The voices inside my head told me I've been procrastinating.
Few points; first there will be a second story running parallel to this one, a sort of 'wide shot' that focuses on significant events, in-world politics, conspiracies, and the like. If fixation on personal narrative/stakes aren't your thing wait for that story to pop up; secondly I want TRY to mash the universes properly, and that will take me an unhealthy amount of time; third point, rough outline practically all done. Lastly, I do not do any semblance of schedules, cause I'm a git. I can't stand pressuring myself arbitrarily. This leads to very arbitrary uploads, if this doesn't bother you, great. If it does, grit your teeth cause I know for a fact there's no recourse.
PS:. Illustrations. ᵖᵒʷᵉʳᵉᵈ ᵇʸ ᵐᶦᵈʲᵒᵘʳⁿᵉʸ I'll post plenty, try and stop me. But don't let me discourage your own imagination.
Example at bottom.
V was awoken by the loud clitter-clatter of ceramic crockery. She wiped her bleary eyes to see Anatoly was already up and about rummaging from what she assumed sounded like a loaded kitchen. What once was a blinding, violent barrage of ice calmed down; the outside was sparsely cloudy, with the sun peaking through every minute or so. V only saw snowed-over roofs from her bed but wanted more. She began to experiment, sliding her left foot onto the floor. Slow and steady. Despite there being a thick, colorful carpet, her bare feet could feel a breeze flowing in, owing to the building's shoddy construction. Stretching her toes, her bones cracked with every movement. Same as her fingers, neck; although not squeamish by any means, those sounds, in particular, made her uncomfortable. She cringed with every loud pop, bad memories of fatal neck snapping came to mind.
She slid out the second leg, both felt awkwardly unwieldy, as if never used before.
V caught the side of her bed and pushed herself up to sit, brushing off her long hair. Bizarre, she never had hair so long, opting for a stylish half-buzz cut, always.
"So far so good." she muttered under her cold, misty breath. She could speak and think clearly, her nap time did a treat.
Anatoly had yet come to check up, but something began sizzling and slowly filling the room with aroma.
V used one hand to hold the stool, which was now clean of all the pills previously littering it. She used the seat to prop herself up. It was pretty amusing, far from the feats of dexterity she used to perform.
Finally, she decided to bite the bullet, letting go of her support. She reminded herself each step, to take it slow. The joints seemed most affected, almost like having arthritis, but the pain was minimal, more or less comparable to the day after a workout. Tensing up muscles, exhaustion and such. And so, with each step, more and more V could tell this was no sunny California, hell, not even the US of A. Commie blocks surrounded a muddy, pot-holed-filled road, rusting cars and trash cans on one side, the other a pavement with no more than three warmly dressed passers-by coming or leaving home. Those ugly soot-covered apartments were strictly utilitarian, had heating pipes built onto the side of them, few windows, a balcony for each pad, and a roof as storage. She had once made a brief visit to Vladivostok a year or two back on her counter-intel tour. Different world back then. That was it; her knowledge of the USSR ended there. V wasn't too sure what to make of it; no wonder she felt foreign in more ways than one.
The street was straight, from left to right, and so V couldn't see a lot more than the building in front of her and those flanking it. The town seemed a grid, very artificially constructed. There was, in the sky, this huge aerodyne-looking craft, descending slowly a fair distance away from town. Aerodynes don't fly that high. Was her obvious observation, nor were they so large.
V rested on Anatoly's chair; she once again stretched her legs outwards. They got a bit sore from her waddle. Other than that, it was about practice. Speaking of which, she could see Anatoly from the corner of her eye, leaning against the counter, bobbing his head and fondling something in his hand.
"OK," she sighed, taking slow, deliberate breaths, "time to catch up."
She dragged herself off the recliner, trying to walk normally. Whenever she made her leg take another step, it felt like walking on glue, always harder to push forward. She made it past her bed, the room she slept in connected directly to the kitchen room. There were only two doors, one with locks directly in front, the one that led to the hallway, and another to her left, possibly the bathroom. The kitchen was small, with a corner counter opposite the bathroom door, there was a table next to the wall for two, cutlery on the side closest to her. Anatoly stood near the counter, mixing something good on an oil pan. He was oblivious, listening to music.
A few baby steps forward, V found out that the kitchen floor was far colder; she borrowed a pair of conveniently placed slippers under the table.
V's legs began to wobble a bit, so she took a seat at the table on a creaky old wooden chair. "Uh, hey."
Anatoly overheard her or the chair and turned his head, doing a double take, plugging out one of his earphones. "Vot ona!"
But then focused on his cooking, promptly turning off the electric stove. He took what seemed like a fish fillet onto a plate, he then reached into a bag of something, it looked like pepper. He sprinkled it lightly and turned around. "Hungry, da? Nu, best food in town."
V didn't have time to respond before a juicy well-done piece of fish landed in front of her nose. The ceramic plate was very old-timey, decorated with blue five-petal flowers arranged into a circle; it was very worn, probably around a century. V was a little worried as not to damage it further.
Anatoly passed her a glass of milk and a fork.
"Thank you." she softly spoke, humbled by the care given by essentially a stranger.
She wasn't entirely sure what to say – other than the grub was superb, restaurant quality, although she'd eat just about anything this moment. While chewing up, she observed Anatoly, who, strangely enough, was wearing reading glasses? Has she gone back in time or what? Anyway, he was polishing metal, a rod-like mechanical part with specific cutouts. He made a point about inspecting it closely, but other than smoothing over it with sandpaper, there wasn't much going on. V finished her plate, faster than she expected herself to. Must've been really hungry.
Anatoly eventually noticed her sitting quietly and placed it away in a drawer, and glanced over to her. "Good?"
"Great," she cleared her throat. "Thanks again."
"Ah, no problem." he waved away.
Anatoly took off his glasses and slowly approached the table. "How you feel?"
He had kind, elderly eyes, and not in the sense that he was old. Must've only been in his mid or early thirties.
"Almost hungover, only not smelling of booze."
Anatoly then took a seat opposite her, "Medicine, it wears off."
"Not sure what you used, excessive for a fever."
He leaned in, staring face to face.
"Not for fever, not fever, side effect."
And here is what V was hoping wouldn't happen. The part where she starts to lose track of things. Her rude awakening, kidnapping for all intents and purposes.
"What do you mean, side effect?" she asked ludicrously.
Anatoly looked none too happy either, scratching himself behind the head, "Can't say yet, sorry. But, you can help by saying what you remember."
Why even mention it?
Not what she wanted to hear exactly. "Death." She answered matter-of-factly.
Pain, suffering. God, not this again.
Anatoly nodded understandingly. "Da, and that is why I can't say much." He raised his finger. "Yet. Know that we were helping. Hmm?"
Helping with what exactly? She wanted nothing more than to scream, to vent frustration at the nearest person. Find some 'Saka scum, and punch him until sparks come flying off.
"I don't understand." V was overcome with emotional stimuli, desperate to control them.
He laughed nervously. "Me too, uh, strange as it sounds."
Backing away, Anatoly reached into his coat, firmly grasping a flask. He flipped over the cover and took a proper swig, likely alcohol. "Opa. We have some time, I know you must have lot of questions, da? I'll try to answer."
Fine, take a breather, focus on what's important, and don't get carried away.
A few good ones popped up in her head
"Where are we?"
"Novoye Baykovo, Sovetskiy Soyuz."
OK, that was easy enough and entirely unhelpful. Smaller things first.
V touched her forehead, a tad warm, not burning up. "How long was I conked out?"
Anatoly hesitated, "Conked?"
"You know, in bed. How long?"
"Oh, some sixteen days." he said nonchalant.
That was a lot of time for some side effect. Forget that part, it did not feel at all she had been lying in bed for so long, something was off.
"Sixteen!?" It was hard to believe, wholly unnatural. "Why the hell so long?"
Anatoly swiveled his head left and right, "Is, exact science I do not comprehend." he shrugged, "Normally people last two to four days in bed, but take week or two before they can walk. In your case, process looks reversed."
"What other people?"
"From, what I call a mind prison."
He was referring to Mikoshi, "Who are you?"
No way was he a corpo; it takes one to know one.
Anatoly leaned back, showing a toothy grin, "Anatoly Shults, simple fisherman."
"Simple fishermen don't speak fluent English."
"Ho-ho! I'm flattered. Learnt English in school and perfected it in career."
V kept her eyes firmly locked on Anatoly, he got the message. "Eh, ex-career," he grunted.
"Go on."
Anatoly pursed his lips, comically looking around as if he wanted to tell the world's biggest secret, and leaned in again, eyes widening, whispering. "Analitik strategicheskoy razvedki, G-R-U. Not field agent." He had a crooked smile after he said that.
V was by no means a history buff, though only cavemen wouldn't recognise what the GRU meant in the Neo-Soviet state. It wasn't good business messing with the law in Night City, doubly so over here. And the GRU were a force to be reckoned with. "Ex, you say."
"Da, long time ago."
A modicum of relief, still ex-spooks still knew how to handle themselves.
"And now?"
"Now, I cannot say more, soon. Sorry, devushko."
While she did not understand much Russian, that term was almost said with a condescending tone.
"Stop calling me that, the names' V."
He stopped smiling, scowling instead, "Vi-, Vee?"
Close enough. "Y-yeah?"
Anatoly couldn't wrap his head around it.
"Strange name... Vee." he huffed.
"V, it's an alias."
Anatoly shook his head.
"It is stupid, you need new name to blend in public. Hmm... Varvara, Varya! Da?"
He gestured his thumb, "Vee, makes you stand out like sore thumb, very American, we don't want attention."
"Fine, whatever, sounds good. Sides, only friends can know my real name."
Anatoly laughed, wagging his finger in her direction, "Ah, sense of humour. Khorosho!"
V relented because frankly, Anatoly was being loads more honest and trustworthy than folk back home. Even for a spook, fisherman, whatever. Strange company she found herself in, familiar even.
"Good, good? What was your career?"
"Merc."
"Hmm, otlichnaya novost', then you might be of use. Any uh, ex-career?"
"Corpo counter-intel."
She wasn't going to spill all of the beans, had to keep some cards close to her chest.
"Kha, suppose I caught big fish, da?"
An unsubtle hint, a new question surfaced to the top, Anatoly was now confirmed to have nothing to do with Arasaka, and that he went without mentioning them once was a minor miracle. The phrase 'specific phenotype' came to mind. She needed a compatible host, something specific. How was she here? All of this was far too sudden, progressing fast.
"Hm, might even turn this around, Vee."
"To be honest, I don't feel much like working, right now."
"No, no. We give you time to process. There is still much to be said, we have barely scratched surface, yes?"
V wholeheartedly agreed, "Yeah, like what year is it?"
Anatoly grimaced and squinted his eyes. "O, Bozhe, ya boyalas' etogo." he croaked. He was hesitant to continue and folded his hands in a widespread praying position. "Nu, no point hiding it. Just on the hallway alone are posters with date."
He rubbed his hands nervously, closing his eyes, his face hardened. "The year, god forgive me, is 2155..."
That wasn't possible, decades under lock and key – those Arasaka bastards, they knew and didn't tell her... anything. All of that – bullshit she went through.
Worthless, meaningless.
Worse than discarded, buried alive, left to rot.
They stole from you, can't say you weren't warned.
V sunk into her chair; she looked away from Anatoly, not really sure what now, where to take it from here. Dread overcame her, like withdrawal symptoms, that empty chest – mood.
"Uh, can't say I know how you feel, but I do understand the shock... Vee? Hey?"
Anatoly's voice became distant, vision blurry, hearing ringing, tinnitus. Her head was heavy, with vertigo; there was – guilt, pent-up rage, and sorrow. 78... 78... that would make her – past a hundred. Everyone she knew too old to remember, possibly dead? Breathing irregular and heart rapid. Blinking back each tear, boiling anger. What has happened to the world, to her? She couldn't bear it anymore; she couldn't pretend everything was fine. The contract, they promised, "Damn it all." V bawled. Collapsing into herself. Did anyone expect Takemura even know what she had been through? Had she told anyone? V balled up on that chair, head buried into her lap, hands wiping away lonely teardrops.
Thinking back to good times, campfires with the Aldecados, rooftop vistas of Night City, the sunken town with Judy. Even those fucking antics with Johnny made her feel better. Why in the world did she trust Arasaka? The stupidest move she could've made. "Fuck." She cursed with gritted teeth.
Feeling a light touch on her shoulder, V was startled by Anatoly, who stepped in front of her, crouching to eye level. "Hey. Let's take walk, take your mind off things. Get some exercise." He had another pair of warm clothes slung over his shoulder, not too dissimilar from his own.
She was looking him straight in the eyes; he had this indescribable aura around him. Plus, he was right, she can't afford to slip back into manic depression. Anything but what she experienced in Mikoshi, V wanted to run away from that, over the mountains, over the damn sea. Ironic that it happened for her.
"Yeah, yeah. Fresh air sounds nice." V said, drying up her eyes in the jumpsuit's sleeve.
If there hadn't been an empathetic soul as Anatoly here – she took comfort that someone cared, even if she's yet to fathom why.
Why did this stranger care about her?
It doesn't matter.
It matters.
The air was downright frigid, every touch of the wind burnt her skin; V felt it even through the coat and thermal clothes she wore. Anatoly explained it was the Okhotsk current flowing in subarctic climate, in winter. They were on an island bellow Kamchatka. At first gibberish, V didn't pay attention in class; geography not her thing. So, Anatoly schooled the 'dumb American.' Facing eastwards was Alaska/Canada, westwards laid the Motherland, and down south, Nippon. He lived in this town, New Baykovo, corporate-owned for local workers, a 'monotown' he called it. Many like it around his country. The owner in question was non-other than SovOil, or its successor if she understood correctly. There was a whole story there, but Anatoly said he'd forgotten the finer details. Today, it is called SovGEn (Soviet General Energetics) or SGE, skin-deep change. But whilst fossil fuels aren't entirely forgone, they have been usurped by better, newer alternatives, thus the name.
V tightened her hood and scarf that she was provided with, veiling her face from the approaching police patrol. They were on foot, slowly gallivanting along the sidewalk.
"Dobryy den' ofitsery." he greeted them.
"Dobryy den', Anatoliy." One of them replied back, he stopped to look at V. "Kto u nas zdes' yest'?"
V didn't have time to react; lucky for her Anatoly stepped in front, "Moya plemyannitsa, ona v gostyakh. Varvara."
"O, ya ponimayu. Chto zh, priyatnogo vam prebyvaniya!" the trenchcoat-wearing policeman waved, continuing to stroll along with his partner who didn't even bother to stop.
"What was that?" V asked once they were far away.
"Friend from work, no worry."
Whatever that meant.
They were returning from a trip to the coast. V was inside her head for most of it; Anatoly merely kept her company, an understandable silence developed between them until she was asked where she was from. What followed was Anatoly giving her lectures about geography, he was pleasant to listen to, had an almost grandfatherly tone, his presence was similar.
The next subject was the condition the Soviet Union found themselves in; V was hesitant to ask how did it have any bearing on her situation, holding out, maybe he'd have a point near the end. And she didn't want to be rude.
The everlasting USSR found itself in involuntary isolation on the brink of the 22nd century. Sharing a deep and bitter rivalry with Japan, economic ties have managed to prevent all-out war. The ECC maintains cautious trade but, outside of that, continues to maintain distance; the NUSA looks to its neighbours for relations. China is often a reluctant ally of India. Soviet southern borders are filled to the brim with Salafist extremists, whilst Moldova has entirely dissolved into chaos, spilling crime over the Black Sea. The Russian Far East – the area Anatoly lives in – is having huge funds funnelled its way. For unknown purposes, unknown sources. This is where Anatoly and the organisation he's a part of comes in. 'Nezavisimaya Sborka,' the Independent Assembly, an underground, secretive Soviet society, tasking itself with investigating government and company politics/strategies.
"Never heard of it."
Anatoly cheekily patted her on the back, "Is OK, most never have."
Anatoly claims a noble goal, stop the misuse of modern technology. Members include people like himself all the way to representatives in the Supreme Soviets and the Central Committee. Political bodies of the USSR if V understood.
"This is where problem is."
They walked past the bust of a man, covered in snow, the writing was in Russian anyway and she didn't recognise his face. Anatoly looked somewhat longingly at it, drawing out a dramatic pause. "Your release was honest mistake."
She didn't say anything prompting Anatoly took continue.
"We release prisoners, transfer consciousness from server to body. Only our releases are illegal, done to recruit or rescue people who had been trapped in what we collo-coll... blin. Colloquially call, the Cell Program. We are deliberate with our releases, strict rules apply. You were supposed to be in a different holding compartment. And before we realise, boom. We have American on our hands."
Anatoly approached the sculpted stone, wiping away ice and snow off the bust's what she presumed name.
"To uh, elaborate, modified Relic technology is used, operated on license by Altercourse," he spat on the ground, "private prison for – what you call it, engrams. They quote on quote, rehabilitate people. Chertovy zasrantsy!"
He took a deep breath, "I assume you remember your surrounding contract?"
What a contract it was, confinement really was more accurate, "I remember clearly, though sometimes there are only incomprehensible flashes."
"Hmm, the blanks are intentional, we had to block them. Anyway, engrams were considered property and that loophole never changed."
Hold the phone, blocking memories?
"Block my memories?" V wasn't sure what to make of it.
"We have medical expert, living nearby, part of Sborka. You drank powerful sedative. Sofiya used a machine, that's extent of my knowledge – she uses it to manipulate memories, block those that would otherwise cause mental brakedown. Uh, don't worry, the technology is naturally limited as how far it can go. Standard procedure, would not believe the shit some people are forced to experience."
V knew all too well, "Must've missed a spot."
All in all, this miracle machine was a god sent, last thing she wanted were repeats from that place. That's a point; she almost had no detailed recollection from the session she was forced to endure.
"Is not perfect, some memories resurface. But should be mostly okey."
Which blurred a fine line of fiction and reality, V now understood a bit better. "I'm holding you to that."
Apparently, Anatoly was once a brief visitor and volunteered to help people recover from their 'visits.' He had first-hand experience within the Cell Program, short as it was. Time inside continuously adapts to the eye of the beholder; V indeed didn't feel like an eternity had gone by. Well, it had.
They began walking back towards the apartments when Anatoly dropped a doozy on her.
"Oh, vnesolnechnyy, uh, travel."
"Say what?"
"All major nations already have major colonies, warships, go beyond solar system." He said, imitating a rocket with wooshing noises.
Today, 28th December 2155, humanity was expanding beyond the stars, or the corporations were. The underclasses had to sign stringent contracts that left them near powerless should they choose to leave Earth; still it was considered a privilege. Neighbouring systems were already explored and settled, current human frontier laid a rough 100+ ly outwards from Earth and expanding at an increasing pace. Even with this surface knowledge, V was amazed at just what a far-flung future she had arrived in. Managed to still seem as if nothing had changed, corpos still at the wheel for one.
Anatoly was sombrely walking alongside her, mirroring her sentiment, scoffing and shaking his head in disappointment.
A few sunbeams bounced off the icy surfaces of the surrounding mountains, reflecting directly into V's eyes. She could see the clouds streak across the sky rapidly, and a gust of wind slammed into her rosy red frozen cheeks. How could these people live in such conditions, V wondered.
On the way back, she spotted a disused cork bulletin board cased in glass, which had a large spider-web crack in the middle. Despite it, she saw a relatively new poster on recycled paper, an artistically hand-drawn face of a woman, a portrait from head to shoulders. She had large striking eyes gazing forward, an oval head and almost faint sino-european features with a short haircut. Directly underneath the drawing, black on red, was a written paragraph, and slightly above, one complete sentence, all in Cyrillic, unsurprisingly. Anatoly realised V had stopped and traced back his steps.
"She looks pretty." he noted, smiling the same way as the portrait.
"Who is she?"
Anatoly sighed, "Personification. I don't recognise her, but the speech I know."
"Where from?"
"Radio, it was given by politician from Belarus', a woman no one had heard of before, a lower house politician if I remember. It is believed she ran or had ambition for Supreme Soviet, enjoyed huge public support for speaking her mind, when none else would. She disappeared day before election, poof. People rioted a few days, but were violently suppressed. Her statements, far and few in between as were... nu, they live to this day. The event happened some 18 years ago."
"Oh, what she say?" asked V innocently.
Stepping closer to the bulletin, Anatoly squinted.
"Uh, one moment."
He adjusted to the distance and distortion caused by the crack, "Ah, her most famous speech. She appeals to tradition, external and internal threats... Can't translate word for word, my angliyskiy not good as it used to."
"You're doing a better job than I would."
"Khe, khe, verno!"
Anatoly resumed his stride and V caught up. Apparently, because the soviet media avoided her like the plague, very little footage exists of her. Therefore there are many posters of what people assume her likeness to be. Most imagine a fair maiden, a youthful woman (a devushka), others a stern and fair mother. The portrait variations are wild, with always the same universal speeches she gave. Natasha – as some dubbed her – became the portrayal of the broad discontent felt by the Slavic nations. Her believers claim she would've won the Belorussian Supreme Soviet, and that SovOil prevented that by either assassination or kidnapping. SovOil had a clear MO since time immemorial, prevent destabilising forces. However, theories fell flat, body was never found, truthfully chances of such a person existing are slim at best, at least Sborka analysis suggested. Anatoly explained his organisation could never find adequate evidence and adopted a stance that it was nothing more than a psychological operation focused on demoralisation, another honeypot designed to lure out the anti-regime population, nevertheless, the sentiment obviously lingers onto this day. Proven by the reoccurring image of Natasha. Short term, it was a success across the board for the status quo. In the long term, this would empower the Sborka, who closely monitored similar attempts, training their members to recognise them.
"Heard her speech live once. Long story short, it led me to Sbroka, then recruitment." Anatoly was a living example.
V didn't ever think much of the outside world of Night City; the odd exception was her run-in with the Aldecados, which made her question everything.
"Vee, we don't really have much in the way, of a file?" Anatoly hesitated, "No, bad wording. I don't know much about you. Could you tell me – why exactly were you locked up?"
There was a motive there; Anatoly wasn't hiding it. But, she was showered with information, essentially for free, and felt bad not to give some back.
"Meaning to tell me you don't already know?"
"We found an old Arasaka contract, we know you're from Night City, but that just makes it more suspicious. Back then V, not anyone could afford Relic technology, Altercourse hadn't existed even."
Anatoly was piecing the puzzle together, but if her name meant nothing already, then so much more must've happened back home. V opted to continue her low profile until she was confident enough to change that.
"Night City, chewed me out. I had a job that gone south. Had to seek professional help the streets couldn't provide."
Anatoly wasn't buying it. "Don't have to tell me outright Vee, might even be better to leave past in the past, da?"
"Then why ask?"
"Nature of job, uhm, need something to report. You understand."
He suddenly snapped his fingers, "Oh, I must show you something. Let's go home." He said, resuming their trip back.
V silently followed.
A car passed them, traveling at a slow speed. Splashing water from a dirty puddle over the pavement in front of them. V avoided the muddied area and continued on, glancing over at the run-down, low-rise communal apartments. Pitiful, drab, and gray was their best description; seeing them up close, inside or outside, made no difference. It baffled her how such an old concept still stood today, even more so with how little regard people held them, barely investing in modern housing tech.
Night City had higher standards than this.
As they ventured deeper into the apartment grids, the vibe became destitute. The oppressive architecture felt like the walls were closing in on her, shadows of people watching from the windows, peeking through curtains. V thought that they must've been designed to completely sap the life out of their residents; she hadn't met anyone who greeted them, or glanced at them. Every resident avoided eye contact, few crossed the streets just to avoid walking past, unlike NC, where people were shoulder to shoulder constantly.
It was an alien world, for sure.
"Hey! Where you going?" Anatoly called out.
V turned around; he was pointing at one of the blocks. "Home over here! Kha, kha, kha." He chuckled loudly.
Like she said, all the same.
V crossed to the road, not bothering to look both ways, dodging the pothole minefield and skipping over an iced-over puddle.
"See your energy is back." He noted.
She did believe that finally, the body had healed, or more accurately, she had gotten accustomed to a new body. "The great outdoors did me a service."
"Nu, there'll be plenty more opportunities, you'll see."
Anatoly stood next to the door; he reached into his pockets for a chip to open the door. But instead of sliding open, the panel bleeped; he tried again, with no success. Anatoly wrinkled his nose, placing his hand on the door, he pushed it gently and it lazily drifted agape. "Chert." He wasted no time and whipped out his piece from under his coat. A blocky, hefty-looking high-calibre handgun. Entering the lobby, he scanned the corners, cleared the stairs, and checked the attic door that was shut tight. "Blood on railing." V quietly joined, and Anatoly advanced up the stairs.
There was a torn piece of grey fabric on the very first step, dark red blood covered the left side railing, dripping down onto the floor. Muddy bootprints were all over the place, with melted snow on each individual stair.
Anatoly glared down the upper floor corridor, gun at the ready. "Empty."
V came up behind him, "Know how to use?" He whispered, handing her a sharp folding knife.
"Of course." She proudly stated.
"Hmm, stay quiet, follow." Anatoly raised his weapon and began slowly advancing up the stairs.
Title: Kino – Gost'
Example: "Natasha" (prnt. sc/eyUWCSpLF24d, temp. link because FF likes making life hard, everything will be stored on profile page)
Exposition, have to cram it in somewhere, somehow. As for episode size, let's say a 3000-5000 word count standard. Don't want word salads nor barren chapters. It needs to be said, I'm planning, planning, planning. Whimsy can only take me so far.
Oh, and appreciate the interest/patience.