#blizzardrush

Everything had been so black and white before.

The mission was clear, the enemy was clear. In a few short months all of that had changed. What was once black and white was now a moral slurry of grey tainted in crimson.

For the love and loyalty of one’s country, for revenge, for self-preservation, for hope or for plain selfishness. What motivated men and women alike existed on a spectrum; declaring one’s actions as incorrect was more of an opinion rather than fact, as it played out.

Fresh conflict had left muscles sore and spent. Anything remotely resembling a bastu was enough to convince a certain Scandinavian to become a patron. Upon arriving, Lars didn’t voice his honesty—how he hadn’t expected Sergei to be the one occupying the heated space. Any mild surprise he usually brushed off with sarcasm or humour, the greeting blurted from him as he sat down.

He imagined anyone else catching a glimpse would have had their heart in their throat. Secluded with the White Angel of Death? No wonder the reservations were empty.

To Lars though, the scene put the taciturn soldier in a more…human light, so to speak. This wasn’t the battlefield; they weren’t surrounded by the chaos and smell of gunpowder they were used to. Uniforms and armour were traded for bathrobes and towels. It was a place of repose, and among the scant info he had on Dragunov on a personal level, he knew he wasn’t one to attack out of turn or order.

The offering of victuals seemed to affirm that.

With a quiet acknowledgement of gratitude, Lars helped himself to a sample, adjusting his posture in leisurely fashion so that his left side rested against the wall. He observed the other soldier in silence; not in an analytical or threatening manner, but out of mere curiosity. Sharp features appeared less rigid, less tense and alert as they would have been in combat. Broad, powerful shoulders slack, and inky tresses affixed to perspired skin. A relaxed man, evidently.

The chaw of bread and cured meat served as a makeshift countdown to decide whether or not small talk was a feasible option. Lars swallowed, mostly.

“…You seem different,” the delivery was clement, far from the commandant baritone he’d typically project.

He always had a confident, sure air about him. While it was still very much there, something new had crept in, something familiar but unbecoming when presented on Dragunov.

There was no one in sight, yet even he knew something wasn’t right.  It didn’t take a fool to know when you were being followed.  Yet his only question...was why?  And what the hell did they want?  But either way....this could be fun for him.  Perhaps another hopeless hero trying to take him down, wanting to prove something?  Maybe it was an even better surprise.  

“You gonna come on out, or do I have to come and drag you out myself?”  

Russia was one of June’s best guesses for where she would be sent, it was one of the main languages she was taught. She could’ve been sent anywhere in the world, after all. The cold air oppressed her, kept her in that deep, dark place in her mind, the knowledge that there was no escape.

She figured the best thing to do was to keep her head down, working day and night, not looking anyone in the eye, and of course, not speaking unless spoken to.

This put her in a rather awkward position during what was meant to be a technical demonstration for a weapon she had invented for Captain Sergei Dragunov, who only stared down at her, as she stood perfectly still, remaining totally silent, struggling to begin. She tried opening her mouth once or twice, but was met with a disapproving stare by one of the other soldiers.

The other soldiers, close to Sergei, were snickering at the poor woman, they had not told her Sergei was a man of very, very few words to humiliate her in front of the commanding officer. Her panic starting to rise more and more, as she stood, lips sealed, as she assumed Captain Dragunov was becoming more and more impatient.

“She’s not allowed to speak unless spoken to, sir.” One of them whispered in his ear, trying to hide his laughter. “So she knows her place... There’s no way she’s the super genius they acquired, what a waste.”

°  ♡ –––––   DAMN AND LEI THOUGHT Kazuya and Jin were the serious types. Cold and distant was the best way to describe the father and son duo. Well, Sergei Dragunov is a man that out matches the two half/quarter demons. Once his presents graced the cramped and stuffy Hong Kong police force. Various sounds that were common within the building conversations, typing of keyboards vacates. Heavy boots along with phones ringing echoed inside the station as many of Lei’s colleague’s attention was now on the supercop, who’s cluttered desk was located at the end of the row of all the others.

     SURPRISE, SURPRISE he wasn’t even aware of what was transpiring. A deciduous serving of mouthwatering odong noodles were calling, drawing his focus away from everything happening in the station plus writing reports on an outdated computer. A freshly made noodle didn’t even enter a grumbling stomach before a figure towered over him, causing the hand holding chopsticks with a few noodles in between to halt. Feeling very much like a deer trapped in the headlights.Shit! Every time lunch comes rolling around, something or someone pops in to interrupt such a joyful moment. Hands of fate weren’t too found with Lei.

     EYES THAT WERE ONCE DRAWN to the piping hot lunch, now travel up to the silent man. A mouth opened widely as the two glanced at one another within the silence. The gentleman that Lei Wulong is, he waited for a reply. Silence went on for at least a minute, eyes locked at one another to the point the icy silence grew unbearable and broke it with a sheepish acknowledgment. There was some regret of being the one to speak, maybe he’d be lucky to hear the other utter a single word finally hearing what kind of a voice was there. Most likely deep, but it would make Lei’s day if it was high pitched and squeaky, that would really get a kick out of this eventful day. Falling out of the office chair, laughing uncontrollably like being in a comedy show and not something to be taken seriously.

     ❛ Uhhhh, hey there. If you wanna fight it’s gotta be outside. The department’s not paying for another desk. ❜   Question looming in his mind, ‘why was he here? Of all times to fight or whatever he wanted’. Of course still staying in the position, stomach growling, growing volume. Raven unkempt brow lifts up, praying that a fight doesn’t break out. Bye, bye noodles and half a paycheck. 

DEAR  DIARY          .    .    .

05.     entry made after experiencing heartbreak.

Shinnok was defeated, but the cost is too great to compare. Many have passed, too many, and in return, I too have lost someone: my brother. He is not gone per say, but he may as well be. He wears Shinnok’s amulet now, a trophy upon his chest as a deliberate show of strength and a symbol of intolerance against those who would harm Earthrealm, except this intolerance has become paranoia. The amulet is changing him, yet he refuses to admit this truth. His power has grown considerably, but it is eating away at him: all that he was is crumbling. All that anger and darkness, it feasts upon him, drains him of his true self, replacing it with poisoned attributes he never once shared before. Lust. Greed. This… rage…

It hurts. It hurts to watch him like this. He will not listen to me, to reason. He lashed out at me, accused me of plotting against him and I… I was so taken aback I did not put up a fight… I think this is what saved me from a form of the clutches of death. It was as though he did not recognize me. Perhaps he did not. I was saved from the fatal blow somehow… and I saw, in those carmine eyes, I saw him. He was there, like another entity in his body battling away at this impostor who wears Raiden’s visage. And then that spark was gone… and he left me to tend to my own wounds.

Now he threatens to invade other realms before they may cause Earthrealm damage. Does he not see the harm this would do, not just to our relations but to Earthrealm itself? I must stop him before it is too late. And if he kills me in the process, then so be it but I will not sit idly by while mortals die at his hand over delusions created by Shinnok’s machinations.

I am sorry I was unable to stop this when I could. I know you are still somewhere in there. I will find you. I will bring you home.