Vasily Medvedev stood staring at the body of Steve Plank, the blood spurting from the stump where his head had been less than five minutes ago. To say that he was devastated would be an understatement. The deep melancholy filling his heart was compounded by the knowledge he would never see his friend again; Steve was now in a place from which he himself was permanently barred.
A single tear rolled down his cheek as he looked at the mark embedded in the skin of his right hand. It was permanent, he'd been told; just as much so as the weight on his soul.
At the time, it had seemed so simple, and the right thing to do; proof of his loyalty to the risen Supreme Potentate would guarantee his place in the brave new world, the Utopia promised to all Carpathianists. But then, too late, he'd discovered the truth through the Ben-Judah website and the cyber zine, and had just had it confirmed once again by Steve's brave death.
If only Vasily had discovered the truth before he'd met Steve, Steve wouldn't have waited so long to reveal his true identity to his junior officer. Instead, knowing Vasily was doomed, he'd considered it to be pointless to share his faith.
As he returned to his quarters, the Russian was unable to get the vision of his senior's mutilated body out of his mind, and he knew it would haunt him for all eternity. He'd already made his final choice, the last choice of any consequence he'd ever make for the remainder of his limited amount of time on earth.
So what was left for him now? If he survived the remaining judgements, ever worsening in intensity, all he'd have to look forward to was the sheep and goats judgement, where he'd be condemned to the pit with all the other remaining unbelievers.
There was truly no hope for him at all.
His hand tightened around the butt of the pistol in the holster attached to his side, his only thought to raise the barrel to his temple and pull the trigger.
And yet...
As if they had a mind of their own, Vasily's feet began to move toward his bedroom. When he was there, he rummaged through his assortment of neckties until he found his favorite one. Then he walked into the kitchen, where he knew the meat cleaver was stored along with the other knives.
As he stared at its blade, his courage faltered. Would he really be able to go through with this?
Yes. It was his only chance.
His mind made up, he grabbed the necktie and wrapped it around his right wrist as tight as he could. When he was satisfied he'd done his best, he snatched the handle of the meat cleaver with his left hand and brought it down with as much force as he could.
Nobody was around to hear his scream of agony.
