The New Order: Last Days of Europe Thread II
- Thread starter SirHalifax
- Start date
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
- Survive, but extremely crippled with most of the leadership dead in the Red Poppy uprising, or purged, and with even less chance of achieving the already-unrealistic globalplans. If this happens, Burgundy will be dealt with(read: auto-collapse) very early in TNO2(assuming the below two things don't do it in first)
- Burgundy is done in by a revolting SS Legion, essentially Heydrich plotline in smaller scale.
- Red Poppy uprising wins, this is the REDACTED and hidden blessed ending.
- SS Legion revolt would try to construct North Korea in Europe, turning their guns to internal consolidation, they'd either keep Burgundy or spin Wallonia off into a allied puppet state, and be merely ultranat or natsoc but extremely cursed for natsoc standards. They can however fail and collapse into total warlordism, but they have a slightly less likely chance of failing in contrast to.....
- Himmler's last gasp, which will be Himmler trying one last time to get his plans across before the rotten structure(ironic!) truly collapses, with goes as you'd expect and would more likely result in the entire region dividing into mass fragmentation and statelets
- Red Poppy Movement would genuinely try to fix the damage its oppressors have caused, this will turn the arc for that part of europe from planning world-ending wars or total global mass annihilation, or the consolidation of smaller scale totalitarian racialist rule, into healing and moving on from a horrific past. This might also put Germany into a bit more of a uncomfortable position as they have to now deal with two anti-Nazi states bordering it(Red Poppies and Russia)
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I think Zhrinovsky would be a hidden gamer path owing to his party's far-right tendencies and the question mark.2WRW mod
brooklyn99
Banned
*sees Putin*2WRW mod
*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).
This is not even getting at how he would literally be in his early 20s ITTL.
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.
Just desserts.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 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....
brooklyn99
Banned
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....
I personally have a theory that the Italian Revolution might only be confined to the mainland, and you might have a exile regime in Libya, which might have a 'counter revolution mechanic.'
I reckon its also a stretch goal by the devs as PW is nearly finished and waiting for TT.
Burgundy rework looks good, and to be honest, might turn it into something more realistic, rather than the edgy meme state it is.
Personally, I think the lore that Himmler wants to cause a nuclear war is fine, and the assassination attempt on Hitler is a clear example of how he intends to spread instability. Perhaps, instead of the global plans, the player could have a collection of decisions, for example
- Fund National Socialist hardliners in Germany
- Assassinate English MP
- Leak German silo construction reports to American press
- Send Nuclear documents to Russian superregional unifers, Italy, India, England, etc
- Destroy Middle East oil wells (Near or during the oil crisis)
And these could perhaps figure into a 'global tension' mechanic in the Cold War GUI, or provide small buffs or debuffs for various nations. They won't start a nuclear war, but they might increase the risk a little.
I reckon its also a stretch goal by the devs as PW is nearly finished and waiting for TT.
Burgundy rework looks good, and to be honest, might turn it into something more realistic, rather than the edgy meme state it is.
Personally, I think the lore that Himmler wants to cause a nuclear war is fine, and the assassination attempt on Hitler is a clear example of how he intends to spread instability. Perhaps, instead of the global plans, the player could have a collection of decisions, for example
- Fund National Socialist hardliners in Germany
- Assassinate English MP
- Leak German silo construction reports to American press
- Send Nuclear documents to Russian superregional unifers, Italy, India, England, etc
- Destroy Middle East oil wells (Near or during the oil crisis)
And these could perhaps figure into a 'global tension' mechanic in the Cold War GUI, or provide small buffs or debuffs for various nations. They won't start a nuclear war, but they might increase the risk a little.
Blastwave Eden
Blastwave Eden
An All-Russian Black League Short Story
Part Two of the Omsk Trilogy
"Father, what's that pin mean?" Gleb Larionovich Kurpatov looked down at his five year old son. They wore tunics and trousers in the pristine wilderness village that he knew was once beside a city called Minsk. He smiled at his boy, Vasily. "This pin? The one with the eagle and the pentagon?"
"What's a pentagon, father?"
"It's a shape with five sides."
"Oh, then that pin. Is that a fascist pin?"
Gleb flinched at that. "No, of course not. This pin signifies that I was a member of the All-Russian Black League, a group of brave defenders of our people who destroyed the Hitlerites forever. The world before the Black League was dark and painful, ruled by monsters. This village here would have been a graveyard."
A scared expression crossed Vasily's face and his lip began to quiver.
"Vasya, Vasya, do not be worried. The Hitlerites are gone now. The world is free. Now all we need to fear are animals." Gleb smiled.
"Were you scared when you were fighting the fascists?" Vasily asked.
"A little bit. We were all scared. The Black League was a scary place to be. We were all afraid of our bosses almost as much as we were afraid of the Hitlerites, but we knew we had a duty. Do you want to hear what we used to say?"
"Sure, Papa."
"I believe, before all else, in Russia, one, united, and invincible. I believe in my own strength and the strength of my comrades. I reject the lies of the First Trial, and embrace the Black League as Russia's one and only salvation in the coming Trial. When the day of the Great Trial comes, I will stand shoulder to shoulder with my comrades. I will face the enemy without fear, and I will put my nation before my own life. I will be the sword and shield of Russia, by which justice will be done for the fallen. I swear this oath by my sacred Motherland."
Gleb finished reciting it, and Vasya spoke. "That's a weird oath. Why would you put your nation before your life? Isn't that just where you live?"
"No, a nation is...I don't know how to explain this. Before the Great Trial, it was...It was important. Very important. More than you know."
At that, a young woman, a girl, really, in a cotton dress knocked at the door of the thatched-roof house, and Gleb opened the door.
"Hello? Are you the head of the village? I was told to see Captain Kurpatov," she asked, clad in what appeared to be a pre-Great Trial white sundress. She was tainted with blonde hair and blue eyes. She spoke in an accent, foreign. Gleb recognized it immediately. "...How do you speak Russian?" he asked. Teutonic bitch was probably a spy.
"The Aryans from the East taught us Russian years ago."
"What Aryans from the East?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.
"The Russian Aryans. They're gone now. Starved. Near Konigsberg."
"...Are you a Hitlerite?"
"A what?" she asked.
"Are you a Hitlerite or not?"
"I don't know what you mean by a Hitlerite," she said.
"A follower of Adolf Hitler. A German," he said, in an exasperated tone. "A dog deserving of death."
"I'm a German, and Hitler was the great German warrior who summoned thunder and saved all the peoples of the world, if I remember correctly from the rumors in the bunkers. Our parents didn't like talking about the outside world."
No spy would be this stupid, he thought to himself. "Hitler was a killer and a monster who tried to destroy the Russian people entirely after enslaving them."
"...Oh," she said, suddenly surprised. "Well, I suspected that the other girls were embellishing things, but still. That's...that's horrible. How could they do that to Aryans?"
"Well, he didn't think we were Aryans," Vasily said.
"Listen, Teuton, this village isn't for your kind. Go before I have to show you what happens to Teutons in Black League territory," Gleb said.
"Papa, please. She's just a girl."
"She's a Teuton," he muttered.
"She doesn't sound like a Teuton. Teutons kill people, right?" Vasya turned to the girl. "Have you killed anyone?"
Her eyes widened. "Of course not! Why would I kill someone? That's horrible!"
"...How old are you, Miss..." he asked, starting to wonder exactly how mature this girl was.
"Fourteen, sir. My name is Samantha. Samantha Herzsprung. From Burgundy."
From Burgundy. The words were a strike to his soul. Gleb walked up to her and embraced her. "You don't know what Burgundy was, do you?" Some anger crept into his voice. This stupid girl, this wasteful product of a hellish society, too sheltered to even realize the sins in her blood. If she was a spy, she certainly wouldn't admit to being from Burgundy.
"My parents never wanted to talk about Burgundy. They just told me that it was over. Psychologically, it was like they were physically stopped whenever they'd be about to say something about it. Did something happen there?"
"Burgundy was Hell, a Hell that your people created. A Hell that you won't ever be able to get out of your blood and your culture," Gleb said. "I told you to leave, now leave."
"Please, she seems nice. I want her to stay!" Vasya stomped a foot.
"Vasya, she's lucky she isn't dead. I don't want to kill anymore, but she just isn't acceptable here. She still believes in Nazi fairy tales and she thinks like a fascist."
"My parents passed away, sir. Bandits. I went out East looking for civilization. I went to a large settlement, but there was a famine. I'm looking for more survivors, you know, more Aryans."
"We are not Aryans, and neither are you!"
"We are all Aryans," she said, starting to stand tall against him. "We are all Aryans and we all deserve to be happy. Everyone who was destroying the world is dead and gone, so why won't you just have an ounce of compassion?"
Vasily tugged on Gleb's tunic. "Maybe she can help with spinning cotton? That kinda stuff. I bet she'd be helpful to have."
"Yes, please, I'd be happy to help. I'm...sorry if I said something wrong. I...You Russian Aryans seem to believe strange things, but you seem...okay. Not evil, just angry. Please, give me a chance. I'll help if you want, I can put my work in. I just don't want to be alone, anymore. You've won, okay? Your Black League has won. Isn't that enough?" Samantha said.
"It will only be enough when your kind is—"
Vasily yelled. "Stop! Stop it! Stop fighting! I don't even get what you two are fighting over!"
Samantha spoke, more softly this time. "Why do you hate Germans so much?"
"For what you did, for what you were planning to do, for the threat you represent to our people," he said.
"We don't represent a threat anymore, and I wasn't born when the Germans hurt you. We're all just Ar—just people. Please, I'll help, I'll do what you say, I won't even talk if that's so important to you."
Vasily looked up at Gleb, and Gleb gave it some thought. "Fine. The Great Trial's over. You can stay here for the moment. If I see an speck of what I know your people for, you will be out or dead. You will be the only German in this settlement.
"You will be loathed by anyone who fought against your kind, and for good reason. So if you can prove to us that you aren't a fascist underneath, and only then, you can stay. Is that clear?"
"Absolutely," she said. She said it sincerely, earnestly, and for a moment Gleb thought that maybe this might work.
An All-Russian Black League Short Story
Part Two of the Omsk Trilogy
"Father, what's that pin mean?" Gleb Larionovich Kurpatov looked down at his five year old son. They wore tunics and trousers in the pristine wilderness village that he knew was once beside a city called Minsk. He smiled at his boy, Vasily. "This pin? The one with the eagle and the pentagon?"
"What's a pentagon, father?"
"It's a shape with five sides."
"Oh, then that pin. Is that a fascist pin?"
Gleb flinched at that. "No, of course not. This pin signifies that I was a member of the All-Russian Black League, a group of brave defenders of our people who destroyed the Hitlerites forever. The world before the Black League was dark and painful, ruled by monsters. This village here would have been a graveyard."
A scared expression crossed Vasily's face and his lip began to quiver.
"Vasya, Vasya, do not be worried. The Hitlerites are gone now. The world is free. Now all we need to fear are animals." Gleb smiled.
"Were you scared when you were fighting the fascists?" Vasily asked.
"A little bit. We were all scared. The Black League was a scary place to be. We were all afraid of our bosses almost as much as we were afraid of the Hitlerites, but we knew we had a duty. Do you want to hear what we used to say?"
"Sure, Papa."
"I believe, before all else, in Russia, one, united, and invincible. I believe in my own strength and the strength of my comrades. I reject the lies of the First Trial, and embrace the Black League as Russia's one and only salvation in the coming Trial. When the day of the Great Trial comes, I will stand shoulder to shoulder with my comrades. I will face the enemy without fear, and I will put my nation before my own life. I will be the sword and shield of Russia, by which justice will be done for the fallen. I swear this oath by my sacred Motherland."
Gleb finished reciting it, and Vasya spoke. "That's a weird oath. Why would you put your nation before your life? Isn't that just where you live?"
"No, a nation is...I don't know how to explain this. Before the Great Trial, it was...It was important. Very important. More than you know."
At that, a young woman, a girl, really, in a cotton dress knocked at the door of the thatched-roof house, and Gleb opened the door.
"Hello? Are you the head of the village? I was told to see Captain Kurpatov," she asked, clad in what appeared to be a pre-Great Trial white sundress. She was tainted with blonde hair and blue eyes. She spoke in an accent, foreign. Gleb recognized it immediately. "...How do you speak Russian?" he asked. Teutonic bitch was probably a spy.
"The Aryans from the East taught us Russian years ago."
"What Aryans from the East?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.
"The Russian Aryans. They're gone now. Starved. Near Konigsberg."
"...Are you a Hitlerite?"
"A what?" she asked.
"Are you a Hitlerite or not?"
"I don't know what you mean by a Hitlerite," she said.
"A follower of Adolf Hitler. A German," he said, in an exasperated tone. "A dog deserving of death."
"I'm a German, and Hitler was the great German warrior who summoned thunder and saved all the peoples of the world, if I remember correctly from the rumors in the bunkers. Our parents didn't like talking about the outside world."
No spy would be this stupid, he thought to himself. "Hitler was a killer and a monster who tried to destroy the Russian people entirely after enslaving them."
"...Oh," she said, suddenly surprised. "Well, I suspected that the other girls were embellishing things, but still. That's...that's horrible. How could they do that to Aryans?"
"Well, he didn't think we were Aryans," Vasily said.
"Listen, Teuton, this village isn't for your kind. Go before I have to show you what happens to Teutons in Black League territory," Gleb said.
"Papa, please. She's just a girl."
"She's a Teuton," he muttered.
"She doesn't sound like a Teuton. Teutons kill people, right?" Vasya turned to the girl. "Have you killed anyone?"
Her eyes widened. "Of course not! Why would I kill someone? That's horrible!"
"...How old are you, Miss..." he asked, starting to wonder exactly how mature this girl was.
"Fourteen, sir. My name is Samantha. Samantha Herzsprung. From Burgundy."
From Burgundy. The words were a strike to his soul. Gleb walked up to her and embraced her. "You don't know what Burgundy was, do you?" Some anger crept into his voice. This stupid girl, this wasteful product of a hellish society, too sheltered to even realize the sins in her blood. If she was a spy, she certainly wouldn't admit to being from Burgundy.
"My parents never wanted to talk about Burgundy. They just told me that it was over. Psychologically, it was like they were physically stopped whenever they'd be about to say something about it. Did something happen there?"
"Burgundy was Hell, a Hell that your people created. A Hell that you won't ever be able to get out of your blood and your culture," Gleb said. "I told you to leave, now leave."
"Please, she seems nice. I want her to stay!" Vasya stomped a foot.
"Vasya, she's lucky she isn't dead. I don't want to kill anymore, but she just isn't acceptable here. She still believes in Nazi fairy tales and she thinks like a fascist."
"My parents passed away, sir. Bandits. I went out East looking for civilization. I went to a large settlement, but there was a famine. I'm looking for more survivors, you know, more Aryans."
"We are not Aryans, and neither are you!"
"We are all Aryans," she said, starting to stand tall against him. "We are all Aryans and we all deserve to be happy. Everyone who was destroying the world is dead and gone, so why won't you just have an ounce of compassion?"
Vasily tugged on Gleb's tunic. "Maybe she can help with spinning cotton? That kinda stuff. I bet she'd be helpful to have."
"Yes, please, I'd be happy to help. I'm...sorry if I said something wrong. I...You Russian Aryans seem to believe strange things, but you seem...okay. Not evil, just angry. Please, give me a chance. I'll help if you want, I can put my work in. I just don't want to be alone, anymore. You've won, okay? Your Black League has won. Isn't that enough?" Samantha said.
"It will only be enough when your kind is—"
Vasily yelled. "Stop! Stop it! Stop fighting! I don't even get what you two are fighting over!"
Samantha spoke, more softly this time. "Why do you hate Germans so much?"
"For what you did, for what you were planning to do, for the threat you represent to our people," he said.
"We don't represent a threat anymore, and I wasn't born when the Germans hurt you. We're all just Ar—just people. Please, I'll help, I'll do what you say, I won't even talk if that's so important to you."
Vasily looked up at Gleb, and Gleb gave it some thought. "Fine. The Great Trial's over. You can stay here for the moment. If I see an speck of what I know your people for, you will be out or dead. You will be the only German in this settlement.
"You will be loathed by anyone who fought against your kind, and for good reason. So if you can prove to us that you aren't a fascist underneath, and only then, you can stay. Is that clear?"
"Absolutely," she said. She said it sincerely, earnestly, and for a moment Gleb thought that maybe this might work.
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These United States
These United States
A United States of Russia Short Story
Part Three 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.
"That's him."
"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."
A United States of Russia Short Story
Part Three 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.
"That's him."
"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."
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What about the other two posts in the Omsk Trilogy?
Also, if it's possible, do you mind using the actual titles for the threadmarks?
Thank you so much for the threadmarks!