a little, for his most recent message is almost worth reading.
"Good evening, son. Happy New Year's Eve! I wish you would tell me a little more about (Y/N). From what I remember, she was a good girl. Haha. You're still hanging around her, right? This war is crazy, isn't it? I'll be taking a trip to Saint Petersburg in Russia. You know, that's where the President lives now that Moscow is the territory of America. You should let me know if you want to come! Just some father-son time. It's been about nine years since we've last seen each other. My, it's hard to believe my only son is almost nineteen-years-old. It's a miracle you're even alive, especially considering what happened to your mother. Anyway, I hate to do this, but I could use a little cash. About a hundred dollars should be good! Hotels in Petersburg are super cheap because of the lack of tourism, and a single dollar is worth more than sixty Russian rubles! Send (Y/N) my best, and be careful out on the field. Haha!"
Well, at least he didn't forget my name. Fucking bastard.
"Be careful out on the field?!" I cry out. "He's just hoping his money supply doesn't disappear!"
"Not so loud, (Y/N). Some people are probably asleep by now," Alexander sighs.
"I doubt it. Maybe they're celebrating in their own rooms. These Americans have the same New Year."
"Really?"
"Yup. I Googled it... except their's only lasts for one day instead of a week."
"Anyway, you shouldn't go shouting like that. You might as well just tell everyone our business."
I groan and drop his phone to the bed. "Cyka blyat. I wish you wouldn't send him money."
Alexander shrugs indifferently, although I can sense he secretly agrees with me. He focuses on whatever he started streaming on the computer, which so far only appears to be an empty stage and a crowd sitting in the audience.
When I clear my throat loudly, Alexander gives in and responds to the best of his ability. "It doesn't matter. When we get into the AC, we'll be making enough money to buy him a house in hell where he belongs."
While I'd normally laugh at this, I am too pissed odd to even pull a smile. "I can't believe he's going to visit Russia like it's a fucking vacation spot after abandoning-"
"Abandoning me, I know."
I cross my arms and shoot a glare at the back of his head. "It isn't fair! He made your life hell and he comes waltzing around back to you whenever he needs something! If I were you, I'd be-"
"You're not me, (Y/N)... Listen, this should be a fun night. Don't let that fucker ruin it with a simple text."
I open my mouth to argue, but I can't seem to find my words. I suppose I'm so stunned by his indifferent demeanor, especially after his initial reaction. He doesn't bother looking my way, perhaps waiting for me to figure out what I want to say next. After ten seconds of my silence, he swivels the chair around to look at me, one of his brows raised in a questioning manner.
"Anything else?"
I'd like to flip him off for his snarky and confident tone, but the New Year's spirit has me feeling patient, so I simply shake my head.
"Good," he says. "Now, would you like me to get your surprise?"
I feel my bad mood diminish ever so slightly, the corner of my lip curling up in the slightest. That's one way to make things better. I nod in a childish manner, taking Alexander's seat when he stands up and saunters into the bathroom.
I look at the computer and see what he's streaming, my entire body tingling when I read the title of the stream.
Leaks of President Ivanovich's Speech in Saint Petersburg, Russia
Every year, the Russian President gives a New Year's speech. It's a sacred tradition meant to give hope and joy to the citizens, and it's needed more than ever now that there's a fucking war going on.
Hell, from what I know, those types of speeches are always private... Only Russia gets to watch it! So the fact that it's getting "leaked" and streamed for the rest of the world is kind of a slap to the face to Russia and Ivanovich. Hopefully, he didn't say anything too extreme.
I glance over to Alexander when he emerges from the bathroom, gasping when I see what he's holding in his hands.
A bottle of vodka!
I grasp the hand rests and lean forward, my jaw on the floor and eyes the size of dinner plates. "Alexander!"
"(Y/N)," he mocks my shocked tone, swaggering over and placing the bottle on the desk monumentally.
I stare at the medium-sized, clear bottle, the logo of our favorite vodka brand engrained into the smooth glass. I gingerly touch the surface of the bottle just to make sure it's real and not in my imagination, and I shiver when I feel it's chilled. What could be more perfect than a chilled bottle of vodka on New Year's Eve?
"It's cold!" I cheer.
"Had to keep it in cold water in the tub to get it that way," Alexander proudly explains.
"But we showered this morning."
"Yeah, I put it in after that."
I look back at Alexander, a genuinely ecstatic grin on my probably-stupid-looking face. "How the hell did you get vodka?"
Smirking confidently, he shrugs and leans against the desk. "I have my ways, (Y/N)."
I giggle and grasp the neck of the bottle. "Oh ho, Daeshim and Chul would absolutely kill us if they found out we have this!"
"Which is why we're not sharing with them, (Y/N)," Alexander jokes.
"God, it's been forever since I've had some of this shit!"
"So you like it?" Alexander asks hopefully, his violet eyes glimmering with light.
"Of course, Alex!"
His smile grows and he takes the bottle from me, removing the seal and opening it up. I'm giddy with excitement, essentially bouncing in my seat. He lifts it to his nose and takes a sniff, then points it back to me so I can smell it for myself.
Good vodka has no scent, so I'm happy when I smell absolutely nothing.
"We have no shot glasses, so we'll have to drink straight from the bottle," Alexander says.
"I'm fine with that."
I wait for Alexander to take the first sip, but he instead turns up the volume of the stream. I begin to hear soft chatter going on in the crowd. Camera angles occasionally change.
"Hey, I want some vodka," I blurt out.
"Well, you'll have to wait until it's twelve o'clock, (Y/N). In the meantime, I can't wait to see what Ivanovich said during his New Year's speech."
I click my tongue and pout. "Fine, but I'm taking the first sip."
"Wouldn't have it any other way, sweetpea," he scoffs. He turns my chair back to face the computer and stands behind me, leaning against the back of the chair. I can sense his eyes trained intently on the screen, so I focus my attention on it as well.
There are hundreds of people in the crowd, and while they may seem different at first glance, they all have one thing in common: they are a bunch of rich motherfuckers. Regular people aren't allowed in whatever venue they've chosen. It's always been that way, and it'll never change. Hell, those fuckers reek of money, and I can smell it through the screen. It's sickening.
After a couple of minutes of waiting, the Russian National Anthem begins playing, and the crowd stands to their feet to honor the song and those who died during the New Russian Revolution. Alexander and I remain seated. As the anthem plays, Ivanovich walks onto the stage and to the podium, a smile on his face. It's been a while since I've seen Ivanovich. I know I can just Google him any time I want, but I'd rather not. I'm being forced to look at him now, and it turns my guts inside out.
Greying hair that seems to project his maturity rather than his age, a large nose that he supposedly can smell any lie with, thick brows that are usually knitted downward, and grey eyes which he passed down to his son. However, color is where the similarities stop.
Nikolai's eyes are famously dazzling and alluring, wielding the power to make any girl swoon. Ivanovich, on the other hand, normally holds anger, ferocity, and utter danger in his eyes. It's scary.
Yet, I don't see any of that now. In fact, there's a kindness and joy glowing in his eyes that unsettles a person like me — a person who is used to his darkness. Everything about him is so nonchalant and relaxed, sort of as if he recently got a massage. I wonder how on Earth he is able to pull a smile at this moment... It's all very odd and something in the back of my mind suggests that it might be fictitious. Alas, I brush these thoughts aside. If he's going to deliver a message to his country, I suppose a smile is the least he can do for them.
The national anthem ends with trumpets diminuendo-ing into a nothingness. Once it's finished, Ivanovich motions for the excited crowd to sit. I lean forward in interest, waiting for Nikolai to walk onto the stage with his handsome smirk and fashionable outfit, but once Ivanovich begins making his welcome and introduction, I begin to realize that Nikolai isn't coming.
There are English subtitles popping up at the bottom of the screen, but I have no need for that. Ivanovich and I share our first language. The flashing cameras distract me a little, but I listen carefully, hanging on to every word and writing down the important points in my mental notepad.
My view on Ivanovich is similar to that of the majority of the Russian population: I don't love him, but I don't hate him. And yet, as much as I hate to say it, his speech is somewhat disappointing. Hell, I expected him to talk about the war, the strength of the army, the greatness of the military, and the amazing planning he and his war cabinet are doing. But there's none of that. Instead, he speaks about the advancements Russia has seen in the past few months regarding the economy, the progress of the nation, the togetherness he has witnessed, and his high hopes for the future. I didn't think it was even possible to give a speech without mentioning America at least once. Color me shocked.
I tilt my head back to look at Alexander, who is still intently staring at the screen. Something seems off, but I can't put my finger on it. Instead, I check my phone to see the time. I'm just looking forward to midnight at this point to take a sip of that cold vodka.
Just as it seems like the rather-boring speech is over, Alexander reaches over and closes out the stream. I spin around to look at him only to find him scowling a little. "Cyka blyat. I can't watch that shit anymore."
"What's wrong?" I ask.
"Can't you tell?" Alexander asks.
I shake my head and motion for him to explain.
"Well, try to put it together. This speech is rather peaceful and very relaxed, right?"
I nod. "So what?"
"(Y/N), there's a fucking war going on. There's not a single leader who is relaxed, no matter how many cameras are on them. The one thing about President Eaton that Russia has on him is how stressed and uptight he's been."
"Eaton has always been a little unhinged."
"But he's more so now than ever. So what would alarm and anger Eaton?"
I press my finger to my bottom lip and gnaw on the inside of my cheek. In my mind, I bring up the images of Eaton that has been circling around of him yelling at his staff and videos of Eaton shouting at his Vice President. Then I picture what I just witnessed: Ivanovich was so calm and relaxed. He didn't seem to have a worry in the world. He managed to pull a smile, which I'm sure Eaton hasn't done in months. It comes together...
"Seeing Ivanovich being the complete opposite of Eaton wouldn't only alarm Eaton, but the entire nation," I say slowly.
Alexander snaps his fingers. "Bingo, (Y/N)."
A smile nearly pulls at my lips, but another thought bothers me before I can. "What does that matter."
Alexander takes my hand, pulls me out of the chair, and sits me beside him on the bed. "Think about it, (Y/N). This entire speech was 'leaked', right?"
I follow his train of thought with my own train. "That doesn't really make sense, does it? I mean, if there's one thing Russia is really known for, it's its cybersecurity! How the hell does something get leaked."
"Exactly. My theory is that this was intentionally 'leaked' by Ivanovich and his staff with the intention of America getting their hands on it and seeing it."
"They'd probably hope for some insight on what Russia is doing from the speech, but all they got instead is a speech about how good Russia is doing," I continue. "And Eaton would see this and-"
"Get even madder-"
"Russia would have successfully put up an illusion of success-"
"And make America seem like they're struggling in comparison!"
"Alexander, you're brilliant!"
Rather than accepting the compliment, Alexander simply ignores it, perhaps too deep in his thoughts to even have heard it. "I wonder if Eaton and his staff figured this out."
"You give them too much credit," I scoff. "They're not that smart, Alexander."
He can't deny this. When it comes to the economy, America trumps Russia. When it comes to the happiness of its citizens, America wins over Russia. But when it comes to intelligence, Russia towers above America. I bet Eaton is too infuriated to see a smiling Ivanovich to even consider it being staged.
"Wait, are we supposed to be celebrating this?" I ask, my brows furrowing.
Alexander shrugs, "That's a hard question, (Y/N), and you know it. We'd have to think about that for a long time, and even then we might not come up with an answer."
I nod and don't question it, aware of the truth ringing in his words. Alexander and I don't really have our opinions... Shit, it's too complicated to answer.
"Anyway, Eaton is bound to respond. He doesn't have the self-control to let it go," Alexander continues, shrugging and striding over to the vodka bottle.
"You'd think his daughter would be able to keep him under control," I add on.
"How old is she?"
"His eldest is twenty I think. Youngest is eleven."
"Maybe he's so unhinged because of that old hag he used to be married to."
I chuckle and reach over for my phone. Eaton's old wife was something else, that's for sure. They divorced about a year before he ran for President I believe.
"Hey, it's almost midnight," I say after seeing the bright numbers on my phone read 11:58.
"I know," Alexander says as he sits back down next to me. "Think the dogs want some?"
"Alex!" I hiss, glancing over to the spot on the floor where they've fallen asleep. "They're just puppies!"
"If they're going to be apart of this Russian family, they have to take part in the Russian drinking."
"They are not drinking vodka," I say sternly.
"Fine," he huffs. "More for me."
I bring up a countdown on my phone and watch intently as the time ticks closer and closer to midnight. It's exhilarating, but at the same time, frightening. Will anything change with the New Year? Will 2058 be completely different from 2057? It's bound to be more interesting, especially considering that Alexander and I will officially be AC troops in about a month and a half. I glance over at Alexander, who has his eyes set on an article he popped up on his phone.
As we near the last thirty seconds, I harshly nudge him and force him to watch with me. I guess I expected the seconds to tick by like hours, but I'm surprised to see them fly by. I barely have enough time to take a breath before we reach the final ten seconds.
Together, Alexander and I count down from ten in Russian, letting each number fill the otherwise-quiet room with the sound of excitement and jubilee.
"Desyat, devyat, vosem, sem, shest, pyat, chetyre, tri, dva, odin!"
And that's it. The clock strikes twelve and we applaud for the new year's entrance, causing the lights to flicker with every two claps. It's officially 2058, and all is normal so far. No explosions, no cries, no ruckus. That won't last.
I take the bottle from Alexander, but just as I do, I feel him plant a wet kiss on my cheek. I jerk my head away and immediately wipe the saliva off my sensitive skin with the sleeve of my robe.
"Gross, Alexander!" I groan.
"It's what the Americans do, (Y/N)!" he laughs, a charmingly-wide grin on his face.
"Go kiss a wall or something!"
"I did the same thing last year, (Y/N)," he shakes his head, still laughing.
"I was half-asleep then!"
"Oh, stop being a baby, (Y/N)! A kiss to the cheek can't do any harm!"
"It can when you literally spread all your gross spit on me!"
"Stop being dramatic and drink some of the vodka. I want some too."
I stick out my tongue at him, then bring the bottle to my lips. I tilt it back, letting the clear, cold liquid slide down the bottle and into my mouth. I only allow a sip's worth (no need to get alcohol poisoning) before I lower the bottle and swallow. The familiar burning on my tongue and back of my throat ensues after downing the alcohol, and I beam brightly.
"This shit's great!"
Alexander takes the bottle from me and drinks a rather-large sip, hacking slightly afterward. "Cyka blyat! It's really good!"
"Hand it over, buddy! My turn!"
We continue drinking, probably downing more than we should. Drinking hard vodka without any mixtures is something that no one but a born and bred Russian can do. It's a bad idea, but the throat-stinging drink is exactly what we need after long months of intense training.
Needless to say, we spend the night talking, laughing, and getting emotional. Well, I did more of the emotional stuff. The alcohol did a number on me and I get extremely sensitive. Alexander, as drunk as I am, acts like a curious child, ignoring pretty much everything I say.
"Alexander, you just mean so fucking much to me!" I say into my hands.
"Since when were the walls blue?" Alexander asks, staring at a wall in a genuinely-interested manner, tapping it with his hands.
"If I fucking die, you gotta carry on, Alexander! You and I have a mission and we need to complete it at all costs! Even if I'm fucking dead!"
"Imagine if Daeshim walked in right now? That would be fucking hilarious, (Y/N). Do you think he'd ask for a sip?"
"And if you fucking die, Alexander, don't worry! I'll do what I am supposed to! I won't let your death be in vain!" I rub my eyes, praying that I don't start crying. I take another swig from the bottle, then continue on. "So please don't fucking die, you daft bastard, 'cause I don't want to be alone! Not again!"
"Holy shit, is it finally snowing outside?" Alexander strides over to the window, swiping the bottle away from me as he passes by. He presses his forearm against the windowpane and glares out into the dark night outside, sipping gingerly from the almost-empty bottle.
"And if we both fucking die, then at least we die together. We can be buried together."
"Cyka blyat. I want to make a fucking snowman."
Realizing how little attention I'm getting from Alexander, I turn on my back and shove my face into the blanket, pounding my fist onto the soft bed.
"I'm trying to express my feelings, Alexander! You can at least act like it's moving you!"
Alexander remains silent, so I immediately assume he's considering what I said. I pop my head up for a second, peering through my undone hair to see that Alexander has yet to move. Then, he finally replies, but it's not what I wanted to hear.
"I will name the snowman Rupert."
"Alexander!"
He turns to face me, seeming to barely have realized that I still existed. "Oh, hi."
"Give me attention!"
"Why should I?" he jokes.
"Because I'm lonely, Alexander!"
"You need a boyfriend," he laughs, sauntering over and sitting near me.
"Call me when Nikolai is willing to give me a chance," I groan, shoving my face back into the blanket.
Alexander pats my head rather awkwardly, then taps something hard against my temple. I grunt as a response, hoping he'll fuck off, but once he does it again, I peer up to see what the hell he wants. My eyes widen when I see he's holding out the bottle to me.
"What?" I ask.
"You can have the last sip, (Y/N)," he offers, a kind and generous glint in his violet eyes.
I sit up happily, taking the bottle into my arms like a precious baby. "Really?"
"Of course, (Y/N)."
Mouthing a "thank you," I tilt the bottle back to drink whatever is left inside. I wait patiently for the flavorless liquid, but nothing comes out. I bring the bottle down, glaring at Alexander's innocent grin.
"There's nothing in there, asshole!" I growl.
Alexander's smile fades and he furrows his brows in confusion. "Cyka blyat, really? I thought for sure there was."
Sighing, I toss the bottle aside and fall back into the bed, staring at the ceiling. The drinking is over, and I'm filled with an overwhelming emotion of emptiness that usually follows finishing a bottle. I'm as empty as the bottle is. I always wish that I will find answers or maybe closure at the bottom of a bottle, but it's never there. All there's left is guilt, bad memories, and stray drops.
The effects of alcohol have taken over a while ago, but they're hitting me harder now than thirty minutes ago. The world spins around me and my sense of balance seems to have disintegrated into thin air. That was a lot of vodka to drink. It won't kill us since we shared it, but the hangover we'll get in the morning might drive us off a cliff.
The lights suddenly seem painfully bright; it hurts my sensitive eyes and I attempt to block out the illumination with my hands. Noticing my distress, Alexander claps twice, causing the lights to shut off, leaving us in a dark room.
I reach for my phone and lift it up. "Charge this, would you?"
Without a word, Alexander takes my phone and the empty bottle then strides into the darkness.
Frankly, I'm too exhausted to make the short journey to my own bed, so I scooch further up the bed and tuck myself under the covers, snuggling happily into the warmth of the bed. I'm disturbed, however, when Alexander returns and nudges me.
"Move," he demands.
"No," I pout.
"Go to your own bed."
"I'm already comfy right here, Alex. You sleep on my bed."
"But this is my bed, and I like it."
"Well, I like it too."
Without another word, Alexander slides into bed with me, hogging a lot of the space and blanket. Yet, I have no objections.
The night is quiet, which is perfect after a long night of drinking. I'm sure that sensitivity to sound will be kicking in at any moment. Just as I'm about to allow myself to drift into sleep, a thought invades my mind. Something that I was pondering about vigorously earlier. I asked Alexander this question before, but he was sober then. Maybe a drunk Alexander is easier to pull an answer out of.
"Hey, Alex. Are you asleep?"
"Yes."
"Oh, sorry. I won't bother you... Wait, you're not asleep, asshole."
"Well, I wish I was. What do you want."
"Can I ask you something?"
"You just did."
I reach into the dark and smack the back of his head. "I'm being serious, Alexander."
"What is it?"
I let the eerie silence continue for a moment, then sigh, hoping I can finally get an answer. "What were you doing with Vincent."
Alexander sighs, sounding quite like I did a second ago. Even more, he smacks my head just like I did to him. "You're still on that shit, (Y/N)?"
"Of course, I am. You dodged the question like a pro before! It's rather suspicious."
I feel Alexander shift in the bed, and I can almost feel his violet eyes piercing into me. "(Y/N), I was talking to Vincent because I figured he is someone we ought to get on our side."
Although I doubt he is able to see me, I shake my head. "Why would we want that? I thought we only need to have each other, no one else."
"That's true for the most part," Alexander responds. "But Vincent, as you may have noticed, is almost as smart as I am."
"I think you two are on par with each other."
"Whatever. Point is, he's smart, and he seems incredibly talented at figuring things out before anyone else."
I let this ring in my drunk and slow mind, slowly piecing together what he means. "So you think he could figure out who we really are?"
"Worse. He could figure out why we're here."
I feel a cold shiver run down my spine at the suggestion. I seldom even think about why we're here, and the thought of Vincent somehow figuring that out scares the shit out of me. It's something I hadn't considered before. He can't possibly care that much about figuring us out, can he? And if he figures out...
"That's why we need to get him on our side," Alexander continues. "If we build trust with him, he'll be less likely to doubt anything we say. He won't care about the nitty-gritty bits of us and the plot holes in the background story we've fabricated. If he's our 'friend', then he'll hesitate to turn on us."
I gaze up at the ceiling once more, wishing I could see right through the building and watch as the first snow falls upon us. Snow has a calming effect on me. It reminds me of home. Yet, some part of me wishes I was standing alone on a beach, watching the waves crawl teasingly up and down the sandy shore. I've never been to a beach, but fuck, I'd love to go to one.
"So essentially, we'll make Vincent our friend, just so we can make sure he shuts up."
"Yes, (Y/N)."
"But he won't really be our friend."
"No, (Y/N). He's dangerous. If anything, he's a threat. Both to our identity and our mission."
I close my eyes, no longer feeling tired as Alexander's words bounce continuously through my mind, screaming at different volumes and driving me insane. I had nothing against Vincent before, but Alexander turned that entire thing upside down with his truthful revelation.
Alexander said it quite clearly, and while I may dislike it, it's a simple fact: Vincent Holmes is our enemy.