The Young and Stupid
AN: The material of Grand Theft Auto, including the characters of this story, is not mine, I didn't create it, I don't own Rockstar property, etc.
Chapter 2 – Rabas
Niko's mother, Milica, placed two bowls of bran cereal on an oak table, one for Niko, and his older brother Aleksandar. She listened a moment to the radio, which reported an organization of armed response to Bosnia's recent declaration of independence. She clucked her tongue and turned the radio off.
"Mother?" Aleksandar asked. "Spoon?"
"Oh, sorry Alek," she said, and hurried to get them each a spoon, fishing through a wooden cabinet full of aged dishes and various other dinnerware. Besides the kitchen, the Bellic residence, being a low-income rural house in the farming community of Rabas, had only four other rooms: a bedroom for the widowed Mrs. Bellic, another for the two boys, one bathroom, and a modest living room.
Aleksandar, now 19 years old, had left the house a year earlier to pursue an education, but amid the political chaos, and the drink-induced death of his father, Karmalaf Bellic, he decided to return home and work the Bellic's land, supporting his mother and little brother, who was younger by two years. It was not the happiest situation for the family, but they were suddenly able to enjoy life better in the absence of Karmalaf, a fact for which they all felt a bit guilty.
Karmalaf, though a good worker throughout his life, had become a slave to the bottle, drinking endlessly. In his nearly perpetual drunken stupor, he would beat every member of the family, sometimes to the point where his chosen victim was knocked unconscious. Once he became old enough, Aleksandar began to fight his father once he became violent. The fights became increasingly frequent and violent, and at the urging of his mother, Aleksandar left the home the day he became 18. With no opposition to his ways, Karmalaf's drinking habits deepened even further until, one morning, Milica found him in his field in a puddle of his own vomit, dead. That had been three months ago, at the opening of 1992. Now, the remainder of the family was reunited, though the circumstances left some to be desired.
The Bellic brothers had inherited their father's appearance, and looked nearly identical, save for Aleksandar's more mature physical build, facial hair, and Niko's darker, mid-length hair. Besides this, they both were unmistakably Karmalaf's sons, though neither carried a bottle of vodka as if it were a newborn.
They both ate in silence as Milica scrubbed dishes clean in the sink. Once they were both finished, Aleksandar stood up and walked into the room that he and Niko were once again sharing.
"Nikolai," he called from inside. "Get your boots on." Niko groaned. This meant more farm work. He was used to the work, and knew the value of work, but the workload had doubled since the passing
of their father, and it was strenuous labor, without a doubt. He seated himself on a handcrafted bench beside the front door. He began pulling on his worn leather boots, and was in the process of lacing them when there was a knock at the door. Niko stood to answer the knock, but before he could lay hand on the knob, the door opened, nearly hitting him as it swung open. He stepped back in surprise.
In walked a man in a green Yugoslavian Army captain's uniform, his cap underneath his crooked arm. Behind him came two standard soldiers, each shouldered with AK-47s. Niko's mother gasped in shock and covered her mouth while quickly shutting off the running water.
Aleksandar quickly entered the kitchen after hearing the noise. The captain lifted a halting hand to him, and he stopped, partly in surprise at the situation.
"Karmalaf Bellic?" the captain demanded of Aleksandar. Aleksandar responded promptly.
"No sir, my father. He died three months ago."
"Your name, and how old are you?" the captain snapped.
"Aleksandar Bellic," he replied. "Nineteen years, sir." The captain looked him up and down a moment before making a hand gesture to his two men.
"You're coming with us, Aleksandar Bellic. Now," he said forcefully. Milica began to protest.
"Where are you taking him?! What are you doing with him!" She cried impulsively.
"Silence, woman!" The captain hissed. Niko's mother quieted, but tears welled in her dark eyes. He seemed to consider something for a moment before speaking.
"Bosnia and Herzegovina have declared independence from Yugoslavia." The captain began. "President Milosevic has ordered that the rebellion be crushed. Your son is joining the army in this noble task, do not object, be proud." Her hands again came to her mouth, and a tear escaped each of her eyes, but she kept silent. The captain was about to have his guards take Aleksandar, but he stopped, turning to Niko, sizing him up.
"You?" he asked.
"Nikolai," he said simply. The captain's jaw stiffened; Niko realized his mistake.
"Nikolai, sir," He corrected. The captain nodded approvingly.
"How old are you?" the captain asked.
"Seventeen, sir," he replied nervously. He didn't like the direction this was going and he resisted the urge to start fidgeting or shifting about. The captain pondered a minute in silence.
"Alright," he said to the guards. "Him too."
"What!" his mother shrieked, and rushed over, grabbing Niko in her arms. She continued her frenzied screams. "No! He's not old enough! You heard, seventeen!"
Without a word, the captain raised his hand and backhanded Milica, tearing her free of Niko, who was on the verge of panic. Aleksandar lunged with a shout, grabbing the inside of the captain's collar with one hand, raising the other in a fist. With lightning speed, Aleksandar struck him twice in the face, breaking his nose. The captain's guards moved to beat Aleksandar down, but Alek reached back, grabbing the handle of a vegetable knife. The guards hurriedly raised their rifles and fired.
Aleksandar seemed to dance as bullets took him through his torso, his arms bouncing out to either side as he staggered backwards onto the kitchen counter, spattered with his blood. The men stopped firing, and Aleksandar slid down the counter, trying to find a grip as blood oozed out of his mouth. Niko's mother was shrieking hysterically, drowning out screams from outside which had resulted from the gunfire.
Niko stood frozen as his mother scurried over, screaming frantically and clutching Aleksandar's face in her hands. He was already dead, his hand locked in a deathgrip on the knife.
"Goddammit!" the captain spat, holding a hand under his bleeding nose. "Dog shit!" he yelled, and spat on Aleksandar as his hysterical mother clutched her son's body to her own, bloodying her blouse.
"Fuck!" The captain spat again. "We were supposed to do this quietly! Grab him, let's go!" The guard nearest Niko moved towards him. Niko awoke from his stupor, and instinctively punched the guard at the base of his jaw. The guard yelled in pain as Niko attacked him, punching and yelling gibberish. The other guard knocked him on the forehead with the butt of his rifle, rendering Niko only partially conscious. The two guards roughly dragged him outside to a 70's issue army transport truck, into which they roughly threw him. Niko, head swimming tried to push himself up amid other young men from the surrounding area. The truck roared to life and began driving away.
As they began to pick up speed, Niko heard his mother again, screaming with the same intensity. He struggled, pulling himself onto the truck's tailgate. His mother was trotting behind the truck, one hand outstretched, the other clenched to her blood-soaked bosom. The truck accelerated, and Niko saw his mother collapse to her knees, screaming and pulling her hair.
It was the last thing he saw before he lost consciousness.