So given this leak hinting the player will have to deal with the Red Poppy uprising no matter what, and previous dev statements about Burgundy(3 endings, only Himmler and 2 other Burgundy characters will survive), I feel that this is what these three outcomes will be.Yeah my impression from that leak is that there is a mega bad Red Italy route but it's not persay worse than Giani
In other news, have a Burgundy Leak
This is not even getting at how he would literally be in his early 20s ITTL.Putin's bio is also something I can't help but to cringe at. Why the hell would Putin's parents "fake" their deaths? They were nobody important and I can't see why they should have "official documents" of any note in the bedlam of post-Barbarossa Russia. Could at least go with something less nonsensical, like them managing to slip through the cracks of the siege of Leningrad via the Road of Life or something (after all, It's how the Bastillard leader Daniil Kharms got out).
Also by all accounts Putin had no actual military skills to speak of, or at least was never so good at it as to become some kind of famous war hero.*sees Putin*
*rolls eyes so far back that I enter the Avatar State*
I really loathe the concept of Putin having content, because him being chosen as the "Russian strongman with authoritarian tendencies" guy is so low hanging fruit that it's practically a crop sprouting from the soil.
Putin's bio is also something I can't help but to cringe at. Why the hell would Putin's parents "fake" their deaths? They were nobody important and I can't see why they should have "official documents" of any note in the bedlam of post-Barbarossa Russia. Could at least go with something less nonsensical, like them managing to slip through the cracks of the siege of Leningrad via the Road of Life or something (after all, It's how the Bastillard leader Daniil Kharms got out).
Wonder if Germany and France would also be able to carve up Burgundy, after the collapse.
This means that the Legions can suceed in TNO1, and the REDACTED ending where the RPM ends this nightmare can easily suceed as well
And of course, in the case where Himmlerite!Burgundy comes out on top, I don't think, owing to my speculation, they are long for the world(Legion!Burgundy might have a slightly better chance of being a pariah state indefinately) and they will collapse into radio silence first thing in TNO2....
Threadmarked.These United States
A United States of Russia Short Story
Finale of the Omsk Trilogy
"Russkie! Nice dress. You free tonight?" a thin-mustached man asked her in an East Asian accent. He was clad in camouflage with an M16 over his shoulder and a pistol at his side. Nastya looked down at her red dress, purchased for her by ex-boyfriend. She was glad he was gone, even if an Internal Security Bureau man could get her gifts from time to time.
"That I am. Who's asking?" she said, in heavily accented English. Eight years since the end of the Siberian War, since the reunification of the Motherland, eight years of learning English and finding work everywhere she could, and men still hit on her. Not that she had anything better to do tonight.
The music played on the radio of the bar. Some rock anthem from America. Like something out of a fever dream. "I am. I've got some warm beer if you wanna come and relax. We had vodka, but we're done with the bottle." He looked around at the motley gang of mercenaries around him.
His comrade, a man with an American accent, turned to him. "Hachimitsu, you know we're not supposed to be soliciting native women here. This place is less than ten years under our rule, and you're already going to get syphilis? Dumb fuck."
Hachimitsu chuckled. "Pussy here isn't afraid of getting shot but is afraid of some burning down there. Corporal Pendergast, don't talk down to me like that. Girl's hot, stylish, up for some fun, don't be a fucking buzzkill."
Nastya raised an eyebrow. "You mercenary boys are all fifteen years old at heart, I swear to god." She snorted.
"Oh, trust me, I've got way more experience than that," Hachimitsu said, making an indecent gesture with his hands.
"You're drunk enough to talk like that, and I'm drunk enough not to be scared off, huh?" Nastya asked.
"Something like that. Look, you can go if you want, nobody's forcing you," he said.
"Actually, I'm forcing you by informing the commander if you get gonorrhea or knock up this poor girl," Pendergast said.
"Same rank, dipshit," Hachimitsu said.
"Do you both curse this often all the time? Or is that just when you're drunk?" she asked.
"All the time. What's your name, anyway?"
"Anastasia, but everyone goes with Nastya," she said.
"Like the princess?"
"Tsaristsa," she corrected. She heard the sound of helicopters in the air. In the days of the wars, that meant one thing. Death from above. These days, it just meant the troops were being stocked to Moscow. So many dead men, but what a cause.
"Gotcha." Hachimitsu said, getting up and finishing his glass. "You a native?"
"I'm a citizen of the United States of Russia," she said, her tone growing a little harder even with her obvious buzz.
"No, I meant a native to Omsk," he clarified.
"...Yeah, I'm native here."
"Musta been hell before we came, huh?"
"You have no idea," she sighed. "I...really don't want to talk about it. Living under the Military District, that was different. They saved us. This place was hell. We were all bodies, worked to the bone or sent to die, under watch and easy to kill."
"Look, I...can't bang you, not really. Pendergast'll report me to my boss if I get anything, and I don't want to risk it."
"Oh, wow, how noble of you," Nastya said, dryly.
"Do you mind sitting here with us, at least? I haven't seen a civilian girl in years."
She nodded and sat down. "What, so I'm some kind of trophy?" she asked, a little darkly amused about it.
"Not really. More like, you know, something rare. I just want to savor it," Hachimatsu said.
"Jesus, you really are trying to fuck me," she said. "Maybe I do have some horrible disease that'll melt your dick so it drips down your trousers."
Hachimatsu's face contorted in an expression of utter disgust. "Yeah...Let's not do that. It is...nice to see a girl."
"Especially one in a low-cut dress and heels?" she asked.
"Well, it's not hurting. Look, I'm trying to be a gentleman or whatever, but..." He took off his uniform jacket and handed it to her. "Cover it up, I'm having trouble not staring at them. Please."
"You need to take a rest. Come with me." She took his hand and his olive drab jacket with the black and yellow flag patch, putting the latter on and dragging him out. Eventually, they made it to her small apartment. She pulled him in and unlocked the door with a key from her handbag, before letting him sit on the couch. "What brings you to Omsk, anyway?" The apartment was...run down, for sure, with a hole in the wall, some stains, and an obvious attempt to keep things neat even as its age caught up to it.
"We're stationed here. We're supposed to keep watch. There's been some Black Leaguers who've formed some kind of drinking club, and they've started to bomb OFN-affiliated businesses."
"...They just won't let it die, will they?"
"No kidding. Half the Black League's joined the mercenary companies because of the Second West Russian War, but the other half are either getting used to things or desperately trying to go after the "American imperialists". Intel says some guy named Lazarenko's the leader of their drinking club. Real bastard. In another life, he could have been some kind of Russian Hitler. He's charismatic. Good at getting followers."
"Lazarenko? The ISB man?" she asked.
"Yazov's attack dog. Well, it's hard for all of us to just become good Russkiye amerikantsy. You have to understand that if it weren't for democracy and prosperity, we wouldn't even want you people around. Foreigners running Russia? I'm still not even sure if I'm comfortable with it, even if I see the results."
"All I'm saying is that it could've gone a lot worse, Nastya. It could have been a lot worse."