#eldritch?

Just a shell of a man

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Please Read the Tags Before Reading.

October 20th, 13:00:00, 1983

Iveshnya had not appeared at the directorate for three days following Sunday, and neither had Dǎi, bar from a few fleeting hours on Monday morning before he silently left the Ministry building. On some level, Deriabin was relived, no longer having to fear the silent wild animal that loomed in the back office like a Siberian tiger. Yet, at the same time, he felt oddly uncomfortable without the presence of the man who so inspired his terror. There was an uncertainty that gripped him, even with his short time at the directorate, with the absence of the official who was so thoroughly in control of it and with the lack of a substitute.

Thankfully, though ironically instantly making Deriabin remember his fear, Iveshnya had returned in the afternoon of the third day. He had suddenly appeared in the doorframe of the room, dressed in a reserved sandy coloured suit, worn over a striped white-brown shirt hung at the neck by a narrow army-style tie. He had walked into the space directly over to Volkov and Slava, as if he had never been absent from the directorate for a moment and began to ask them a few things. As soon as they spotted their supervisor, the employees seemed to bend back into order, both from relief and wariness.

Deriabin glanced up at the man with frightful eyes, smoke tumbling from his mouth as it seemed to run on his wary breath. Despite his sense, his curiosity could not help but wonder what had detained the supervisor for so long, but his appearance didn’t give any clues, remaining entirely non-descript as usual as Deriabin studied him past his stooped shoulder, almost hiding behind it.

… Only, after a moment, he did notice a large bandage covering the back of his left hand, along with the knuckles.

As he stared deeply at the him, Iveshnya glanced at the man, not even turning his head. Deriabin snapped around to avoid his gaze, accidentally long drag of his cigarette which all but burnt it down to a stub, hot ash falling into his lap and singing his black slacks. He kept his head down, only moving to snappily brush the ash to the floor, a slight tear budding in one eye from the pain, afraid to  look up and see if the wild creature had crept up to him. He needn’t have worried.

Deriabin saw Iveshnya leave the room, his bandaged hand held behind his back. At his exit, Deriabin relaxed, removing the remains of his cigarette from his mouth as he grimaced regretting the man’s return already. “I deserve milk for this…”[1] he hissed, grabbing the documents set in front of him and pulling one closer, brushing aside the novel he had brough to read to make room.

“Deserve milk for what?” a voice asked above him, making the rabbit jump, splaying his arms out in front of him and nearly tossing his pen. Zablud turned to look up at Volkov who loomed kindly over him, a warm expression on her terrifying face.

“Ah, eh, uh… N-nothing, I was just thirsty,” he sputtered, stammering before he nervously forced out a response, hemming slightly from embarrassment and fear, the latter only feeding into the former. Volkov looked at him with a passive expression, not letting it show that she could see past his weak lie.

“If you’re thirsty I’m sure there is some orange seltzer down in the cafeteria, its quite nice,” she played along, attempting to invite the man along.

“Ah, no thank you,” Zablud nervously turned her down, putting a hand up in apology as his other moved onto the top document on his desk, “I’ve got a lot of work to get done so I’ll have to pass,” he weakly excused, a strained smile on his face. Volkov nodded, assuming that the man was disinclined to chat she continued on. Zablud nervously watched her leave before turning back to his work. The document rested at the head of the pile instantly made him wary. It was thick, about a hundred pages long with small typeface, eerily neat yet marred by singular block of censorship on the first page. He examined it as if it were a live bomb, seeing that little needed to be done to the document, if anything at all, making his role harder to ascertain. Then, at the final page of the document, stamped over in red ink, was an order for the document to be archived as replacement for some coded file.

                His first though was one of clarity, ‘ah so that’s it,’ his second, of course, was that he had no idea where this archive was located. He looked around for Alek, hoping to ask her, but found that she was nowhere in sight, having left with most of the others for lunch. He gripped the filed under his arm and stood up from his desk, deciding to go and find her, or anyone else who might be able to answer. He couldn’t let any more work pile up.

                As soon as he left the room he felt a chill. “Where are you going, Mr. Deriabin?” Iveshnya asked in a flat tone that clutched at Deriabin’s heart like a rabbit snare. He turned to look up at the man who loomed over him, attempting to calm his expression.

“I wanted to ask Citizen[2] Slava about this document as I don’t quite understand-” he explained, resorting to over-formality out of nerves as Iveshnya held out his hand for the file in question. Nervously Deriabin handed over the document, a defeated look falling over his face before he could stop it. The supervisor scanned over the document quickly, stopping as he came to the last page. He looked down at his subordinate with a sedated expression, seeming to take a moment to decided something in his head.

“Come with me,” he ordered calmly, striding forward with even steps, Deriabin following in his wake, lowering his head out of fear. He was lead down into the depth of the building, sunlight soon becoming unable to reach them as heavy white lights blazed overhead in pithy substitute. Fear began to drown the younger man, pooling around his neck in an inky black-red noose of terror, as his fear suffocated his senses he reached his shaky hands to his pocket and grabbed a cigarette and shoved it into his mouth before lighting it with his presumed killer’s lighter. If he was going to die, he wanted a last smoke.

“Citizen Deriabin,” Iveshnya stated cooly, making the younger man freeze, looking up at the still form of his addresser, “there is no smoking allowed down here,” he finished, tapping a notice on the wall to his side with his unwounded hand.

“A-apologies,” Deriabin answered weakly, snuffing the cigarette between his fingers, his fear snuffing out his pain. Iveshnya didn’t respond and simply continued on down the concrete hallway, the floor made of dark blue linoleum, contrasting with the light grey walls, a tri-colour set of lines that traced the wall on one side. At the end of the short hallway Ivsehnya pushed open a single pair of swinging doors, a digital chime sound off as he did so, holding the door for Deriabin to come through.

He stepped through with some nervousness, believing he may soon be sent off for interrogation for what he did not know. But, as soon as he came past the threshold he saw Volkov stood at the other side of the room near a large cargo elevator surrounded by chain-link fencing. The room itself was made of bare steel, painted army green, almost bomb-proof, the rear of the doors he had stepped through being far thicker than he had thought, covered in heavy locks… Yet Iveshnya had opened them with ease.

The man in question walk towards the elevator, nodding to Volkov as he did. “Excuse me, Comrade Supervisor?” Deriabin asked nervously, trying to steady his voice.

“Yes, Mr. Deriabin?” Iveshnya replied flatly, turning to look back at the man.

“I, I’m afraid I’m rather confused… Could you explain where you are t-taking me?” Deriabin managed to force out, faltering slightly as he finished. Iveshnya studied the man silently.

“As part of your duties, a number of files will be need to be taken to the archive so it is best you know where it is and who to look for to access it. That is why Miss. Volkov is here, as she is a new archivist. I trust that clears things up for you?” Iveshnya finished in a droll tone, monotone exasperation, turning and stepping into the elevator, not needing to gesture for the other two to follow him.

As soon as they were all in the elevator Iveshnya pressed a button on a panel that stood by the rear wall. The doors shunted shut behind them then the whole structure began to descend, Iveshnya still looking straight ahead to the chain-link wall that the panel was attached to staring at the greenish concrete sliding upwards as they descended. The sight was the same for a number of minutes, the space consumed by an undertone of electric motors and grinding gears as the elevator descended.

“How deep is this place?” Deriabin muttered to himself, glancing around nervously.

“A lot of space was needed to store all the files safely,” Ivehsnya answered, the rabbit flinching as he realized he had been heard. Then the concrete fell away, leaving the elevator suspended in the dim open air for a moment before floodlights erupted with heavy mechanical grunts, illuminating the cavernous space. Both Volkov and Deriabin balked at the sight.

The walls were sheer, white faces of salt, the air dry, and suspended in the centre of the space were great suspended buildings, resting on steel supports dug into the clear salt walls, branches diving deeper into tunnels in the salt as the complex sank deeper into the ground than either of the two, even with their impressive sight, could see the bottom almost seeming to fall down straight into nothingness. “Originally, Nizki-Gorod was the site of a salt mine, but it was decided to use the mine as archive space due to it’s protected location and the dry atmosphere prevents damp and keeps the space a good temperature,” Iveshnya continued, unfazed by the sight, in fact glancing up at a group of workmen all stood on one of the higher beams, welding something, sparks falling down before fizzling out. The pair where speechless as the elevator continued to descend, unable to muster up a response to the megastructure that was sat underneath the Ministry building. Eventually the elevator came to a stop level with the entrance corridor of one of the levels, having simply slid past earlier ones. When the doors of both the elevator, this time the side Ivshnya had been facing, and the corridor entrance pulled open a trio of armed guards, all wearing the uniforms of MVD Internal troops[3], though one wore a KGB badge on his lapel to demarcate his position.

They saluted to Iveshnya as he stepped forward, which he returned and which his subordinates mimicked. “The document you are delivering is one this floor, Miss. Volkov will be able to help you with the filing number while Captain Tevlov will escort you,” as he explained this the captain subtly glanced at his supervisor, which Ivehsnya flatly returned, getting a nod in return as Tevlov slung his carbine over his shoulder, beckoning the pair forward while Iveshnya remained in the elevator. He watched them leave as the elevator doors clucked closed and the machine began to re-ascend.

As they walked Tevlov turned back to the pair, “what room does the file need to go?” he asked in a glassy voice, watching the pair carefully with unnerving crystal clear eyes.

“Room Ж-7-5,” Volkov answered quickly while Zablud struggled to understand the stamp, the latter glancing up with a look of both embarrassment and appreciation. Tevlov nodded and led the forward, having to use a card reader as he went between certain wings. The rooms were all painted army green, the floors made of cream linoleum as the walls were lined with thick pipes that covered cables, along with pipes that seemed to run into sprinkler systems. When they cam to the room it bore a humble code designation and not much else, the door held to by a heavy lock that Tevlov briskly unfastened.

The smaller room was filled wall to wall with filing cabinets, along with two rows stood unsupported in the centre of the room. As Zablud stepped in, still uncertain, Volkov tapped him on the shoulder and guided him forward. “Your file is in this particular cabinet, you should be able to figure out the rest,” she encouraged, leaving him in front of a tall cabinet. Zablud gave a slight start, turning back to Volkov with a question but losing the nerve to ask it. He glanced again at he stamp on his file then opened the drawer he thought was correct and dropped the file into it. Not hearing that he had made the wrong choice he turned back, murmuring to himself.

“All this for some files when a computer would save so much…”

“There is one planned,” Tevlov answered, Zablud again jumping as he was heard when he had not wished to be, “but there has been some difficulty supplying the necessary resources while OGAS still has priority, we do have some systems active for more pressing information,” he finished glassily, smiling to the rabbit cheekily the Captain seeming to relax outside of Iveshnya’s presence. Zablud returned the smile, his handsome face for once less crowded by nerves. They were led back to the entrance, Zablud glancing curiously around the site, oddly less unnerved by the armed Captain than his supervisor.

“I hope you both have a good evening, Citizens,” Tevlov bid them as they stepped back into the elevator after it had been called by the two remaining guards.

“And you too, Captain, Comrades,” Volkov retuned, Zablud following her example before the elevator door closed and began its ascent. Zablud watched the complex slip past them as they went, the lower floodlights shutting off as they ascended back up, still stunned by the scale of it. He sunk into though over how much information could be stored here, or whatever else the Soviet government would want to keep hidden.

When the elevator finally came to a stop, the doors opening behind the pair, Volkov turned to Zablud. “Whenever you have any files that need urgent filing, just come find me or leave the file on my desk,” she explained in a formal tone.

“Right, thank you Lyudmila Yurievna,” Zablud thanked, smiling at her as he moved away from her, still unnerved by her appearance.

“Before you go,” she began again, making the smaller man pause, “would you care to join me for a drink?” she asked, confusing the man slightly. “I’m going with Alek, Molcha and Rin and I wondered if you might come as well?” she continued. Initially Zablud felt tempted to turn her down, but with Shigemitsu going, or more succinctly his ride home, he had little choice.

“Of course, that sounds nice,” Zablud agreed, smiling pleasantly at the taller woman. She smiled back in return then told him the details of the meeting, taking place just after work, and that she would meet him after she had finished. Zablud left the room then made his way back through the short concrete passages feeling exhausted already. Thankfully, the rest of the day passed calmly, Zablud ascending back up the stairs to the second floor, placing his final cigarette in his mouth with some worry about making it last. Then as he came to his desk he saw a pack of Soyuz-Apollo cigarettes, the same ones Ivshnya had offered him, laid neatly on the face of the grey and mint-green paperback he had brought in. He looked at the pack with some nervousness as smoke drifted from the smouldering end of his cigarette, glancing around to see if anyone was around to have left it there. He was torn, his discomfort with the situation brokering a solution with his avarice. After a moment’s self-negotiation he picked up the pack and tucked it into his jacket pocket before sitting down to work.

As the day came to a close he spotted Alek and the others get ready to go and, after a moment to steel his nerves, rose to his feet himself and walked over to them. “Good evening, Za!” Alek called as she saw him approach.

“Good evening Miss. Slava,” Zablud kindly returned, flashing a handsome smile on his face.

“Please, call me Alek, now I heard you were going to come with us for dinner?” Alek questioned, an eager yet relaxed expression on her face.

“Yes, that would be correct,” Zablud confirmed amicably, glancing at Shigemitsu as he spoke, the bakeneko not paying him any mind, “though I am curious about where, I was under the impression that most places are not yet fully constructed yet, let alone staffed…” he continued, curiously. Alek gave a light chuckle in response.

“Oh dear soul, your Muscovite is showing. Your correct that nothing official is done as of yet, but you don’t seriously expect that this many people haven’t found some place to sneak a drink in the evening have you?” she teased good naturedly, a warm smile coming across her fox-like features.

After that the quartet led Zablud through the city to the same Cooperative that Shigemitsu was a member of, then walked deep into the complex until they came to a pair of peach-coloured shacks. Outside there was a collection of workers from both the construction sites and the ministry building all gathered on makeshift tables outside them both, men pulling out bottles from the car in the left shack while soup came from an oven built into the right. Zablud looked at the scene with mild surprise, having seen similar sights in Moscow, but was surprised by the number of officials in the crowd. The party sat down at a round table that was free Zablud sat between Alek and Molcha, as soon as they sat down drinks appeared at their table, Alek turning up to the man who served them and thanking him with a sultry smile.

As he imbibed the vodka Zablud reached into his pocket and pulled out a cigarette about to put it to his lips before he paused and turned to Alek, “would you care for a cigarette?” she put a hand up dismissively in response.

“No thank you. My mother always said that the only women who smoke are actors and whores,”[4] Alek replied, unaware that her conversation partner had often shared the company of both. Zablud nodded amicably and lit himself up, offering one to Molcha who also refused, leaving him the only one smoking at the table, sparks seeming to come alive in his mouth while it was still doused with vodka.

The conversation was pleasant, the evening mostly spent with Alek asking the Muscovite news about the city, with a few small discussions with Molcha about the university, the unusual man asking about a few lecturers who were on the brink of retirement, in addition to one that Zablud had heard no mention of. The last individual caused the man to fall into silent thought for a while. Shigemitsu joined in after a few drinks, attempting to match pace with Zablud out of a sense of rivalry the latter quite unaffected even as he surpassed eighteen glasses. The cat, however, came out completely soused. He mumbled pleasantly under his breath, a bemused smile twitching at his lips as he teetered side-to-side occasionally breaking out into melodies of Japanese that collapsed like cherry blossoms into warm reveries and wails of a lost love in an Oni[5]… not that Zablud had much clue what that was. After a while, when the rest of his table was reaching their limit, bar himself and Volkov, they all gave their farewells.

As Shigemitsu attempted to stand, he seemed to forget about his weak leg and collapsed on one side, cursing confusedly as Zablud came over and hefted him up, supporting the staggering cripple as they made their way to his car. “I’m fine, I’m fine… let me get there on my own you stupid rabbit!” Shigemitsu grumbled irately his strong leg buckling under him as he asserted his own self-reliance.

“You can barely stand man, how will you get there, by crawling?” Zablud snapped bitterly before feeling ashamed and trying to calm himself.

“If needs must,” Shigemitsu answered determinedly, as if he was a soldier refusing surrender rather than a drunk refusing help. Zablud ignored his protests and caried on.

“Look, we’re here now so just let me open the door and I’ll take us both home,” Zablud soothed, taking the key from the man and opening the door, the other man disappearing inside while he was not in Zablud’s purchase, the sound of the car’s engine yapping into life before shifting forward rattling the thin metal structure.

“Get in,” Shigemitsu ordered gruffly, jerking with his thumb for the other man to get in the passenger’s side.

“I can’t let you drive! You can barely stand,” Zablud began to insist but Shigemitsu would hear none of it.

“Either get in or you can walk back,” he re-iterated flatly.

“Fine,” the rabbit caved, walking around and getting in the car after shutting the garage door. The drive, against Deriabin’s expectations was fine, with only a few moments of concern as a number of trucks came towards the car. Over the drive, Shigemitsu continued to babble in pining tones, occasionally glancing wistfully in the direction of Zablud, though the latter assumed he was looking out into the evening’s sky beyond.

When they finally reached their destination it was in the depths of night, the only light were the sparsely lit street-lights, leaving the car back-lit as they came to a stop. “…Thank you, Shigemitsu, I’m sorry for doubting you-” Zablud began before his adresse grabbed him by the lapels and pulled him close, kissing him full on the lips the younger man too stunned to pull away until he was released.

“I miss you so dearly, Uoni[6]-Senpai[7]” he whispered softly, staring dull-eyed at the man he likely didn’t recognise, a loving yet mournful expression worn on his face. Zablud was still too stunned to speak, pulled back against the passenger door as the man stared at him with a warm smile until he seemed to no longer recognize whatever dream had occupied him and he fell back into his seat. “Give me a moment… I just need to get my senses then I’ll get out,” he stated calmly, as if the last moment had not occurred, the only proof being the taste on Zablud’s lips and the seconds that had been lost to time.

“Right… yes, of course… C-comrade Shigemitsu,” Zablud answered in an unsteady voice, flustered voice, as he felt behind him to open the passenger door before stepping out and shutting it, leaving the foreigner in the car as he made his way to his apartment building attempting to settle himself.    

[1] In the Soviet Union, for jobs that were considered dangerous or harmful to your health, such as a paint sprayer, miner, machinist or otherwise, you were given free milk at lunch, contained in triangular cartons. So, the expression arose that, if a job was considered hard or unpleasant a Soviet citizen might say ‘I deserve milk for this…’ and an exclamation of complaint.

[2] A common form of address in the Soviet Union. It was often used by soldiers or police officers referring to civilians or a more distanced term than Comrade.

[3] Paramilitary forces, equivalent to French or German Gendarmerie, under the authority of the MVD. They were frequently used to put down unrest and were the decadents of the Checka and NKVD internal troops. Were a separate force to the border troops under MVD control.   

[4] Despite the high level of smoking among the male Soviet population, it was generally frowned upon by society for women to smoke, indeed the only people who were seen smoking in public were often actors and those in the sex trade. They were by no means the only women who smoked.  

[5] 鬼. Similar to a troll or ogre in western myth, Oni are a type of  yōkai in Japanese folklore. There are multiple different types, with various manners and personalities and stories.  

[6] 羽鬼

[7] A Japanese honorific used to refer to one’s senior in work or education.

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