The rain came down heavy. The people in the streets hurried to clear the dead out of the open before scurrying back indoors. The cobblestones lining the footpaths quickly turned slick. The two young officers broke into a run.
"Here, Ivana, this looks like a good place," the man said to his female colleague as they stopped in the doorway of the local pub. The woman pushed open the door. The pub was nearly empty, the few patrons inside more interested in their drink than the present company. Well, it is about seven in the evening on a Tuesday, the man thought. It was dimly lit by a handful of oil lamps dotted at each table. Not very functional, but it gave an atmosphere. Ivana tapped him on the arm and gestured to a booth in a corner of the bar. They both removed the caps from their heads and sat down facing each other. The man pulled out a notebook from the inside pocket of his jacket, flipping it open, before clicking a pen.
"Well, what did you make of that?" Ivana started. She lowered her voice. "Do you think he might be one of us?"
"Certainly looks like it. A regular schoolboy his size and age certainly wouldn't have been able to lift that rubble. He seemed to have caught a vibe about us as well. Oh and, 'one of us'? You make us sound like aliens or something, Ivana," he chortled.
"So, abnormal muscle strength and possible threat perception. This one's definitely looking promising. Now, we just need to find out who he is and talk to him."
A waiter walked over to their booth. "Now then, can I get anything for you, sirs?"
"Nothing for me, thank you," Ivana answered.
"Ah, I'll have a small Stolichnaya, please."
"Marin! We're on the job!"
"Oh lighten up, I said only a small one," he responded as the waiter went over to the bar.
She sighed. "Well, that jeweller he dragged out seemed to know him. We should start by asking him."
"Mm-hm. Failing that, we can simply scout out the local school and ask for student records. Not like we're trying to be especially discreet about this."
"I hope we're right about this one. If we are…this will be the eighth one we've found in Orussia alone. Aside from you, of course."
"I can only imagine how many more of them are going to awaken around the rest of the world. Remember, one of them is a refugee from Hispania, and another is a Mongol."
The waiter returned with Marin's drink. "Here you are, sir."
"Spasiba."
"I'm telling ya, that stuff's gonna kill you early."
"Ah, who wants to live forever?" He asked as he took a swig from the bottle.
Ilya fumbled with the key to the front door of the red brick building in the half light, as the rain soaked through his coat. He turned in the lock and pushed the door open. To his surprise his father was still at his work counter, speaking with Mr. Voronin, the manager of the grocery shop. His father looked at him.
"Ilya! What kept you so long, it's past seven o'clock already and they gave the all clear an hour ago!"
"Sorry papa, I got caught up in some of the cleaning up in main street." Well, he wasn't lying. His father shook his head.
"Well, go on upstairs. I'll be up to you shortly." The two were obviously discussing something. Ilya climbed the stairs and went to his room. He pulled off his overcoat, hanging it on the chair that was slid beneath his desk, before kicking off his shoes. He collapsed onto his bed.
The day's events worried him. First, there was that…he didn't know what to call it… 'sensation', that he felt in the bomb shelter. The thing that really worried him was that that wasn't the first time it had happened. The last time there was an air raid, about two weeks ago, during class time, it happened. He nearly collapsed in front of his entire class. The cherniy were attacking the harbour that time, and he could see it happening, even though he was on the other side of the town. He came to only when they retreated back to the sea, as well.
Then, there was the thing with the two officers at the jeweller's. They watched him lift almost a tonne of rubble by himself. He sighed. After all the times his dad had told him to keep it hidden.
Very little about his life had been making sense in the past two years. First, he suddenly noticed that he was strong. Very strong. As in, he could lift things a lumberjack probably wouldn't be able to. Not to mention, he had ran flat out back to his house for ten minutes, and when he reached the door, he wasn't out of breath in the slightest. His father knew. He told him to keep it under wraps, said he would be outcast.
"People fear what they don't know or understand, Ilya." The words echoed in his head.
Then, last year, the cherniy started coming. The locals first thought that the west were attacking. The truth was far worse. They kept coming from the Black Sea, always attacking the harbour and the army barracks. Apparently they were attacking Gelendzhik, a town to the south, as well. He had read a newspaper report about it a few months ago. The military were calling them the 'Neuroi.' They were attacking all over the world apparently; Paris had been completely turned to rubble in the space of a day.
The rain hammered against the glass of his bedroom window. He closed the curtains on it, before flicking on the lamp on his desk, bathing the room in a soft, soothing glow. Deciding to not pay too much mind to the day's events, he sat down and tried his best to finish off his schoolwork. At around half past eight, he decided to catch an early night.
"Well then, what have you got?" Marin asked, the next morning, as Ivana opened her notebook. She was sitting across the desk from him, in the officer's mess of the Novorossiysk barracks.
"Ilya Litvyak, born 27th of April, 1927. His father, Boris, is the local watchmaker here. His mother, Olga, died of illness in 1930. No siblings. Academics are above average, shows a particular interest in languages and history, as well as military aviation. He's known to be quite athletic compared to most of his schoolmates, no interest in sports though."
"Excellent digging, as always, Major Kozhedub," Marin replied.
Ivana leaned back in her chair. "Now then, how do you propose that we approach him?"
Marin's response rolled off of his tongue.
"He rescued that jeweller, didn't he? Why, he deserves to be recognised for such a heroic act! I say we make it our business to see to it that this young man is rightfully commended for his display. In fact, I do believe that he is a prime candidate for a new, elite military unit. Our empire is in dire need of youth with such courage and moral direction, is it not?"
Ivana smirked wryly. "Smooth bastard."