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Chapter Text

Beginning of Part 1 

Azazel could only hear the low thrum of chatter amongst the gathered crowd, not even glimpse a face, and he imagined that the likely glowing room was as gloomy as the blank grey space his broken optic nerves fed to his brain. The indistinct sound echoed around his head relentlessly. A small motif arose from the faded background noise, the trickling of forced, polite laughter. Once he would have smiled at that. Vocal cords continued to be plucked, forced into a completely discordant melody. The layers of noise built up.

Was someone shouting? He knew about the hushed creeping footsteps in the corridors at night, even though blindness had not sharpened his hearing and had just left him stumbling and vulnerable. Chatter rose into a crescendo once again. It was loud. The old man almost raised a hand, to swipe away the insistent bussing of the crowd, but he thought the better of it.

The Head of Education's leitmotif of tinkling laughter graced the bubble of sound again, louder this time. She wouldn't be laughing much more tonight. A pulse came into play, the solemn and half-sarcastic clapping of an experienced politician. Above all this, conversation rose, polite conversation about the weather conducted in respectful lowered tones. How conversations of this sort had persisted even after weather had ceased and been only imitated by machines did not amaze him. Smalltalk will find a way. The shouting ceased. Azazel rose for his cadenza, and silence. Not even a diminuendo, blessed and crushing silence. He took in one last quivering breath before he began,

"It has been almost thirty years since the establishment of our great regime. I stand proudly for our anniversary surrounded by old friends and new." -keep positive so they remember it positively, address them personal to appeal to their sense of camaraderie- "It has been a good thirty years, and we have accomplished more than we could have ever expected." - keep it vague when real statistics cannot suffice- "We have brought back society from the brink of the Environmental Collapse, established order." -only at the cost of almost the biggest bloodshed ever, no, don’t think that- "Never in history has anyone come this close to total financial and social equality." -make them feel like they have achieved something, inspire them- "In the words of our old culture, we live in a utopia." -lie.

"It is only natural that after such roaring successes we encounter slight difficulties. One such issue has risen to the forefront today, what should be done with our children? How should they be prepared for work, educated and treated?" -tricolon, makes it easier to remember- "I think you will all agree that the current system needs a change." -pressure them into agreeing with you like it's their only choice- "Which is why we must now achieve what the Party has always strived for, purity. Only in a state like that can we hope to maintain this current level of success." -lie.

"We find at times like these, that sacrifices are needed for us to evolve." –lie. He could make himself believe that it was true if he tried hard enough. he didn’t.

Azazel raised a hand, the signal for the Head of Education to be removed. Without the formalities of his brief address it could have been done quietly, but he needed to show everyone that they were dispensable. Or he was growing bitterer in his old age.

By now there should have been sharp footsteps, a short screech (just from her, the others wouldn't dare) and the tinkling of a champagne glass breaking on the floor. It would reminisce of her laugh, and the composition would be perfect. But there was no action, he looked around, confused. Then the steps sounded. He was still uneasy, and more so when they came towards him.

There was a sharp prick in his neck which jolted him into unconsciousness. It was as though someone had slammed the lid of a piano shut, trapping his fingers within in a painful crush of unexpected notes.

Everything faded and he did not fight the blackness, but rather sank into it with all of the dignity he could maintain.

Chapter Text

Chapter 1: No

Mirek Abendroth was tired, but the purposelessness of everything hurt him more. So he gathered his strength and asked an old question. A repeated question.

“Do you have any fresh stock?”

“I’ll tell you what I told you all the other times, I haven’t had anything new delivered since before the collapse.” She looked like she was about to tell him to leave, but then her approach changed to one of curiosity abruptly, “Why do you keep asking, anyway?”

That caught Mirek off-guard. Why did he, as one of the freshly homeless, feel the need to pace this deteriorating city and catalogue the food shortages mentally? He didn’t even have anyone he could tell his results to. But he knew, really, that it was this itch, brewing within him, driving him to restless and futile action.

“I want to do something. I can’t bear not knowing whether Berlin will survive this, so I’m checking the effectiveness of the vault food system.” It was a reason; it might have even been his.

“Don’t you remember the news a few months ago? The vault is fucked.”

“I wasn’t here a few months ago. I arrived two weeks back, I intended on staying for a year to study languages.”

“Good timing. Well the vault was all set to be ready in two years from now. So it’s fucked.” She concluded thoughtfully. “Where are you from then?”

He didn’t want her pity. But he was too exhausted to lie. “Poland.”

“My condolences.” Everyone was sorry. The world was dying and everyone handed out regret for fucking Poland, his dead homeland. “Your German is excellent.”

“My father was German and I was studying languages,” he repeated, “German and Russian. My Russian didn’t get far, though…” he looked at his hands. Why was he talking to this woman? “I wish I could change something.”

The words were quiet and private, but she heard them anyway.

“Well…” she hesitated. “I’m not supposed to tell you, but seeing you walking these streets all day does show resolve and it’s… haunting. People have talked about you.”

“What?”

“There’s a political forum in the basement at sunset. Underground, hush-hush, so don’t go telling everyone on your rounds. But I’m extending you an invite, because we’re supposed to be recruiting and Alyosha gets frustrated with what he calls the inner stagnation of the Party. He wants fresh opinions, new members.”

“I’d like to go,” he said softly. Better than another night sleeping alone amongst the living dead shapeless bundles of refugees on the streets. He didn’t mind the smell as much as the aura of hopelessness and resignation to starvation. And a chance to do something, with the right people he might actually have an impact.

“Good. I’ll need your name to add to the list..?”

“It’s Mirek,” she looked at him expectantly, “-Abendroth.”

“I’m Lisbeth.”

He wasn’t quite sure what to say, so he nodded to her and left. She watched him until he was out of the door and into the cold. It was strange that considering the way that the earth was now dry and scorched it could still be so cold inside. The glanced upwards, but the Dome was a pale grey colour. There had been plans for selling its advertising space, but now there were power shortages that no one had seemed to anticipate.

He tried not to think about how he would never see the sky again, after a childhood in the open, an adulthood with at least patches of sky, perhaps grey but naked. Maybe if they survived this there would be a natural sky simulator, one of what it looked like in the old pictures. He used to think that the sky looked like that elsewhere at special times, that the photographers had been lucky; it had been a blow to learn that the beauty existed only in the past.

There was only one time he had seen it vibrant, and that had been when everyone saw the flames scratch their way across the atmosphere, but it had been beautiful. It felt like more of a phoenix than another mushroom cloud. But there was no rebirth and only the widest brief death and then the slow coughing, shuddering of the remaining cities.

Mirek felt absurd, unnecessary, and unhelpful as he took his census of each decrepit street stall. There had been no new supplies in three days so far. He still approached the next one, a greasy makeshift hut of corrugated iron with an extended queue and joined it. The people in it looked pained, those on the sides were more morose or defeated.

It progressed slowly as people tried separately to extend the worth of what little they had. He glimpsed glimmering valuables declined (what use were they as the world ended?) and a few candles or bars of soap grudgingly accepted for bowls of broth. The simmering cauldron burned his nostrils with a foul stench of sludge. He saw them add book glue, tree bark, paper, sawdust, rotting potatoes…

He searched his pockets desperately for something to trade, his hunger crawled within him and fought his stomach protesting at these substances he would have never before considered eating. There was worthless currency in his pocket that he thought someone might want for scrap metal (although considering the way coins littered the streets he doubted their worth) and some bones with the marrow intact that he had been saving for that night.

“Next. What do you have?”

“Bones. There’s good marrow on these.”

“One bowl.” The man scowled at him. He wondered if Berlin had always been this hostile.

“Fine.” It was an unfair deal but he was hungry and could see meat at the bottom of the outstretched makeshift bowl, woven from what looked like a propaganda poster. “But first, when was the last time you received supplies?”

“Never. Put your bowl over there when you’re done.”

The person behind Mirek pushed him aside and began bartering. He waited for a while in case there was an opening, because there was meat in this soup and it was fresh, he could see that, so if it wasn’t from supplies… oh God. He had known this was happening really, but to see it here-

He gulped down the soup, trying not to think about it, because he was hungry and he hated himself for it. But he threw up afterwards, and left the bowl with the bile on the pile. Someone would probably want to eat that too, and the thought sent him retching into a back alley. I wonder if it’s worse in a siege, he thought absently, because at least you’re against people and you have a purpose. This… this is dying.

-

Lisbeth stood as a sentinel outside the shop, a small slip of a woman with dark short hair and a hostile posture.

“Ah yes, from the shop. Name?” She scowled at Mirek. There was heated talking in the basement, but it was just murmurs at this distance.

“Mirek Abendroth. You invited me.”

“Yes. You’re on the list.” Her tone was resentful. It was slightly bewildering. “Well, go on in.”

He slowly went over to the corner and peered down the trapdoor. It was dim down there – he couldn’t see how many candles, but he was surprised that they could afford any with prices as they were – and there was a thrumming sound of conferring people. He could hear one voice rising and dipping above the rest like a wave, it commanded more authority than the others. Standing there above the hole was peaceful, imagining what lay beneath and hearing it indistinctly from such a distance. There was no pressure but there was presence.

There was a short, purposeful cough behind him. Mirek flinched forwards and began to descend, without looking back to see her standing behind him, probably sighing.

The basement was too small and the people swelled in a mass, standing up shouting or sitting on the floor discussing quietly. Some people shifted to allow him to sit down in a discreet position, but most didn’t even seem to see his entrance. The few candles seemed about to run out. The shared body heat made it sweltering and it stank because water was rationed so no one had bathed since the fall.

“I’m Roland, haven’t seen you around before. First time?” The man next to him asked him conspiratorially. He had a thick accent Mirek couldn’t quite place and a thoroughly foreign beard, growing out of a face that was clearly over sixty.

“Mirek. I haven’t been before, I don’t really know…”

“Ah. Well, see over there,” he pointed to a lean man. Of course, everyone was lean in this climate.

The subject seemed somewhat drawn into himself and he would have instinctively thought of him as shy if it wasn’t for the passionate speech that he pushed from his mouth as an uninterrupted flood. The majority of the people were watching him and hanging onto his words, entranced. Mirek couldn’t quite make them out over the racket.

“That’s Alyosha,” Roland continued, “leader of Equinox, the anarcho-socialist party. You should approach him afterwards and inquire about membership. He seemed interested in recruitment when Lisbeth was talking about you earlier.”

“I… I will.”

He felt out of place here and couldn’t avoid a slight tinge of disillusionment. The forum was disorganized and the political underground nowhere near the formidable force he had considered it before.

“You know, they call him the Last Russian, he’s been quietly encouraging the nickname out of his bottomless well of political astuteness. When you hear it you think of the desert that replaced the world’s largest country, and who could doubt his resolve when everyone knows that he’s in permanent exile?” The older man chuckled. “I’m glad he’s on our side.”

Mirek wished that people could see him with that same tragic respect rather than just receiving endless dispassionate condolences and occasional awkward pity.

He turned his gaze back to the party leader, this time looking more closely. The young man’s eyes were dark, the iris indistinguishable from the pupil in this poor light, and he had dark brown hair that would have been short before the Environmental Collapse but had since fallen into disarray. There was a sense of unnatural alertness that hung around him despite his bruised eye sockets, his body language spoke of anxiety but he still held somewhat surprising gravity and presence, his body stubbornly upright.

Then his eyes turned to Mirek and he walked over, waving off the people who had been listening to him.

“Roland, good to see you. How is the leaflet campaign going? And, ah, I don’t believe we’ve met. Alyosha, leader of Equinox.”

Roland nudged him.

“I’m Mirek Abendroth.” Roland nudged him harder.

But he didn’t want to ask to join a party that he knew nothing about. He was interested in change, yes, but he had to know something about this situation he was involving himself in.

“I’m interested in hearing about Equinox, Mr Demid-”

“This is the one who was asking about food supplies,” Roland interrupted, “he’s interested in membership.”

“Your one-man crusade against corruption is admirable.” Alyosha scrutinized him.

Corruption? He couldn’t think of any corruption, his efforts had been more of an attempt to make himself feel like he was doing something constructive.

“Thanks.” Asking the question he wanted to ask would have not created a kind first impression and Alyosha’s intensity was intimidating. Perhaps he could gently drop a hint to Roland at some point.

“I don’t suppose you could share your findings?”

At this point he noticed that most of the surrounding people were watching their conversation. This was a key moment for him if he wanted a future here, but he still had no idea of what the Party represented. He could recall a vague term Roland had dropped, ‘anarcho-socialist’, but he wasn’t sure how those would combine and he had a poor understanding of anarchy, mostly from government propaganda which did not show it kindly.

That wasn’t important at the moment anyway, because his primary concern was navigating that question. He somehow felt that speaking of what he had seen would be inadequate, that they expected him to pull some statistical chart out of his non-existent pockets and wave some interesting thesis before them, complete with pages of explanation.

“Most places don’t have food, even some licenced shops like this one haven’t had food delivered since the collapse.” He shrugged to buy time, struggling to look calm and recall something else he could throw them. “Some official shops have had food delivered, but only ones in good repair that are in the wealthier areas of the city. Even those last received anything five days ago – the food delivery pattern is irregular anyway.” The surrounding people waited to pounce. He suppressed a shudder and continued with all he could think of, “People are so desperate that they’ve begun to eat anything, even each other.”

No one flinched. No one was surprised. Mirek wondered if he was oversensitive.

“Ah, so you don’t quite have the full picture.” Alyosha’s black eyes were gently mocking, “because the other side of the coin is the corruption permeating the government. The vault was supposed to be ready in two years, but it’s still partially available even with large portions of the crops produced having to be used for seed. Our food is being intercepted by the people supposed to deliver it, and of course each official involved takes a slice, and whatever remains gets handed off to the few shops that receive anything at all.”

They had watched him like they wanted to tear him apart, but they listened to what Alyosha had to say as though they wanted to split it open and devour its substance. There was fanatical devotion here.

“We’re being starved because of our new autocracy, because of an inexperienced government that doesn’t know how to deal with a catastrophe of this scale and instead serves itself through corruption. They won’t give the starving families on the streets food, and right there is cause for our revolution.”

The little speech received a round of applause, although he could see people in the background arguing amongst themselves. Alyosha had turned around to include the group in the talk, but now turned his back on them and back to Mirek. The people begun to dissipate, although a small throng still hung around him. Roland waved at them politely until they at least pretended to be occupied with something else.

“Alyosha, whilst your entourage is flattering they are too easily roused, you know that they could turn against you.” Roland warned, although his tone was kind. “Bad for his ego,” he then whispered to Mirek, although Alyosha seemed to hear him and sighed.

“And how would you exactly eliminate this corruption if you were in power?” The older man continued, “you know as well as I do that it’s almost impossible to regulate. When people are hungry they will steal food, this is the fact and you know it.”

“You could introduce some internal force to regulate it,” Mirek suggested, feeling increasingly out of his depth.

Alyosha laughed and Roland chuckled deeply before explaining with a note of apology, “The food police – perfect. Then you’re just introducing another group to take food before it reaches the shelves. No one’s incorruptible.”

“The government’s attitude towards the corruption is the problem,” Alyosha agreed, “I was thinking of more of a propaganda-oriented approach, some moral condemnation, or even better an overhaul of the food production industry. They may not have the resources to do it entirely, but some reformatting would help. The actual problem here is that they just accept begrudgingly the slow death by starvation of their poorer citizens.”

“Your flair for drama is misinforming your impressionable clique,” the other party member argued, but he didn’t seem particularly insistent or angry, “But anyway, what do you think of Mirek?”

“What did you study? And where?” The focus was back in his voice. He scanned the Polish man briefly and then upon seeing his youth added, “Did you finish your studies?”

“I was on a four year extended foreign languages at Lazarski University, Poland, for two years, I was just coming to Berlin to work abroad to improve my German and raise funds, then I would have done another year at university, a year in Russia working, then my final year. Afterwards I planned to learn English.” He added on the afterthought.

“Ah, so nothing of direct usefulness, but perhaps resourcefulness.” The lack of condolences was refreshing. “What interested you about languages?”

I was good at it seemed like the incorrect answer to give, it was arrogant and made him sound as though he had as little direction in life as he did. But they helped me connect with people just sounded hollow and fake, and it would have been.

“I was interested in translating, and I was good at it.”

“Would you be able to spot patterns in intercepted signals? We’ve intercepted some codes before, but no one has any mathematical experience except for Lisbeth and she’s always occupied. Perhaps linguistic prowess would transfer into encryption.”

Mirek wondered if Alyosha’s brain always transferred information into something actively useful that could be applied straight away, or if he was particularly trying to.

“More importantly,” Roland added, “he’s the fresh opinion which you so desperately crave in order to stop, as you extravagantly term it, ‘the inner stagnation of the Party’, besides he could just do legwork to begin with.”

Something unspoken passed between him and Alyosha. The leader shook his head minutely, but the older man kept staring causing an expression of vague frustration to cross the younger’s face.

“It’s not purity, it’s naiveté,” he growled.

Mirek didn’t understand.

“But, alas, we can’t afford to turn down new members,” he continued with a slight bitterness, “so I would like to formally extend an invitation of membership to the anarcho-socialist party Equinox. Roland will talk you through with the details.”

He left as abruptly as one could in such a crowded space. People respectfully let him pass.

“You won’t be sleeping in the open tonight, comrade.”

Absently, Mirek wondered if he would miss the artificial sky.

Chapter Text

Interlude I (in which there is bargaining)

Azazel’s eyes opened and he was surprised by the grey nothingness that he saw. Then he remembered and scolded himself for forgetting that he would never see again, it had been, it had been years. He listened carefully but had developed none of the uncanny hearing one expects of the sightless, and could hear nothing of note except for a distant hum of machinery. This did nothing to help him locate himself.

The aged politician remembered his fall from grace with quiet acceptance, he had seen it coming, and was silently grateful that he had not merely been shot. His weakening position had been worsened by a damaging illness, and he would have overthrown himself had he been a member of the elite. His old friends were all either dead or elsewhere and the new members only knew him professionally.

Tobias was gone, Nadia was dead. That had been a blow, but like losing his sight it had been years ago. It was irrational to feel upset about the past that was outside of his control.

Hopefully the Party would realize sooner rather than later the trap he had laid. Paper files at his own insistence, reinforced by some meaningless emotional argument he had managed to conjure on a whim and bluffing about viruses. And then later hard drives that could be removed and destroyed, never backed up.

The door opened. He smiled and sat up from thin mattress, it was on a frame so hopefully he would at least be at eye level with the intruder. The deposed dictator longed to stand, but without his cane it would be too risky. Falling over would be more undignified.

He briefly recalled his youth and previous captivity, but of course that had been different.

“Azazel.” The voice that regarded him was insistent, deliberate. He couldn’t tell what sex they were.

“Mysterious intruder.”

“I’m known as Amadeus.” They seemed to catch themselves, sounding unconfident. It was an interesting choice of pseudonym.

“Would you tell me,” he was angry but it didn’t show in his voice. That was what years of power struggles did to you. “Why they sent an inexperienced low-level comrade to interrogate the previous leader of the Party. Honestly, I expect more. Do I at least get to meet my successor?”

That was an interesting thought. Who would succeed him? He would trust most of his handpicked politburo to not act too terribly in the new position, but there were a few next on the elimination lists.

The chuckle that followed his words surprised him.

“The spanner you threw in the works is concerning almost everyone else. Very astute of you.”

“It wouldn’t be concerning everyone,” Azazel smiled graciously, a pleasant thought crossing his mind, “I suppose you’re the up-and-coming prodigy and this is a test.” Insulting, he thought, but not as insulting as it could be.

“Hardly. It’s true that I’m not qualified for this.” The response was quiet. Then they finally seemed to notice the manipulated course the conversation had taken and realized that they were not in control. “But what we are here to discuss is how to get the files back.”

“I’m not going to just give them to you.”

He relished the power. Once the world had trembled in his grasp and he had stood above it, crushing the people beneath him. Now he held his irreplaceable knowledge above this individual’s head.

“What do you want?” They weren’t tired or cowed, more interested. He respected them for that.

“To return to the party politburo and to secure an annual budget of 24 million UD for the sight studies I had been investing in.” There would be bargaining, so he had to set his offer high. “Also to be eligible as a subject for testing,” he added.

Maybe they would kill him under the pretence of eye surgery but he could not forgo it. Instead he would have to manipulate everyone into thinking he was indispensable.

There was something else, some sentimentality tugging at the back of Azazel’s mind inspiring slight self-resentment. He wished that he could have remained pure, or have become his new self more completely. This half-kindness was difficult to maintain whilst being what he had become. It felt like he had to protect Tobias, like there was no choice, but he had decided six years ago when he awoke and opened his eyes to nothingness that all that mattered was himself and the pursuit of power. But this could not be done directly. Patience.

“I…” Amadeus was hesitant.

“They didn’t tell you what you could or couldn’t concede?” His lips curled.

“They told me to ignore any demands.”

Precision, that was the name of the sound. Accuratezza.

He held back his flinch from decades of practice, but it was still a blow. The confidence from the voice indicated that they had found their footing, and now he no longer had the slight advantage of bewilderment. He couldn’t see them to see their mood, their attire, it made him so angry – this stumbling indignity of the blind. No, he had seen the sightless act with elegance and compensate with their other senses expertly, it was just his – not inexperience – but failure to adjust. He was running the ruins of the world, there was no time to learn to read braille, and his hearing had also been damaged by illness and age despite increasing indulgence in music.

“Well then I’m afraid that you’ll get nothing out of me.” His voice sang out into the open, echoing in his ears, and he felt like he wasn’t real, wasn’t there, which was inaccurate really because he was there, and unreasonable because he could manoeuvre around this, he had experience and-

“They’re not as important as you think.” Lie, he thought furiously, you are lying, “the Party is in no immediate need for their return. We can afford to wait until you become too bored, or resort to force, although I would think that you would have some loyalty to the regime you established.”

Tobias had been the anchor of his idealism and without him he had drifted away, which was hilariously ironic considering the reason he had left. Azazel’s laugh burned: acceso.

“You’re decades too late.”

He heard Amadeus leave and the relevance of the comment about boredom was thrust into his unyielding mind.

Chapter Text

Sleeping indoors was a blessing even if it was as cold as outside and the only three mattresses were taken. Mirek had begrudgingly accepted that Roland could have one because of his age, the person who had been on watch outside the basement political forum aggressively took one, and Alyosha’s position seemed to entitle him to comfort.

It was probably morning because people were getting up, although with the sky as artificial as it was he couldn’t tell.

“Why does an anarchist party have a leader?” He asked himself under his breath.

“For a member you don’t know much.” The sentinel from last night was less openly angry than before, but there was still a sense of danger to her. “It’s Lisbeth in case you’ve forgotten, second-in-command. Nice one joining a party you know nothing about, it bodes well for you as far as your self-awareness goes.”

He shifted uncomfortably.

“But to answer your astute question, we didn’t have a leader before Alyosha, according to Roland anyway. He wormed his way in, what does that say about him?” Then she laughed, but it was forced, and turned away.

The entire exchange was very uncomfortable, he felt an instinctive dislike for Lisbeth who felt the need to intimidate him. This shack he no apparently lived in was very exposed, he recognized. Everyone seemed to be leaving, probably to avoid drawing attention to the area. He spotted Roland and stumbled over, feeling increasingly foolish.

“Is there something I could be doing to help, or some duty I should be fulfilling?”

“Act on your initiative.” Roland looked haggard and the response, whilst softened somewhat, was forced. He looked slightly guilty and then added, “Alyosha will assign you something to do, you should talk to him. He slept here tonight.” Then he added under his breath, “for once.”

“Thanks.”

Alyosha was just leaving, Mirek managed a fairly dignified power walk to catch up. He noticed that Alyosha walked slowly with an uneven gait that looked indicative of injury. He was about to ask if an accident had befallen him, but instead the leader turned and faced him.

“I’m going to do some reconnaissance, you’ve had experience in it. Come along.”

It was an order. He nodded and followed him out, wondering if he should reply somehow but somewhat awed. Alyosha stumbled in front of him and let out a pained grunt, but then quickly righted himself and increased his pace.

“Are you alright?” He worried for the young man.

“Yes.” It sounded pained.

They continued, Mirek recognized the streets but didn’t know the names, if the names had any relevance anymore. Everything had been shifted, all patterns rewritten, by the environmental collapse.

“Lisbeth was talking about you,” he said thoughtlessly, hoping to engage Alyosha. He belatedly realized that she hadn’t said anything particularly meaningful regarding him and that it wasn’t really something he could talk about.

But the young man ignored him or didn’t hear him, so it wasn’t of consequence. He continued following him, although their pace slowed considerably.

The starving bundles of human warmth thinned as they walked further towards the centre of the city. It was a long way, once trams or the U-Bahn would have been able to take them but now it was foot. For hours they walked.

“What reconnaissance are we doing exactly? And why do you need me here?” Mirek asked after he stopped seeing homeless people, realizing that he should have asked that question earlier. He speculated about where they were, having never been this far since the collapse. The reminder that he was foreign and knew nothing here was strong.

“Safety in numbers. Crime numbers are increasing as a result of this government’s newfound fascism.” He looked as if he was on the brink of launching into a speech about the decrepit political sphere, but held back at the last moment. No answer to his first question came.

Eventually they reached a building that Mirek did recognize: the Reichstag. He had seen it coming, feature of the skyline as it was, and its maintained grandeur surprised him. True, stone features were crumbling, but the main body was suspiciously untouched by the riots and the glass dome was intact from that angle as were the majority of the windows.

The flag that flew was the flag of the party in power, not Germany’s usual three stripes of black, red, and gold.*

“Don’t worry about the police.”

“What?”

The resulting stare was withering. “The uniform of the militia is black, that’s why there are so few homeless people here and the Reichstag is still standing.” His voice went quiet, “When the sky started burning I tried to get here to see it fall, but alas the army defended it. I saw people machine-gunned down.” There was another speech fluttering against Alyosha’s mouth, fighting to get out, but again he swallowed it.

They stood looking at the building like they expected it to give up the ghost and collapse at any moment like the environment had, without warning plunging everything into chaos.

But it was constant.

“What are you doing?”

Mirek flinched and whirled to face a man with a gun in hand. He was dressed in black, he noted, although he only realized this because of Alyosha’s reprimand. But a gun-! Adrenalin swamped him, washing away the constant background nausea induced by starvation for the first time in days.

A look of indignation at standing, is that so illegal followed by a wash of conditioned fear flashed across Alyosha’s face, but Mirek was too busy looking at the firearm to notice. The gun was at the centre of his universe.

“Sightseeing,” the party leader replied, allowing a Russian accent to taint his voice. Mirek wondered which came more naturally to him. “My… friend and I were here on holiday before the collapse, we wanted to see the Reichstag after we had come all this way.”

The policeman (secret policeman? soldier? militiaman?) eyed Mirek sceptically.

“[You don’t speak German.]” Alyosha spoke Russian. It felt like a lifetime since he had studied it; he had never finished the course so it was far inferior to his German, but-

“[He has a…]” gun? what was gun? He definitely used to know the word. “[… in his hand. What to do? How do we-]”

“Stop conspiring,” Their enemy barked, “and give me one reason why I shouldn’t arrest you for loitering.”

“[Svoloch'.]” Alyosha muttered emphatically. “[This city is under voennoe položenie… it’s eto piz`dets.]”

“[I don’t understand because my Russian isn’t good enough.]”

“[It’s not important.]” Then, turning to the militiaman who was becoming increasingly agitated he said, “Nothing we say will change what you do, but do you honestly think that we threaten the peace?”

“Yes.” His eyes gleamed with power. It sickened Mirek, although Alyosha looked resigned like he had always known it would end this way.

“Just before you do,” the young politician shot a short, resentful, glance at Mirek, “why don’t you give your superior General Ström a call first. Tell him that you tried to arrest Aleksei Demidov.” When that didn’t have the desired impact Alyosha added, “otherwise you could tell me what you call yourself, and we could all work this out later over some vodka.”

“Demidov…” there was slow dawning realization on the ‘law’ enforcer’s face. “Very well, move along.”

He left, leaving Mirek bewildered and Alyosha glowering.

“Your Russian is surprisingly poor, but having a common language is still useful. I suppose your proficient German compensates somewhat, your Polish must be fluent but it is of no use now.”

That hurt. He was still in the disbelief phase – how could an entire country just be gone? He decided to worry about that later.

“How do you know the leader of the ruling militia?” he snapped back, “and how exactly did he recognize your name? This is-” he was going to mention telling Lisbeth, but the words died on his lips when he saw the potent raging frustration in Alyosha’s face.

“If you tell anyone about this I will end you.” The threat behind his words seemed almost physical, like a hulking beast behind him. Then he sagged, suddenly tired. “It’s not what you think, I promise you comrade. I will always be loyal to Equinox. But my strategic plans for this are difficult to explain and the situation can be easily misunderstood.”

“I won’t tell anyone.” He reasoned that he didn’t know anything about the situation, he should reserve judgement.

Alyosha looked surprised at that, Mirek could see it in the almost-tremor that barely rocked his body and the widening of his eyes. The irises were still almost black in this light and made him look lost.

He was distant momentarily. Then he pulled himself together, throwing himself into energy in what looked like a painful forcing of will. Mirek noticed him looking at the back of his hand strangely, as though expecting it to convey some sort of message. Then he looked up and continued walking, only this time with an even more pronounced limp in a way that seemed agitated but not particularly quicker.

Hours had passed, Mirek wondered if it was evening. It shouldn’t be too difficult to make the low-light their false sky provided them with dimmer, it could even save them energy, but everything was falling apart.

They hurried into the foyer of the Reichstag where they encountered a solid wall of security guards. Alyosha slowed and adopted a façade of easy confidence, erasing all traces of his accent from his speech.

“Richard Braun and my plus one.” Alyosha flashed some folded card certificate before the central guard. They snatched it unceremoniously, read it, and handed it back with a salute.

Everyone stood aside and Mirek stuck close to his comrade as they entered. He felt like he was in deep, and was still burning with questions about what they were doing. But this was not the time.

“Do you want a military escort, sir?”

“I’ll be fine.”

The smooth ease with which he could wave them away just raised more questions, especially after the clear undercurrents of emotions he had witnessed earlier, although they were not completely gone: the Last Russian was trembling slightly and lightly like a hummingbird’s wing. No one seemed to notice.

They went though some corridors, Mirek’s anxiety building, before eventually Alyosha ducked into an office. There were screens around the room, but everything was turned off and no one was here. It was an empty office. Finally he felt alone enough to ask some questions.

“Why are we here?” he held back the whatareyoudoing and the isn’tthisdangerous because of the slippery slope, he wouldn’t have endless inquiries falling from his mouth like a waterfall if he didn’t hold them back.

“We can look on the streets and we see that they have no food, but this tells us little. There could be nothing being produced, or whatever produced is just redirected. The true way to judge this particular situation is to see how the affluent are handling everything.” He paused, wincing in anticipation of the next words he had to say. “So I pulled some strings and now we’re going to a party.”

“What?”

“You saw the invitation, although once we’re inside you will have to use another alias and lie your way around questions. Actually, it’s better if you don’t talk to anyone. But,” he smiled, “we should both take advantage of the food.”

“Wait, I need more information.” Mirek didn’t want this risk.

“We’re going to a ball being held by the ignorant current Bundespräsident who seems to have decided that a crisis point in history is a perfect time for dancing and drinking. The other people there will be primarily army officials and the far-right of the old Bundesregierung, with family and a few of those who have found themselves super rich by exploiting the collapse, theft, valuable investments and so on. The old elite won’t be there, so most of them don’t know each other and we should be able to fit in, but we should use fake names. Decide on one now so you don’t end up going with the first one you think of and accidentally incriminate another party member.”

He struggled for a name and ended up going with as innocuous as he could manage. “Klaus Weiß.”

“Your accent is good, which should help you fit in at least. Call me Leon Kӧnig.”

King. Mirek remembered what Lisbeth had said about Alyosha being the leader of a partially anarchist party.

“Anyway, we stopped here to check on the electricity situation. Anka speculates that with the current reduced rate of electricity consumption only for essentials and those with power that we will still run out within two years. There are rumours that the Environmental Collapse broke the clean energy equipment outside, in which case replacing it would be one of the first moves we would make. If they have reduced power it will help us anticipate their actions, they will try to avoid using technology.”

Alyosha walked over to the wall where he proceeded to click the light switch to no effect. He then started tampering with the monitors and a box on the wall, although Mirek could see no change.

“Do they have no power in the entire building?” The thought was alarming.

“No, they just don’t have it on every room. The fact that they had to cut them off just to light the main hall tells us enough. Although,” he added, “from the looks of buildings earlier I suspect that they cut off all of the electricity everywhere in the city apart from the Dome, which is supposed to self-sustain anyway, but obviously isn’t doing too well because of that unappetizing grey colour. Still, the few hospitals they have may only be operating partially, but it’s still really-” he caught himself, looking increasingly angry.

“Come on, we don’t want to be late Klaus. Oh, and wear this.”

-

The room glowed with false grandeur and the elegant expensive clothes of the attendees, making Mirek growl in the back of his throat and clench his fists. At what cost and this – the city in ruins – and this was still here in its pseudo-glory, rage-inducing, destructive. This affluence of the few survived and how dare they, this-

“Calm down, Mr Weiß.” Alyosha whispered to his comrade, accompanied by a strong grip on his arm. It was strangely comforting.

There was some music playing in the background, an old waltz, although the players consisted of only a violinist and cellist.

“Terrible isn’t it.” He whirled to face an elegant woman in a clinging black dress with a glass of champagne in her hand. “What cut-backs we’ve had to make.”

His hackles rose and he opened his mouth to give some sort of imprecise speech on suffering and her unbearable detachment when Alyosha tightened his grip and stepped forwards.

“Yes, we’ve all suffered to some extent.” He then nodded to her politely and dragged-led Mirek away. “[Don’t ruin this.]” he hissed under his breath in Russian. “Look, the food is over there, let’s just eat something.”

Mirek followed the dark-eyed man’s finger and suddenly saw tables laden with food. It was not like those oil paintings he remembered with thick paint depicting feasts, true, but it was more food than he had seen on his entire census walk and it was actually edible. There was bread, different cheeses, grapes, wine, meat, roasted golden vegetables submerged in fattening butter. He could even see a dessert table covered by unnaturally coloured trifles and cakes.

As smoothly as possible he took a side-plate and filled up his plate, taking great care not to dish up too much. He could come back later, he told himself, but could barely restrain the urge to stuff himself there. Alyosha acted similarly and passed him a fork, walking over to the edge of the table. They ate their as neatly as they could before heading back.

It was true, what the party leader had said about the general unfamiliarity being such that they would not get questioned. Whenever someone seemed interested in conversation Alyosha’s subtlety hostile body language or posture sent them away. They only went back for a fifth refill, which they sequestered as much as they could have in their pockets.

Then Alyosha started on the wine. It fell down his throat again and again, like blood.

“Don’t you think that we should head back now?” Mirek asked eventually, bored as well as concerned about his friend’s drinking.

“Look at the windows,” Alyosha said louder than was socially acceptable, ignoring his comrade, “fucking fake stars. What a lovely illusion this is.” Then he looked down, rubbing his hand repeatedly over his face and mumbling, “Numb – need-”

“Alyosha.” The slip was big and everyone had started silently listening to them at the loud comment. They had to leave.

Luckily Mirek’s stupidity struck him and he looked stunned in headlights.

“[Gavno].”

He abruptly began to stumble out, the crowds parting like the Red Sea. There were still poorly enunciated Russian words spilling from his mouth like bile, but Mirek couldn’t understand him. Once they were past all of the “security” Alyosha fell against him, forcing his comrade to support his weight. It was comfortable carrying him in a way, the physical intimacy pleasant, but soon the weight became too much.

They reached a fork in the road. Alyosha threw up.

“Which way?” No response. “[Which way?]”

“[… have to go there … too late … not again…]” He could only catch snippets.

Then he flared into life and kissed Mirek, chastely, on the lips, before he sagged into very sudden unconsciousness. It tasted of burning, toxic vomit.

“Fuck!”

He still had a pulse, but there was no possibility of getting medical care post-collapse. If he had severe alcohol poisoning then he was dead. And the kiss, which hadn’t been entirely unpleasant despite the lingering tinge of bile, if it was unexpected.

Mirek sighed and dragged immobile Alyosha to the side of the street, all the while looking at the elegant way that his face was framed by tendrils of black hair.

Only when the Polish man had fallen asleep in the back alley, a respectful distance from his party leader, did Alyosha’s eyes open. He sat up, swaying slightly, and watched Mirek until he awoke hours later. His face was unreadable.

Chapter Text

Azazel had been lying down thinking for hours. His conclusion from this was that he had placed too much emotional dependence on Tobias and that he was definitely the weak spot he had to conceal at all costs. If he had left one good thing in his life behind it had been his partner, before their inevitable estrangement.

He wanted it to have been inevitable, but here with no distractions from his hungry circling wolf thoughts that fragile defence was torn away and he was left to face what he had always really known: Tobias had been right. This in itself should have always been evident, and he wondered how he could have ever willed that thought into nonexistence. Too good at lying, even to himself.

It had been years into his reign when he began to notice Tobias getting more distant and disgusted with his actions. Then he had broken off their relationship, kept attending meetings, more and more insistent that they change.

But how could Tobias ask them to change without telling them what to do instead? It was frustrating. He couldn’t just criticize their least-worst option without offering an alternative – a realistic alternative. And Azazel had watched him lovingly, believing it to just be a phase, before the eventual betrayal.

He hadn’t intended for his ex-partner to not know that they were spinning a net around the cities to catch any rogue activity, it hadn’t come up (or rather, he corrected himself, I didn’t want him to be more disappointed in me) until he had become stuck. Tobias was out there somewhere, alive, under the impression that he was working to sabotage the government. Azazel had deleted his files long ago and his history was the last secret he would ever surrender.

Even though, for all he knew, Tobias could be long dead.

His thoughts then turned to Nadia but he couldn’t bear it as his thoughts pulled their short marriage apart to show the sickness that had lain underneath. He did love her, he did, just not with abandon. Their relationship had been based on mutual delayed mourning of Russia. But his thoughts were interrupted by the sound of the door opening.

“Azazel.”

“Amadeus.” He hoped it was that same androgynous voice. It certainly sounded like them.

“Your successor has agreed to maintain the current level of funding into your medical studies on condition that we begin the immediate reconstruction of the files.”

“And my political positon?”

“That will depend on your performance.”

They had folded very quickly; he was surprised by the pledge. It seemed like the optimal action would be to wait and demand more, but the flesh is weak. His own mind’s self-inspired restlessness made him want to agree, anything to stave off the boredom. But there was one question which had to be addressed.

“How am I to know that you have actually invested at all? I can hardly check.”

“You have my word.” It sounded sardonic. “You know that I cannot prove it to you”

“Tell me the progress they make when there is next significant progress.” It was something, he had been following these studies for all six years of his blindness and he knew at least how often they had results and what kind they had. It would be difficult for Amadeus to imitate, which was something. He would have to work to allow time.

“Let’s start now. With history, how was the system established?”

“What do you want? What it said in the files, what actually happened, the official version? When should I begin?”

“What it said in the files, from when it began in the files.”

The rigidity was boring and unexpected – Amadeus had seemed to have such potential in their verbal sparring but the current adherence to the party line gave another impression entirely. Perhaps his judgement had been premature.

“In 2239, using the old calendar, the Environmental Collapse occurred. All non-microscopic life on the world was destroyed in the initial wave of fire except for in certain zones, now known as the cities. There were initially nine significantly large surviving zones, although the technology was underdeveloped in most of these which caused a struggle to survive. Moscow fell within the first few weeks from a breech in the dome covering it.”

“Nine?”

“If you’ve only heard of six, which apparently isn’t uncommon even amongst part members considered competent enough to liaise with the former leader.” The bitterness within him flowed out slightly. “Only five cities made it out of the Collapse, and three of them wouldn’t have failed without a push.”

“What push?” The voice sounded disturbed.

He had been handed one of this new dull generation who had grown into his system and accepted his lies. It disturbed Azazel slightly; he had always assumed that it was a show and that humanity was boiling underneath, and because Amadeus’s naiveté showed a hollowness and absence of the questioning perception which had always been his strongest weapon. For the first time a doubt crossed his mind about who would lead after him, and whether they would be aware as he had been. Perhaps the arts had been of worth something after everything.

His fingers stirred as he remembered the feel of piano keys under his fingers and steeled himself to crush the innocence of his captor.

But he couldn’t.

“I thought we were going chronologically?”

“Yes… yes…” the troubled quality of their voice didn’t fade but they kept their illusions. He wished that he could see them and judge their body language to tailor his reactions as he once had.

“It all began in Berlin.”

Chapter Text

Mirek awoke to see a hollow and hallowed Alyosha watching him with strange intensity, set against the off-white sky. He remembered the previous evening and fought hard against his pale disposition to avoid a blush. Then his vision blurred momentarily from head rush, and by the time it had swum back into focus Alyosha looked dispassionate and tired. He had to wonder whether or not he was projecting.

But he decided to worry about that later.

“I need to leave to settle some appointments I missed from last night. Here’s the food I gathered, give it to Roland to distribute. Will you be fine finding your way back?”

“I don’t know.” It was bewildering, all of this, so detached from his old student life of toast and vocabulary lists. What was he to think of the kiss they had shared? Or had he been so tired he had misinterpreted a slouch as more?

“Hmph.” Alyosha took a squashed pastry from the jacket which had been serving as a basket and looked down the street. He then replaced it. “It’s too risky to bribe, you could easily get killed for the food. I’ll have to take you.”

Then walked down the street more quickly than they had before, the food from the previous night giving them some energy even though Mirek began to feel the creeping nausea of malnutrition. The hunger had been a constant for so long but it didn’t get better. Everyone felt it and no one was comforted by that.

“Could you tell me about the party manifesto?”

“You took your time in taking a logical interest in your party.” That stung slightly, the words from the lips which he had kissed. “We’re more socialist than anarchist; we approve of order just not the current fascist establishment. The ‘anarchy’ was actually partially adopted for recruitment purposes; you see Equinox is the fusion of the anarchist and socialist parties of pre-collapse Berlin. If we got into power the government would be aiming a Marxist utopia. As of yet our policies aren’t defined, but there would be elements of democracy in our government and no private ownership.”

“Is there anything else I should know about Equinox?”

“Our flag is a blue background with intertwining ropes crossing horizontally of black and white, with three circles between the ropes coloured blue. We have around five hundred members and thousands more we could call upon, but the elite consists of around fifteen members picked by myself attending currently – the majority of our members can just be trusted to form a militia in our favour, but are not particularly helpful with the finer points. We have larger meetings which anyone can attend, but at this stage being underground we need to have a small leadership force in order to keep plans secret.

“To recognize another member you should use this hand symbol.” He held up his thumb and second finger touching one another, the rest of them curled closed. The Polish man noticed how elegant his hands were, a pianist’s hands. “Otherwise the code word right now is ‘off-white’, although this may be known by security services and changes regularly. That’s it.”

Mirek didn’t even think about asking about how Alyosha could be a known figure in the military police if the Party was illegal. It didn’t occur to him.

After a few more hours of silence (the party leader looked exhausted and had painfully endured a few attempts at small talk before Mirek got the message) they reached the top of a road.

“I have to go now, walk down this road and you’ll see the house basement on the right. Anka will guide you if you tell her it’s on my orders.”

“When will I see you again?” He looked at the powerful and beautiful man speaking to him, who had the power to call upon thousands of people to fight for him yet chose to Mirek to attend a ball with him. His heart panged.

“Within three days. Four at most.” He walked off without waiting to hear another answer, then turned around a few meters down. “Goodbye. I look forward to seeing you again.”

Mirek didn’t know what to say. He watched Alyosha’s back and then continued down the road for hours. It was recognizable down here, the edge of his previous territory, he knew enough about the area to fear the weight of the food he carried and the very real possibility of robbery. Yesterday he had been asked along for safety in numbers, he wondered why the Russian had abandoned him now.

He thought about Alyosha – so young, he couldn’t be over twenty five, yet in such a position and solidly set in it too. People really respected him for competence and Mirek could see why. The way he moved, such easy grace…

The thoughts kept him so enraptured that he walked past Anka’s shop and had had to track backwards. It still looked empty and rundown, although better than the derelict street stalls he had once had the misfortune visiting. What was the official Equinox stance on the rampant cannibalism on the streets? In a way it was an elegant solution to the food shortages.

Anka stood behind the counter looking bored, casually writing something on a torn napkin which she hid when she saw someone enter. Her hand lifted when she saw who it was, her wrinkled face breaking into a smile as though she had seen an old friend.

“You must be Mirek!”

“Anka, good to meet you.” he cleared his throat, her friendliness was endearing but awkward and his following request felt like an imposition. “Alyosha asked me to see Roland, could you show me back to the…” what did they even call it? “party base.”

“Of course, there’s nothing to do here.” She slipped the paper into her pocket with a wink. He wished that there was more professionalism in her manner.

It wasn’t far to the headquarters; Roland was sitting on a small box in the corner leaning over another crate on which there appeared to be some maps. The room was claustrophobic. Anka lingered behind Mirek.

“Roland, Alyosha asked me to give you this food to distribute amongst members.”

Their eyes went wide as they saw the meagre food they had managed to smuggle out, hairy, stale, and little.

“We have to use this to kickstart the food bank system for those in need.” Anka said instantly and stubbornly, although her previous good-temper was still present.

“If Alyosha ordered that this was given to me then he wanted it distributed amongst the party elite so that we don’t starve to death. Besides, starting a food bank with this wouldn’t work. you might as well throw it at random people on the street.”

“We have to share and help people!” She insisted.

Roland sighed passively and threw a large bun at her, a large portion. “Eat that or give it away, but the rest of this is going to our comrades.”

She glowered and left, Mirek could see her begin to eat the bun on her way out. Roland himself already had his entire portion in his mouth when he turned around. He then proceeded to split it into trays which were lined against the wall. He noticed that they had names on them, including one with LISBETH on it printed in clear text and a pile of documents, waiting to be read.

“Isn’t it dangerous to have so many documents just lying around?”

“They’re all supposed to be vague and have no sensitive information, but…” he indicated towards Lisbeth’s tray in particular, “it’s difficult to communicate when everyone’s constantly passing through. We’ve been left alone here for so long that people are starting to relax.”

Mirek nodded, disinterested, and asked another question.

“I… see. What are you working on at the moment?”

“My role as the commander of our possibly imaginary militia means that I’m in charge of strategy, although God only knows who decided that this was my area of expertise. I commanded drones, not people; working on mobilizing disorganized and inexperienced civilians against the armed, trained secret police is… I’m not a miracle worker.”

“You fought in the War That Wasn’t?” He could never have seen gentle Roland as a soldier. He must be even older than he looked.

“I was a commander for Indonesia, when they outsourced the war to England, and watched the drones I commanded become infected and decide to raze the country to the ground. I fled here to avoid a trial for war crimes – but I didn’t order them to kill anything but other drones.” Spittle flew from his mouth, he was angry but still his voice was still muted, holding back out of consideration. There was no sign of regret or even grief in him, just this irritation.

“I heard just before the collapse that some people thought they developed sentience – their code was designed to evolve apparently.” It was intended to appease, but it agitated Roland more than anything else. He rose and began to pace.

“No – every kill command had to be input, there were so many safeguards in place. I never saw even one malfunction until we lost connection with them all, we didn’t even know what they were doing. No one knew what was happening until the smoke cleared, except for whoever managed to hack into them. That’s the only way it could have happened, some sick fucker,” it sounded matter-of-fact, passionless, none of the resentment expected in the words, “decided to see what they could do.”

A thought struck Mirek. “Could the drones have survived the collapse?”

“No. The USA nuked them all and all of the survivors along with them. But no one cared because no one knew what happened, the Americans always get away with it.”

The War That Wasn’t was the more emphatic title than the alternative of the Last Drone War. A war that no one had understood or controlled, started over China’s pollution destroying agriculture in neighbouring countries by India and spreading over most of Asia. Only when the smoke cleared did people see what had happened, and only then in fragments, by then no one cared about the reason it started because everything was a struggle from biological warfare.

It had been so bewildering for mankind, Mirek remembered, a reminder of the threat posed by technology. Legislation had followed and the dependency on machines had been reduced massively, back to the levels from before over two hundred and fifty years ago at the beginning of the 21st century. This had probably helped them cope with the Environmental Collapse, although it was one of the reasons that the dome technology was failing. There had been this massive call for a return to pre-industrial times, humanity’s last cry in favour of the environment.

Alyosha should do a eulogy for the environment. Only he could properly describe watching the sky catching fire.

“How did the party make it through the Environmental Collapse?” The anarchy, the riots that had followed…

“To answer that,” Roland said gravely, “you need context. I used to be part of a small socialist party, the Berlin Socialist Worker’s Party or something. Alyosha became a name in left-wing circles almost overnight and quickly started uniting parties that had previously not even considered unifying. He his new fused party Equinox and proclaimed it ‘anarcho-socialist’, gathering all of the members ready for a power overthrow. We would have achieved it, I think.

“But a month before the plan would have been executed the Collapse befell Berlin and we lost most of our members in the riots. Others were starving, resigned to death, or impossible to contact without revealing our position since the centre-right party had been overtaken by far-right elements within, and we were now illegal.

“We found members here or there. We’re still technically regrouping, but are operating under the assumption that anyone we haven’t seen yet won’t turn up. The situation would be hopeless, but Alyosha disappears all day and tells no one what he’s doing… it frustrates Lisbeth to no end. I think he’s doing it for the hope,” he concluded, “because as long as there’s at least a possibility-”

He stopped as Lisbeth rushed in the doorway, frenzied and frantic, running her hands through her short hair and yelled, “Shut up, old man!”

“Lisbeth, there’s food for you in your tray.” He said patiently.

“That counts for fuck,” she growled, although she grabbed it from there and ate it quickly, “because I’ve made the biggest breakthrough you’ve ever seen. You,” she indicated towards Mirek, her mouth full, “have joined Equinox at an opportune time.”

“What is it?” Roland asked wearily.

“I’ve found a way – a solid way, one that actually counts for more than shit – to conquer this pathetic rust-hole of a city.” Mirek was enraptured, but Roland looked underwhelmed, as thought he had heard it all before. She drew in a frustrated breath and said dramatically, “The water supply. It’s completely exposed, easy to manipulate, perfect. Where’s Alyosha?”

“He said he’d be back within four days,” Mirek replied.

“Ack. He’s always so depressed when he gets back and this is urgent. This is bigger than anything so far.”

“Tell me more about the water supply.” Roland inquired, interest sparkling in his eyes, “how many people would we need?”

Chapter Text

“Where were we?” Azazel was tired.

“Year 2241, you were in control of the rest of the world having used Berlin as an industrial power and exploiting the water supplies of each city through technology. This was possible because of the lack of communication between cities.”

Amadeus was reading from their notes, how insufferable, how utterly boring- what a sign of the talentless. How he longed for conversation as it had been once, in the days when he could allow his ideas to be fluid and shaped, the stimulation was something he only dreamed of. Blindness left him impotent. Dull was the king of his fading consciousness.

“Yes, I then turned my attention to the three cities which had been preserved in America. These had complex inter-communication networks which meant that a different approach to conquest would be necessary. My deputy at that time advised a three-pronged approach, my general advised that it would be better to destroy two and save one.”

“You only need to say what was written in the files, this much detail isn’t necessary.” Amadeus chided.

Azazel snapped.

“Do you ever think outside of your orders? You’re not under surveillance, there’s no need to be so exact. It’s insufferable.”

“Precision is a positive quality.” There were strong undertones of confusion.

“Being unimaginative is not a positive quality.”

“Imagination doesn’t come into this. Continue, please.”

He wanted to scream at them, to reach out and shake them and tell them that everything needed thought. Their thoughtlessness was, well, thoughtless. Instead he continued.

“I used the three-pronged approach, it went wrong, and everybody died.”

It was from a disease epidemic on the vulnerable population, and a failure to reconnect the water supply. He had underestimated how much they would rely on each other for moral support, their three intact cities had seemed like an empire to them. In a way, killing them had been genocide. Azazel forced himself to dwell on that. But there had been others there who had made the decision without him, and he stood by it not as the objective right thing but as all he was capable of doing at the time. It had been outside of his control, no point in worrying.

Tobias would have scorned that. He believed in Azazel’s potential. Ever since he had been moved to this prison the guilt had been mounting. It became crushing.

“There’s no need to be uncooperative.”

Azazel sighed. “I used the three-pronged approach; there were problems with reconnecting the water supply, a disease spread, some people caused breaches in the domes during riots, and everybody died.” It was said in a monotone.

He waited for a how could they damage the Dome, but it never came. Amadeus was not inquisitive, and today Azazel would not impart the tale of his general’s idiotic defiance of orders and its great cost. He saw now that what he had perceived as innocence in Amadeus was actually ignorance.

“Then I pursued some fresh policies to counter the worst problem at that time, the ageing population. My deputy wanted me to feed the old to the others, but another significant party member,” oh Tobias, “was very strongly against the idea, deeming cannibalism unethical. As no one could really argue with that we decided to instead reduce funding for medical care for terminal conditions and curb available medicine for over 60s.”

Remember the hopelessly lost socialist dream.

“The policy continued. More elderly people died, it stopped being at a crises level when we implemented birth restrictions. Humanity had nowhere to expand to, so we couldn’t allow the population to maintain a natural increase, and none of the cities but Berlin created enough food to keep them from anything but the brink of starvation.” He had foreseen how much of a struggle it was going to be, but it had still surprised him when decades on so many people were still dying.

Long ago he had forgotten his ideology and goals, all of those years of speeches and rallying faded into damage control. Everything was just compensating for the collapse, at some point he fallen into this pattern of just trying to control everything, and he had tried so hard to not notice that he hadn’t. Then so many people had died that it barely mattered; only Tobias seemed to care.

Azazel forced himself to keep exploring this. Even back then he had been cynical; he had known that he couldn’t solve anything. Yet he’d still pushed forwards, hard, for the power, but not because of it. Was his motive obscure because of all of these years of almost subconscious self-delusion, or had he never known? Why hadn’t been important until now, and still didn’t really matter.

“How is the sight study coming along?” he distracted himself by asking a question.

“They’ve made some significant progress. If you want,” Amadeus added as though it was of no consequence, “you can be fitted with the trial. No depth perception, monochrome, very low resolution, and they cause frequent migraines.” They were reading from a list, he could tell by the absolute lack of feeling and any sense of importance in to his words.

Headaches be damned, there was nothing that could come between him and his sight. 

Chapter Text

Alyosha returned in three days, barely able to walk, when only Lisbeth, Roland, and Mirek were in the room. He waved them away before going to collapse on the cleanest mattress, a grunt of pain escaping his mouth as he fell down. Even Lisbeth listened to him. Mirek watched his chest rise and fall irregularly.

“Roland, Lisbeth,” Alyosha wheezed, “when did you last see Erik?”

“Almost a week ago, only just after the Collapse I think.”

“Is he okay?” Lisbeth looked distressed.

“He’s dead, then.” The party leader raised his hands to cover his face. Mirek noticed one of his sleeves slip back, revealing fresh red rims of pain around his wrist. “Who have you seen within the last three days?” There were layers of hurt defeat in his voice, and pre-emptive grief.

“Anka, Fabian…” Roland struggled for another name.

“I saw Melanie yesterday.” Lisbeth’s eyes were wide.

Alyosha’s hands clenched into fists. “Forget the others. Lisbeth, gather Anka, Fabian, and Melanie for a meeting in two days, anyone else you find too, but be careful.” Lisbeth opened his mouth, but he interrupted her. “Roland, gather food, spend anything you want from the others’ trays. Now let me rest.” He rolled over, tired.

“I have to tell you this, it’s massive-”

“Did you tell Mirek?”

“Yes?”

“Mirek can tell me later, go get to it.”

“But what about Anka, if Stephan’s-”

“You deal with her.”

Lisbeth quietly gathered some food from trays marked HANNES and STEPHAN and left it in front of Alyosha’s mattress. She left with her face hidden by her hair, her shoulders shaking slightly. Roland seemed unmoved, but also left.

Mirek sat down next to Alyosha, who pulled him closer. “Just stay there.” He whispered, and fell asleep. When the Russian eventually fell asleep his fear lit up his face, and Mirek held his hand until he awoke.

-

“What time is it?” Slowly, Alyosha dragged himself out of oblivion.

"How am I supposed to tell with the sky as it is?"

Alyosha looked at his hand, entwined with Mirek's. He didn't pull away. "Tell me about what Lisbeth was talking about."

He reached out with his other hand (even though the one with which he clung to his comrade's was closer) and somewhat awkwardly began eating the food Lisbeth had left for him. Being so close to the Russian made Mirek feel oddly at peace

"She said that the water supply was exposed and as easy target, I don't really know the details. Roland seemed to have enough men; she said this was the actual opportunity. A chance to do it. They wanted to discuss with you before planning."

Alyosha laughed brokenly. It turned into a cough halfway through. "And to think I was so close to ending it all. Trust Lisbeth to make it better."

"I'm not sure but," Mirek stuttered, "are you okay? Where do you keep going?" The party leader looked at him expectantly. "I care about you. I don't even know you," he continued helplessly, "but I care for you."

"I... I'll be fine. And more importantly, Equinox will triumph, so it's worth any sacrifice, isn't it?" He sounded vulnerable, just in that moment, before continuing on, "You... I'm not going to lie to you and say that you're the most intelligent or beautiful person I've met." Mirek was hurt, although he tried not to show it. "But that's not what I want in a relationship, and your purity surprises me... I spend so much time around these jaded fanatics, and yes perhaps I am one of them, but you're fresh and clicked." He paused, "I'm not promising you forever, I can't do that, and we barely know each. But Mirek, I would like to pursue a relationship with you.

Mirek leaned over and kissed him, it was better when there was no vomit. He saw thick bruises clustered around Alyosha's throat, like shadows in a graveyard, and pulled back quickly.

"I don't want to hurt you."

The Russian sighed almost inaudibly and handed the last piece of food to Mirek. "Eat that." It was old, but he was hungry and sensed that even though the other needed the food more rejecting it would do more harm than good. It still tasted good; they were all so hungry.

"I'm going to order Fabian to focus on food acquisition full-time if Lisbeth's proposal is of the merit she thinks it is," Alyosha said absently, "we need to be stronger. We're all sick all the time. It lowers our productivity."

No one was as unwell as him, but there was another question that Mirek wanted answered more. "How did you know that those people were dead?"

Alyosha closed his eyes. "I don't want to talk about it."

The easy comfort between them evaporated and Mirek felt the hand withdraw from his. They both stood up, the party leader limping over to the crate and sitting down in clear pain. The Pole sat on the ground next to him and waited. Slowly, he sifted through Roland and Lisbeth's densely annotated maps. "It doesn't matter how often I tell them," the previous hopelessness was gone from his voice, replaced by fond humour, "they always leave evidence lying around. With these anyone could prevent our revolution before it had even begun."

"They respect you, though." It was calming to be so close to him.

"I'm blessed with Lisbeth." It sounded like an admission of weakness. "I suppose Roland could teach you English, it's possible that London and up to three American cities survived the Collapse."

"Oh? I thought he was from Indonesia?"

"He's been telling war stories again, then." Alyosha chucked darkly, "he was an English mercenary, and if the outcome of the war surprised him so much I would like to know why he already had the bank account prepared and the language learnt. He's dangerous, Roland, but a good soldier and he likes to pretend to be kind which in effect is the same as being kind."

This was alarming, Mirek was horrified. "Roland's a… sociopath? How can you let him command your militia?"

"Sociopaths are predictable, they look out for themselves. He's not a threat until he has an opportunity to overthrow me and maintain a rule, which will be after the revolution. Anyway, Lisbeth will support me against him - he knows that he will never have a powerbase like mine and wouldn't act until he did. I suppose he forces me to only make popular decisions, which could be less useful. But don't trust him."

Mirek remembered easy-going Roland, his introduction to the Party. It occurred to him for the first time that he had only been here for five days, and that to feel so close to them was abnormal. He pushed a memory of Poland out of his mind, why would he think of that now? It wasn't relevant.

"You're not dealing with your grief very well." Soft, almost kind.

“H-how did you know I was thinking about that?”

“It’s clear in your body language. I’m perceptive. It’s only logical.” Alyosha was bottomless. “You’re suffering from delayed grief, you need to accept it and move on. But not yet, we have a war to win first.” He reached down, laying his hand on Mirek’s shoulder. “If it would help we can share childhoods. Talking about something might help.”

“I’m not sure…” he trailed off, but leaned into the hand.

“I grew up in an upper-class family, but I’d rather that no one knew of my affluent roots. They sent me to their parties and tried to make me into whatever they wanted. It was boring, I drank, and my young liver couldn’t handle it so they bought me a new cloned one. As soon as I was old enough to realize that I wanted out I accessed their bank account and took what I perceived then as a significantly large amount I could live off for a few years, but in reality was loose change to them.” The bitter tirade paused and, if anything, became bitterer. “I’d been learning German in school so at sixteen I made arrangements for a flat and ran away to Berlin to study history.

“Then I became politically active and discovered the underground through a partner, although our relationship didn’t last. I began to realize that I could gather these parties together to form a cohesive force and actually do something, so I left my course after two years. It took another patient two years of strategy to form Equinox, before the Environmental Collapse came and ruined everything.”

“You’re twenty?” Alyosha’s form was as emaciated as any of them, his manner pained; starvation had aged him more cruelly than the years.

“Yes. If you spent two years at university would you be twenty too?”

“Yes.”

For some reason that made Mirek happy, truly happy for the first time in a long time. He looked up to see the first real smile he had seen Alyosha make. Something warm was born in his chest and fizzled through him like champagne.

-

“Melanie is finally here,” there was no anger, but a few others shared pointed glances over Alyosha’s inoffensive accusation, “so we’ll begin this meeting. I understand the rage and sorrow that everyone is experiencing in the wake of the deaths of the majority of our numbers, and one day we will discover the truth behind their deaths.” Lisbeth snorted at that derisively, the party leader ignored her. “But I have not called you here to share grief; we must continue to fight in their memory. I understand that comrade Lisbeth has a detailed proposal for our next major offensive plan.”

“Do we have the resources to-” Anka was spoken over completely. Her eyes were red and puffy today, her body slumped in grief.

“Aren’t you forgetting something?” The tall man who looked like he had been muscular once asked. Mirek had heard him called Fabian; it seemed from overheard conversations that he was in charge of public relations. “You haven’t introduced us to this member at the table.”

“Oh, this is comrade Mirek, he’s a linguist. Since the collapse there hasn’t been a procedure for new recruits, and he didn’t have anywhere to stay so he’s been sleeping here. I trust him, and find his input useful.” The Pole couldn’t hold back a blush, but no one seemed to care apart from Lisbeth who huffed. “Oh, and you haven’t yet met Fabian and Melanie.”

“Good to meet you.” Mirek wasn’t sure of the etiquette.

“Endearing.” Lisbeth said with a practiced air of scorn, “Now I would like to move on to some actual party business, if there are no objections.” Melanie, a woman with brown hair and a raggedy scarf, glowered at the rudeness. “Well then, as you can see from this diagram the water for Berlin is drawn from this underground stream and recycles through this underground filtration system. The pipes are maintained by self-repairing machines with minimal need for humans, one of the reasons that it hasn’t failed alongside everything else.”

“I’m not seeing the usefulness in this.” Fabian was impatient.

“I’m getting there, comrade,” she spat, “you see this valve here is an emergency shut-off in event of a breech. It’s only included in the original blueprints, which I managed to liberate, so even if there were any engineers still working I doubt that they would know about it. It was supposed to be operated by machines, so it would be heavy to move, but…”

“How could this be weaponized?” Melanie addressed Roland, Mirek noted.

“Hold the city to ransom.” Roland answered, much to Lisbeth’s annoyance. She tried to reply, but fell silent as Alyosha began speaking.

“This is the first time I’ve heard the whole plan and I’m very uncertain about it. Won’t they go looking for any blockages along the line when the water supply is cut off? Won’t the robots detect it on command easily? Even if that failed, what about copies of the blueprints or the digital copies, the same information in other forms? And what kind of demand do we give, how do we make the people accept us as a government?”

“The city is already on its knees, how long could it last without water? What if we destroy a large enough part of the population to limit humanity to a small genetic pool, with insufficient diversity?” Anka contributed.

“Humanity will endure. It always has.” Roland said grimly.

“I hadn’t finished yet. I was wondering if we could utilize comrade Melanie’s computing expertise. If she could pose as an engineer and get access to the system then we could control the robots, which would help keep anyone out. And,” she looked Alyosha straight in the eyes, “I doubt very much that anyone could hear you speak and not support the regime. Force them to let you speak to the people, the militia, whatever you can. We can turn them with your help.”

“Otherwise we could meet them in battle,” Roland suggested, “I’ve located areas that would make good bases for guerrilla warfare already, although we should seize food supplies before that step because the walking dead make poor soldiers.”

“Compassionate as always.” Alyosha said dryly. The he turned to Mirek without warning. “What do you think we should do?”

He froze in his seat, all eyes nailing him to his chair. “Lisbeth’s plan sounds comprehensive but…” say something, anything, “risky.”

Alyosha nodded. “If I was in their place and a fugitive approached me with that request I would kill them. Threatening to permanently cut off the water supply can only ever be a bluff, nobody would ever do that, you see?”

Everyone nodded reluctantly.

“Could we cut off the supply locally? Weaken certain areas, perhaps-” Roland was steamrolled by Melanie.

“The wealthy would just move into the areas with water.”

“It could be difficult for them, with the rubble and common people on our side.”

“Maybe if we forced the militia to go home for water they would start to be won over too,” Anka mused, “seeing the suffering first-hand and hearing others talk about how we would make things better.”

“They’re interested in wealth, promise them wealth. Offer them food in exchange for weapons.”

“Comrade Fabian, I don’t think they’re that stupid.”

“I think that it could work. It’s win-win, if you think about it.”

Alyosha sighed. “We’ve lost too much support because of the Collapse, people are too busy trying to stay alive or dying to be interested in politics. Fabian is right, everyone needs to be less hungry before we stand a chance. The water supply is promising, but now is not the time.”

“We were so close before…” Lisbeth muttered.

“So you’re suggesting ambushing food production without permanently damaging it? Wait, just us seven? I don’t mind dying for the cause, but the cause would die with us.”

“There’s not enough food to feed the millions in the city.”

“Have you thought about official channels?”

“I could get us into the fascist party,” Alyosha said suddenly. Everyone went silent. “I’d rather not, that’s why I haven’t mentioned this before, but I could get us all seats. We would have more opportunities there.”

“How?” Lisbeth asked quietly. “I know that you disappear each night, that you have unusual connections, and come back with food from nowhere, but this is something else.”

“Don’t.” Venom laced his tone; it was the angriest Mirek had ever seen him. He shook like an overloaded washing machine. “You have no idea what I do for Equinox. Just consider this as an option.”

“How do we know that you don’t work for the government?” Lisbeth was cowed by his rage, but persisted nonetheless. He respected her for that.

“I…” Mirek reached his hand under the table and Alyosha clung to it like a drowning man trembling visibly. “I have contacts in the secret police.”

“And you couldn’t stop the deaths of my brother and the others?” Anka accused.

“I didn’t know about that.” He tried very, very hard to compose himself. “I have done everything I could to keep everyone alive, but I made a miscalculation. [It was my fault, retribution against me, but you’d better drop this Lisbeth. I can explain later.]”

“What did he say at the end?” Fabian asked Lisbeth.

She shook her head and they continued.

-

Lisbeth had talked to Alyosha alone at the back in mumbled Russian, Mirek having been waved away by both parties. Afterwards he approached her.

“What did he say?” Mirek paused. “I care about him, I should know.”

“He didn’t tell me about your relationship if that’s what you’re thinking.” She rolled her eyes and began moving away.

“How can you speak Russian, anyway?"

“I'm Russian too. I let him take the title for the Party, gave him the fame, whatever, I don't care. I used to think," she was very serious, "that when he knew that I was Russian and he took that identity from me, it wasn't for the Party, it was for himself. And then after all of the shit he’s put me through he’s been hiding this underneath everything. Almost seems like he just did it to make me feel guilty."

“What did he do?”

“Ask him yourself.” She left.

He knew that Alyosha wouldn’t tell him.

Chapter Text

Sometimes Azazel awoke, unsure of time always just like he had been under that off-white sky decades ago, and all that he could think of were the half-remembered faces of the possibly-dead Tobias and definitely-dead Nadia. There was no sight, nothing to distract him from what he remembered of them and worse – the holes in his memory that he knew he would never get back. Before this there had been so much to focus on, to apply himself to, but now all that was left was greyness behind his eyelids.

It was almost worse knowing that he would see again, because there was all of this hope but Amadeus hadn’t been by with any more news. Talking to them was the only entertainment he had, but his actions seemed worse and worse each time he relived them. At some point he had immersed himself and forgotten everything about what he was doing, and realizing that this had happened was the worst defeat that he could experience.

He had to help Tobias.

Footsteps – plural? – rang out across the corridor in a military march. They approached his door in a brutal crescendo and forced it open with an unwilling creak that he had never heard from Amadeus’s tentative entrance.

“Up.” Secret police undoubtedly, no politician spoke in that way.

Azazel knew his secret police. Turning his head towards his creation in despair, he rose.

“March.”

“I can’t walk unassisted.” He knew it would be of no use, but he had to try. “If you had a cane…”

“Lift him.” A commanding voice, reminding him of power lost.

Two pairs of strong hands gripped his shoulders and half-dragged, half-lifted him forward. It took great willpower to stifle his grunts of pain, the jilting of his crippled leg which had been immobile for so long. His secret police were so brutalized (how had he known of this and not stopped it?) that he knew they would answer no questions. The corridor felt long, with a stone floor that accented the sound of the boots. Time was different when blind. Eventually he felt his feet jolt over tiles, the shoots of pain in his legs intensifying.

“Put him over here.”

He was strapped down and a mask pulled over his throat. What did they even gain from torturing him? There was no answering with his mouth covered like this, his best weapon nullified. He would breathe it in, it was only a matter of time, and fighting would only bring pain. He swallowed it and fell unconscious.

-

He awoke and there were… shadows? Shades, something, not a dream because he would never dream with this kind of blurriness. There was a brighter area and a dimer area. He turned his head, seeing more plain grey fuzziness and some indistinct shapes that swung in and out of focus.

“Can you see me?”

What? Oh, he was German. It had been so long since he had last spoken German. Was there a reason why he shouldn’t speak German back? He was too tired for this. Just do it.

“I can… see.”

“Hm, wait a second.”

There was a jarring pain in his head for a split second, and then the shapes became more recognizable and stopped shifting.

“I now can tell the difference between you and the medical equipment.”

The other man could have smiled, could have frowned, how could he have told the difference? “We have time.”

It was nice to speak German again; it was easier than English for him. He had often regretted making London his base of operations, although it had been the obvious best strategic choice. “Am I still in London?”

“Yes, the project was based in Germany. I was flown over to do the surgery.” Azazel didn’t miss the implication that he had been treated as an object. But weren’t they both? “I can’t believe-” he cut himself off suddenly.

“What?”

“That I’m talking to Azazel.” There was disgust in his voice. “The grand engineer behind it all.”

He wondered what he had created, really, and whether or not this would be the rest of his life. He wanted to say that you couldn’t blame one person for everything, but he wasn’t sure that that was even true. He had given up trying after his illness, but had never given up power which was the true sin. And he had never let him resent himself.

“That’s me.” He said wearily. It felt like surrender, how long had it been like this?

But he decided to worry about that later.

“You…” trembling voice, overcome with feeling, “you…”

Once I sat on a throne and the world was roused to action by my words. How long has it been?

Perhaps for the first time he felt old. 

Chapter Text

Mirek lay entwined with restless Alyosha in bliss. The Russian had initially kept shifting his position and rearranging himself, but had long since given up and allowed contentedness to wash over him. They could remain like this for the night, the Pole decided, and only tomorrow morning they could rise together and join the others in the search. But to his disappointment just as he was getting drowsy Alyosha rose.

“Don’t go.”

For a moment he looked angry, then incredibly sad, his mouth opened and shut like a puppet’s. He turned away wordlessly and left. Mirek stood suddenly, inducing a headache, and raced after him. Outside it seemed like the sky was getting brighter, it looked as if it was transparent but misted over with a blank wall of fog. But it was such an unending, consistent solid block of colour that it couldn’t have been.

“Go back inside.” Alyosha’s words were a caress before turning and running under a train.

“Couldn’t you just share this with me?” He struggled not to emotionally blackmail, for the temptation to ask if he was trusted was too strong and would do too much damage. It seemed so unnecessary. “At least tell me where you’re going.” You told Lisbeth, why not me went unsaid.

“Need-to-know basis.” And those words were so weary, so defeated, that Mirek recoiled. He let Alyosha walk away after all.

There was nothing to do in the base alone except for remember how little he fitted in here. He could spectate, but was he even of any use? It felt like he was just waiting for someone to make him leave. Everything post-Poland was indefinite, he felt like he was looking through rippling water at his own life.

Roland walked in looking very human and Mirek wondered if Alyosha knew him as well as he thought he did. Everything about his previous interactions hadn’t indicated that he was a sociopath at all, perhaps he shouldn’t have accepted the judgement at face value so easily.

“Alyosha asked me to teach you English, but my body also thinks that it’s night and he’s gone so it probably is. We can start tomorrow. Oh, and I suppose no one’s told you about the general meeting tomorrow?”

“What?” He understood in a way that he wasn’t involved in decision making because of his inexperience, but had his partner just not told him?

“There’s another political forum, like the one you joined after, in which Alyosha will explain what we discussed in the second half of the meeting yesterday and gather support. I think Lisbeth organized it.” Roland chuckled benevolently, “You look like a kicked puppy. Don’t take it personally, your boyfriend probably just forgot.”

“How does everyone seem to know about our relationship?” Mirek mumbled bitterly. He wasn’t even sure what exactly it was, it seemed like others had a better idea than him.

“Why else would Alyosha keep you around?” The voice from behind made him jump. He turned to see Lisbeth leaning in the doorway.

“Lisbeth…” Roland scolded. “Aren’t you supposed to be elsewhere gathering food like the others?”

“It’s night,” she declared, “familiar bright white night. I’m sleeping. Goodnight, comrades.” She said the next part with exaggerated enthusiasm, as though imparting a goodnight greeting in Russian. “[You should know that Alyosha’s manipulating you, whether you believe me or not.]”

Mirek didn’t understand what she was talking about. He remained frozen with the feeling of her rank breath upon his ear lingering for longer than it should have. But how could he be..? No, she was inventing whatever suited her. Trying to divide them.

He looked up at Roland.

-

Alyosha forced himself into base the next day looking as though he was internally screaming, with more visible bruises underneath his suit than ever before. He tried to carefully lie down but overbalanced as his legs gave way and instead fell down upon his back, emitting a piercing half-scream.

Lisbeth and Mirek flinched together.

“We’re supposed to have that meeting today,” Lisbeth told him, “but I can go in your stead if you want.” She chewed her lip anxiously. Only cares about the Party, Mirek thought.

“No,” he wheezed, “I’ll be fine. Give me some time with Mirek, come back when we need to leave.” She nodded and went. Alyosha continued to talk, addressing the Pole. “Hannes was the doctor and now he’s dead. I doubt very much that we can get any other medical staff in, so you’re going to have to do your best.”

What. He was going to..? “I have no medical experience at all.” His sweating intensified even though what he’d said wasn’t strictly true.

“Just do what I tell you. It’s mostly intuitive, anyway.”

Mirek doubted that very much.

Alyosha opened his shirt with a grunt of pain, undoing the elegant and expensive buttons with dextrous and unbroken fingers. But alas, had only his torso fared so well; it was mottled with bruises separated by a few oozing gashes that looked as though they had been cut with a knife, although none of them looked infected yet. His back was hidden from view. The Pole felt his eyes moisten distantly. “What happened?” he whispered, to himself. There was no answer.

“I don’t have any permanent organ damage yet, luckily, but you need to sanitize the areas where the skin was broken to avoid infection. Hygiene is not good in this city. Top left drawer was Hannes, find supplies in there.”

Mirek found the drawer, there were cloth strips, tape, and some bottles of what looked like disinfectant. Carefully, he soaked the makeshift bandages and then taped them to Alyosha’s wounds. He was rewarded with a hiss of pain, and it occurred to him suddenly that he could have done this himself. Perhaps this was the Russian’s way of being honest with him.

“Do I need to do anything else?”

“My back…” he trailed off, “I’m not sure.”

But they both knew that it couldn’t go untreated and that the only other option was Lisbeth, so he turned over and lifted his jacket off. The shirt back underneath was stained a strong reddish brown, with fresh spots of blood littered over it like poppies. They seemed to make a pattern of crisscrossing lines.

“Lift it, I can’t from this angle.”

Mirek lifted it and was shocked by what he saw. Alyosha had been flogged, recently, and there were older marks underneath. None were too old – all since the collapse by his unprofessional judgement, but still. There were layers and the thought of someone tying him down – he remembered the red rings around his wrists he had seen days ago – and whipping him was so alien. This Alyosha prostrate before him asking for help was an entirely new person. But having the will to walk and go on in this state, that was familiar.

“Just do the whole thing, use the shirt if you need to.”

Mirek worked slowly and methodically whilst trying to hurt Alyosha as little as possible, it reminded him of the time he had done a first-aid course with his younger sister, Magda. Poland. He stopped thinking abruptly. Alyosha was trembling, but he doubted that it was from pain, although to his eternal credit he didn’t complain. The Pole also couldn’t stop himself from shaking under the pressure. When he had finished the back he was ready to lie next to his partner and sleep, but the next request, uncharacteristically timid, just sent his heart pounding harder.

“Could you bind my left ankle please? It’s sprained.”

“You were walking on a sprained ankle?”

Alyosha didn’t reply, his face was hidden from view.

Gently, Mirek lifted up the trouser leg. It was not scarred like his torso, barely bruised in fact, except for a purposeful dark splodge right against the muscle. It was surgically precise. Sickness welled up inside of him.

“Tell me about Poland.”

Mirek stiffened just as he was tearing a long strip of cloth for binding. “What?”

“I know that this is going to hurt. Tell me about Poland.”

He felt childish as he said it. “No.”

“Fuck, Mirek, look at me.” He tried to twist his head for eye contact, but the angle was too severe. “You’re looking at me, don’t deny me this. Anyway, this is for you. You have to accept what happened so you can move on. You may not realize this, but it’s affecting you. You’re like a shell, a ghost, a spectator, only focusing when something is right in front of you.” There was genuine affection in his voice. “You weren’t like this when I first met you. Perhaps lost, but not… disassociating. I’m losing you.”

“Poland has a coast with the Baltic Sea.” He said distantly. “I went there once and it was cold but sunny, it’s not one of those grey perpetually stormy places. It was like it was trying to be a holiday destination and had mastered the look, but the illusion was only skin-deep because under the water it was just cold. I think that there were fish, but I never saw them.”

He noticed that the bandages had dropped on the floor and picked them up, holding them against Alyosha’s ankle.

“As charmed as I am by your disturbingly metaphorical recounting of Polish geography, I’d rather hear about the actual people you knew or something of emotional significance. Really- AAAH!” He was cut off by a scream of pain as the bandage was wrapped tightly. “Fuck, no warning?”

“I can’t believe that you walked on that.”

The party leader sat up suddenly and glared at Mirek with angry tears in his eyes. “That’s the point of it, no walking. For two days, he said.” Then his expression abruptly changed. “Would you tell me about Poland if I..?”

“No.” Mirek sat next to him. The Russian leaned in.

“You’d think that there would be some adjusting or something, but every time he says it I think maybe this is the time he goes through with it and when I felt the ankle I was so sure it would happen. If Fabian had seen me he’d have thrown me from power in an instant, I was so weak.” Bitterness clouded his tone. “I tried, I really did, but all it took was that and-”

“What did he say?”

"The usual threat." He said tiredly, "Breaking my legs. I know that he wouldn’t rationally because how would I leave?" The talking was rapid with a sense that Alyosha was losing control. “He doesn’t want me around there permanently. Even if I did leave, how would I get back? He’d hate that, you should have seen him after we-”

“Ssh.” Mirek could tell that Alyosha swung like a pendulum from controlled and manipulative to exhausted, frenzied and hopeless. He knew that the exchange would be regretted later unless he stopped it early.

Softly he kissed the Russian’s mouth which tasted faintly of blood, and it was returned passionately. Alyosha pushed him over flat onto the mattress.

-

“Uh, Alyosha?” Lisbeth, and more uncomfortable than he had ever seen her before. Mirek felt drowsy. “Sorry to disturb you… but, um, the conference?”

His partner sat up violently. The Pole distantly was glad that they were fully clothed. “My ankle is sprained, I need a walking stick.”

“Um, I think Anka has one in the corner for Roland.” She left hurriedly.

“I’ve never seen Lisbeth flustered before,” Alyosha smirked.

Mirek concentrated harder on dragging himself out of oblivion. It was so warm, comfortable, and safe here with his partner. Couldn’t they just stay… but he knew why they couldn’t. “Should I come to the conference?”

“If you want, I certainly wouldn’t mind having you there…” affection was warm in his tone, “besides, if all goes to plan we’ll soon be implementing our new strategy, and you’ll need to hear about that.”

“It still seems risky.”

Risky for us, he wanted to say, but anything about not wanting to lose him would seem so unbearably false that he held his tongue. It was better to just be comfortable together here, only if it was just for a short while.

They got up together once Lisbeth returned with a neat, professional cane and today Alyosha wasn’t the only one walking strangely, the Russian was unhelpfully smug about this. The deputy tried very hard to not look at either of them.

It was quite a short way back to Anka’s house, although they had to stop halfway through because of Alyosha’s severe ankle injury. They almost carried him but he refused support, going as far as hopping down the ladder into the basement only using one leg. He headed up to the back of the room, scattering the crowds, and refusing to sit on the crate someone vacated for him.

He wore his pain as armour, which Mirek found a decidedly poor idea.

He took a seat at the back of the audience, besides Roland who he regarded as a friend. There was a flicker of something in the party leader’s eyes stayed standing and saw his partner where he was, but it was soon gone. Alyosha tapped his cane on the floor, eliciting instant silence, before throwing it aside as though it was an irritation not an aid. Lisbeth quietly picked it up.

Did Mirek hear a thudding in the distance? No.

“Comrades!” He spoke in a rousing tone that Mirek could only think of as insincere, which was unfair really because he had never heard it before. “We’ve been adapting to the Collapse these past few weeks, and we’ve done well. But times have changed, and our approach must change with it. The city’s current vulnerability is a priority, as are the human rights abuses perpetrated by the…”

He was sure the thudding was getting louder. Other people started to hear it too, looking around to try and locate it.

“…current fascist government, which are only worsening as time continues on. Our newest strategy isn’t the failure of the old one, it served its purpose, or defeat. It’s evolution, and we-” he cut himself off suddenly, looking stricken. He ran his hands through his hair, glanced at the ladder, then his ankle, and almost imperceptibly crumpled.

“Listen to me,” he said urgently, trembling, “and don’t panic. Those are footsteps,” there was instant uproar, he had to shout to be heard, “and they could be coming here, so dissipate now.” People fought to climb the ladder like a pile of beetles crushing one another. Mirek stayed at the back with Roland. “CALM DOWN!” For perhaps the first time, he was ignored. “LOW-PROFILE TARGETS RUN, SOMEONE TELL ANKA TO RUN, HIGH-PROFILE TARGETS RUN SEPERAETLY FROM LOW-PROFILE TARGETS OR YOU’LL LEAD THEM TO YOUR COMRADES.”

Alyosha spoke more but when he realized that no one could hear he sat down. Lisbeth tugged at his arm but he shook his head and talked, although he couldn’t hear what was said at that distance. The pounding feet were no longer audible above the racket they were making, Mirek wondered if perhaps they had turned down another street. He looked at Roland who had stayed perfectly still, although the sweat pouring down his face betrayed his fear.

By the time he looked back at Alyosha Lisbeth and the others had climbed out. It occurred to him then that perhaps the best course of action would have been joining them in running. It was too late now, anyway. Just as he began to cross the room he heard the footsteps right overhead and saw the first black booted feet descend the ladder.

They were not wearing bulletproof vests like they had in the past, although there were jackets with batons attached and pistols in the belts. Their faces, though, they looked like people. Mirek supposed that they were, really. It was obvious that they were unarmed or they had some previous intel, because there were no orders for hands in the air or even to lie on the ground. Alyosha offered them his hands and they pushed him over, agitating his back and causing him to grunt in pain.

An undernourished woman hit Mirek brutally in the stomach before cuffing him and hauling his wheezing body into the back of the room where he was kicked next to Alyosha. Soon Roland joined him there, and some others he couldn’t name.

“Only six down here,” one of the militia barked up the trapdoor, “you get any running away?”

The muffled shouted word sounded like three, but he couldn’t be sure over the sound of his own continued spluttering.

“You’ll be okay, Mirek.” Alyosha looked more desperate than him, crazy eyes forcing their way into his own, making an impossible promise they would both regret. "I'll protect you.”

He coughed in response, coughed and coughed and coughed.

“You’re not coughing up any blood.” The Russian said comfortingly.

Chapter Text

Azazel could see, and that was supposed to be something good. He had looked forward to it for so long that he felt slightly disappointed that it didn’t instantly solve all of his other problems. Ah well, with some slight manipulation of Amadeus perhaps he could meet Tobias again, and that was all he wanted. The most important thing was perfecting his sight and securing a cane, and then he would finally have control.

Another agonizing headache wracked through his head. He probably should be on painkillers, but the doctor told him with resentment heavy in his voice that supplies were short. The man had hated him, and not for the first time he bitterly wondered why he had even given everything to the Party. He didn’t expect a doctor to understand his politics and sacrifice any more than he understood medicine.

It was disturbing to touch his face and feel the cold metal that stood in place of where his eyeballs should have been. The cameras in his face sickened the guards and the doctor, although Amadeus didn’t seem to care. There had been a mirror, but he could only make out an imprecise outline of his face. Everything was so grey, inside and out, as though someone had painted over him.

Tobias had liked his dark brown eyes, called them black holes. They hardly sucked everything they had contact with in and didn’t let it escape.

He heard and saw Amadeus enter, rounded by blurriness and fading into the background slightly, like a ghost.

“How are you today?” He inquired politely.

“We left off talking about the current controlled economic system.” There wasn’t much left to recount, and Azazel dreaded being left alone in this tomb forever once he had no leverage. They would not shoot him. “But today I have something more current to discuss.”

Staying on in an advisory capacity – this was the best possible future. All he needed was a better venue and then he would be secure until his mind fell apart and he was euthanized, under his own merciful law. He could be useful, and busy, all he had to do was pass this test and prove that they needed him.

“Oh?” He tried to sound disinterested, dignified, but he knew that some of the hope leaked through. Luckily Amadeus was not adept at noticing emotional cues.

“Your policy on settlements was incomplete. The propaganda they featured in and speeches,” he separated out his speeches and propaganda, which was quaintly naïve, “displayed them clearly as negative antisocial drains, so there have been calls to tackle this problem.”

Whoever had replaced him had been idiot enough to swallow propaganda that wasn’t even aimed at them and was now going to kill some innocent people, the last independent people, because of it. It also seemed like he hadn’t undergone the smear campaign typical of a politician following their fall from grace during his reign, rather he had been deified if they were taking his speeches that seriously. But ultimately it told him one thing which made him bristle, his successor was incompetent. He had been overthrown by an incompetent.

“Settlements are outside if the cities, so it’s important that people think they’re bad so that they don’t all want to leave cities en masse next time we introduce an unpopular policy. In themselves they are harmless and difficult to rule, let them be as they are.”

It was true that his hate campaigns against settlements did have some factual basis, for when the environment fell and the people of the world burned very few of the rich managed to preserve their estates to live off. It was capitalism, enormously unfair, but it was unlikely that any rulers remained in power when there had been so many distress calls about worker uprisings. These outlying villages were isolated and difficult to transport to or from, so apart from a select few which were conveniently close enough to be taxed they were allowed to continue on their own.

Occasionally there had been enough civil unrest that Azazel would induce a pseudo-war with distant settlements. They would fire weapons upon them and the bombs would hit and destroy everything. He found the entire process distasteful, his memories of old pacifism at the forefront of his mind.

“I…” don’t understand went implied. “You speak like the settlements are just a means to an end. But your speeches…”

Amadeus was a misdirected sword: sharp and blind. He wished that he had known them when in power so that he could have wielded them, perhaps even honed them to be his successor.

“Those particular speeches were emotive tirades for the people, designed to play on the emotions.”

“But they weren’t true?” Lamentando. Absently, Azazel wondered if he could bargain his way into possession of a piano.

“They weren’t factually true, there was some emotional truth.”

He wished he could see Amadeus’s stricken face. “But… they aren’t a realistic threat?”

“No, they’re not. They should be left alone out of respect for human life.”

“So you lied to the Party and people?” Their inflexibility was frustrating.

“The Party knew what I meant,” he was beginning to doubt that, “and the people ended up happier than they would have been otherwise.”

“She was right,” Azazel could just about see the outline of their head shaking, “You have become morally corrupt in your later years. The party does need to maintain its purity.”

Morally corrupt? Oh yes, he had coined that phrase a few months ago when eliminating some opponents. Perhaps he had also caused the paranoia about the need for purity, but it all just reminded him of when he had read history. There were many things he had thought power would make him, but another Stalin had not been one of them.

He supposed that in his later years he had been purging the party, only it had felt so much more reasonable when he justified it to himself. Now this was his legacy?

“Who replaced me as leader?” He asked Amadeus, impatient. This he must know.

“Raphael.” 

Chapter Text

Mirek awoke in a darkness that choked and blinded him. His stomach ached. The memories of his arrest were reluctant to return, but then seared through his mind like wildfire. Pain, crashing troops, fleeing people, Lisbeth abandoning them. Had she escaped? He hoped not.

“Is anyone there?” He called, not too loudly. He was hesitant to start feeling around the room to work out its size when he could not see.

“Mirek?” Alyosha’s voice, the tang of the supressed Russian accent more audible when the tone was so raw. “I’m sorry that you’re here.”

There was some shuffling and the party leader pressed himself against Mirek’s body. They sat together leaning against the wall. He couldn’t help but notice the other’s erratic heartbeat, forced to be rapid by fear. Alyosha shook often, but the Pole sensed that this was something worse, something more imminent and base. He was holding back his flight instinct with all that he had.

“You’ve been here before, haven’t you?” Surely he couldn’t lie now.

“I’ve almost lived here at night since the collapse.” he was quiet, distant, deliberately removed.

“What should I expect?”

“I’ll protect you. I can pull strings; rile them with language, anything.” Offer myself seemed to be the overriding subtext, I will offer myself so you can live and this is better not just for you, but also for me because I don’t want to see you hurt and I’ve been through it before. Mirek wondered if he would be tortured before he let Alyosha suffer the same. He felt weak in comparison.

“Why did you come here?”

“I didn’t really have a choice.” The Russian went slack against him. “Sometimes I didn’t come, and then it was worse so I tried not to miss it. Every now and then I felt self-destructive and went to a party in the Reichstag with an attractive new member instead.” Mirek couldn’t tell if this was supposed to invoke affection, guilt, or pity. Alyosha seemed too tired to be aiming for something that complex, but then again…

“But what did you get out of this?” That was the question, the unending question that was never answered.

“For the Party: I was almost an informant, so they left actual members who would have turned informant and given out information indiscriminately. I gathered information, and you saw how well I could dismiss that secret policeman outside the Reichstag. But really it was just for the line of communication. I could ask them for passes to events, inquire about their progress, and then I would tell them select information about Equinox.”

“It seems weighted in your favour.”

“Getting anything out of them took days of harassment, and occasionally under duress I would reveal something actually important. That’s how the other key members died; I accidentally revealed the location of a rendezvous point. They trusted me because they believed what everyone believes, what it is so easy to believe, that I’m only interested in power.”

“I don’t think that you’re only after power. Your ideology, drive… it’s fascinating.” Mirek curled into Alyosha. “You’re so intelligent with such initiative, one day you’ll -” He cut himself off abruptly as the door opened. The Russian kicked himself across the floor to a few feet away where he proceeded to pretend to be unconscious, but it was too late for Mirek to do the same so he watched as a hand holding a candle illuminated the doorway.

It was followed by a man in decorated military uniform, decorated to the point of farce. His thick grey moustache wobbled as he talked, “It’s too dark down here, but electricity is difficult enough to obtain as it is and you prisoners certainly don’t deserve any.” Alyosha pretended to be unconscious more, but he was visibly shaking. “Wake up, Demidov.”

Mirek was fairly certain that Aleksei Demidov was his full name, but it could easily have been another alias. He decided not to call the Russian ‘Alyosha’ whilst they were here just in case, although what good a name could do he did not know.

“And who is this person you were talking with so intimately during your arrest? You wouldn’t show that much concern towards just anyone.” The man ignored him and spoke only to the party leader, using the familiar du in an entirely inappropriate context, especially when paired with his earlier use of the surname. It was demeaning.

“He’s just a grunt.” All of Alyosha’s normal smoothness fell away here and the desperation was so clear in his voice that it was pathetic. “You know how I care for all of my comrades.”

“I remember your face when I told you we were killing off your council. I’m disappointed that we seem to have missed a few, but I assure you that I will strive to compensate for my previous failure-”

“NO!” His words were an arrow pulled from a wound. Mirek felt like a thing, not a person, but an object. It didn’t surprise him that he couldn’t think of any way he could help.

“Look Demidov, charming as you,” the du was cutting, “are there just isn’t anything else you can offer me. The clear best option is to put a swift end to your little rebellion whilst we still can. What do you want me to do, allow you time to regroup so I lose my position and everything I’ve built, all of this order, comes tumbling down? There’s no way that-”

“The death penalty is wrong; besides, my remaining comrades are extremely competent. They could serve the fasci-, uh, government well.” He spoke with the fluency he always had but rushed, scared. It took away the solemnity of what he was saying and made what could have appeared a well-structured argument seem like baseless conjecture.

“Ah, so you expect me to believe that we’ve won you over through our hospitality and now you’d like to join us? All of you?”

“We see now that the best option is to change the government from inside legally.”

The man laughed. “You’re generously offering to take the only possible choice in this situation? You want to break the government form the inside. For all your ideals, do you ever think about what that kind of political instability would do to the people of this city, your starving army that you intend to use as cannon fodder against my guns? You would further cripple this city.”

“My revolution would be bloodless and sudden.”

“And I suppose you have a method for this?”

“You want me to tell you my plan?”

The man turned his head suddenly to Mirek. “You, sitting there, who are you?” He addressed Mirek with the formal ‘Sie’, which made Alyosha tense.

“Just another faceless enemy.” How much should he say? It wasn’t like they would recognize his name, or be able to do anything with it, but he just felt like he didn’t want this man to know anything about him.

He laughed. “I’m General Ström.”

“Seems like you’re wasting time with unimportant details like us.”

“Demidov is not a detail, although you… yes, I could just shoot you.”

“Don’t shoot him.” Alyosha spat. General Ström raised an eyebrow. “Do I need a reason to not want a comrade shot?”

“There is definitely something going on between you.” He eyed them. Mirek tried to look unthreatening and empty, which wasn’t hard. He couldn’t remember when he had last eaten. “The thing is that Demidov here is an absolute prodigy who I am determined that Berlin will not lose. He has the potential to do great things for this country, to restore Germany’s former glory, or at least to push forward some innovative solutions to the current problems.”

“And what better place to do it than in government!” The Russian protested, his accent still raw.

“No,” the general spoke as one would to a small child, “you’re not ready yet. You’re young, I will guide you out of this revolutionary phase and once you’ve seen how much good our system does then you can help improve it alone. Until then I will guide you.”

“The corruption, the filth boiling, stewing, this toxic sludge under our-” the heated speech was stomped out.

“That passion is the passion of the young. You will adapt and you will understand.”

“You know how well I could fake changing my views, how will you ever know that they’ve changed in reality?”

Ström chuckled. “You speak like you want me to shoot all your friends and lock you in a cage until you’ll do anything I say.”

“If you destroy me you won’t be able to harness my creative ability, and if you’re so obsessed with my competence, clearly due to the lack of your own, then why is my system not better? You don’t care for anyone but yourself, you power-hungry [dubiina].”

Mirek wondered if Alyosha was like Anka, with such firm utilitarian principals, he would be far easier to use. As it was he was too concerned with the result, if allowed power he would manipulate it to an end instead of improving it as much as he could. The best part of a new regime wouldn’t be the lack of repression and corruption; it would be how Alyosha applied himself to solving every problem power threw at him.

“Hm.” General Ström pulled out a pistol, pointing it at Mirek. He felt distant as he saw it raised to his head and the trigger pulled, only closing his eyes in resignation. It was only right, really, to join the cold sea of Poland in the grave. Only when there was a screech did he open his eyes and see Alyosha’s arm thrust in front of him, having blocked the bullet at the cost of great injury to himself.

Mirek loved his comrade, loved the way he had managed to keep that promise somehow.

The arm was retracted and Alyosha curled around it, sobbing silently in pain. His face was hidden from Ström’s view.

“Your rudeness couldn’t go unpunished,” the general explained, “you never seem to learn that. Ah well, Pavlov provided me with a possible solution for that.”

“You don’t even speak Russian.” The words were broken, fluctuated through gasps and sobs.

“I know that tone.”

“[He’s insane.]” Alyosha disguised his message to Mirek as coughs.

“I honestly thought you were asexual.”

“What?” This time Mirek spoke when not addressed to, which suddenly seemed like a poor move. It revealed too much.

“I have never seen Demidov sacrifice anyone for the cause, and it’s far better for the cause that he has a healthy arm and you’re dead so he has one fewer responsibility to deal with. One has to wonder what he sees in you.”

“Bandage my arm.”

Ström shrugged. “Guard! Bring me some bandages and the young woman with short black hair.”

Lisbeth? Surely not. He was sure she had abandoned them and escaped. The door swung open and a handcuffed Lisbeth thudded painfully to the ground. She looked bruised. Alyosha looked up briefly, his face lined with pain, and his expression fell further apart when he saw her. She didn’t move from face down on the ground.

General Ström bent over near Alyosha. “Give me your arm.”

He held it out slowly, unwilling to bend it. “You’re lucky, it’s lodged in the muscle not the bone.” He said it like he expected thanks for his deliberate and considerate aim.

“Your gun must be absolutely shit if a bullet can’t even tear its way out of the other side of a muscle at this range.” Lisbeth spat, her face still hidden from view.

The general neatly picked the bullet out, ignoring the groans and suppressed flailing, and bandaged it neatly with a tourniquet. He then clinically walked over to Lisbeth and kicked her with surgical precision right in the stomach. She howled like a wolf. Mirek flinched at the calculated brutality.

“You would do well to be polite, if Demidov had remembered this then he would still have two operating arms.”

Alyosha still cradled his arm in desperate pain. “I need water to replace the blood I’ve lost.”

“All in due time. First, tell me what role this woman played within your underground playgroup.” He kicked Lisbeth again to punctuate the order. This time she only whimpered.

“Stop kicking her.” His voice was still wavering with pain; it hurt Mirek to hear him like this.

“Then,” he kicked her again, “tell,” another howl, “me,” a scream this time, “what,” she didn’t move but there was such a screech, “she,” another crooning wail, “does.” A final howl.

“I need her. She’s my deputy, but more than that, she helps me. Questions me. She’s compatible with me, completes me intellectually, and improves my working…” he struggled for an effective argument, “she’s necessary, so do try not to damage her intestines.”

Mirek wondered whether Alyosha was lying or not.

“Pah. You think that everyone’s necessary.”

“She’s the most necessary apart from Mirek.” He pleaded, twisting his neck to show his pained face, “Please don’t kill her.” Surely that was a lie? Alyosha wouldn’t be taken in by someone, but Lisbeth was so hostile, so angry…

Lisbeth was too busy sobbing and coughing blood to comment, but Mirek was certain that she would have protested her importance to save her own life.

“Our mystery lover finally has a name. Do you have a surname, Mirek?”

Fuck. “Abendroth.”

“German despite that accent… Polish, I believe? My condolences.”

In the distance he heard a door slam shut.

Fucking Poland. Fucking dead Poland that everyone had to keep fucking mentioning, and fucking Lisbeth bleeding out on the floor just so he wouldn’t feel fucking sorry for her, and Alyosha here with a bullet in his arm for him- what a fucking life he had and how fucking real did it feel in that moment, with the fucking burden of the whole of fucking Poland crushing his mind, the fucking beaches and fucking grey ocean and fucking plains and fucking cities and he was the only one who gave a fuck because all of the others who would have given a fuck were fucking dead. And here he was mysteriously fucking alive, and fuck knows what kind of cruel world would force that upon him.

Long live Poland, repressed in his fucking mind.

He lunged and General Ström and began choking the fuck out of that fucker who had shot his partner and kicked his comrade (she could have that, for all it fucking meant).

-

“[You’re lucky they didn’t kill you.]”

Mirek lay handcuffed to a hospital bed, comrades on either side, one of whom he actually liked. That wasn’t the one who had spoken. He wished he knew some swear words in Russian.

“You’re lucky one of your broken ribs didn’t puncture a lung.” He couldn’t say it in Russian so he didn’t try. My country is gone and I’m the only one left to remember it. It wasn’t the same for the Russians; they had each other and no love for their country. They had both been in exile in Berlin for too long.

It was useful that they could all speak Russian, even if his was poor, but overwhelmingly his feelings were obsessed with how strange it was, being a prisoner, having the government break you, and then having them insist on putting you back together again when medical care was closed off to the public: irrational. He supposed that he wasn’t wasting too many supplies, not like Lisbeth who seemed to have had surgery on broken ribs and now was hooked up to multiple machines. This was old technology, good and expensive, so someone must have taken Alyosha’s plea for her seriously.

“[How are we going to get out of this, Alyosha?]” Lisbeth’s breath was extremely laboured, and Mirek noticed the traces of her original accent for the first time.

“[I don’t know what he wants. He’s not interested in the fate of Berlin, only himself, so why does he keep acting like he is? I used to think he wanted to have power over someone he perceived as better than himself, but the way he acts…]” He spoke quietly, in pain, using the simplest words he could for Mirek’s benefit. “[…how am I supposed to plan when I don’t know what his goals are? I have no idea what he’ll do next.]”

“[He’s human, lyudi ne imeyut smysla. We can’t just keep waiting… he’ll kill us… maybe not you, but us.]” Lisbeth struggled to talk, the liquid in her throat apparent in her voice.

“[Mirek is the least injured out of us.]” It was true, his body ached but he could move, perhaps move quickly. There had been food, easing his malnourishment, and now he had the best chance out of any of them of escaping. But all he could think of was his remembered life in those first few weeks, numb with grief, alone, busying himself with asking meaningless questions. He could not return, and could not leave Alyosha behind. “[But it wouldn’t be of much use to Equinox or us if he escaped. There is nowhere secure he could meet to ask people for help.]”

“[I couldn’t go without you.]” He told his lover simply. Singular. Lisbeth laughed, a hollow cracking sound which quickly devolved into wheezing coughs.

“[I wonder how Roland is doing and if Fabian and Melanie made it out. I don’t think they did.]” Alyosha changed the subject fluently, ignoring the declaration, his gaze flitting between his comrades with exasperation lining his face.

“[Roland is old, he’s probably dead.]” The words were a draft chilling Mirek. “[He couldn’t take what they’d throw at him.]”

“[Do you think I could tell them that he’s important? It runs the risk of them not taking my plea regarding you two seriously. I shouldn’t pile on the demands; our position is neobosnovannyy as it is.]”

“[Mirek would be happy for you to throw me to them. And Anka’s the one we should be worrying about; she’s still mourning Stephan.]” There was no anger, if anything the words were stronger than her earlier annunciations had been. Mirek felt a strong urge to deny it, even if it was almost true.

“It’s irrational,” Alyosha said tiredly, speaking German as though he knew that Mirek could not understand the Russian required to express such a sentiment, “both your antagonistic behaviour Lisbeth, and your overreaction Mirek.”

“[This is how I treat everyone.]”

“[She told me not to trust you!]”

“[A wise piece of advice.]” The Pole fell silent at that. “[But I trust her, and you should too. Her hostility is skin-deep.]”

Lisbeth looked like she wanted to argue but was too busy breathing to expend the effort.

“[And how am I supposed to trust you in trusting her if I can’t trust you?]”

Alyosha opened his mouth to reply, but at that moment the door opened and the familiar General Ström entered, looking agitated. Once again the Russian pursued the transparent policy of feigning sleep, although after seeing his brutality Mirek decided that this was a good idea. Lisbeth followed suit. He was fairly certain that the German would have heard them talking in the corridor and seen their open eyes, but if Alyosha pursued it then it was a strategy worth following.

“You’re obviously awake, although I find your desire to fake sleep flattering; I could hear your little domestic quite clearly outside.”

Mirek cursed that Alyosha had needed to speak German for him. He would almost trade his Polish, perhaps the last Polish that anyone knew, for the more useful language. But remembering it was duty.

“Eavesdropping is unbecoming.” Lisbeth said in a monotone.

Ström strode over to her. She flinched into the mattress violently, but he only pressed some buttons on a machine to her right and returned to the front of the three beds. The young woman watched the equipment as though it would rear up and bite her. “What did you do?”

“Shut off your morphine. I’m not entirely sure why you were given any to begin with; you have a lesson to learn.” She paled, but said nothing. “Ah, Demidov, how are you feeling this morning?” That du, jarring, false familiarity.

Impotent rage flashed across his face for a second, and then it was gone. “As well as can be expected.”

“And you, Abendroth?”

No one had ever really called him by his surname before; it was uncomfortable. “…Fine.”

“I’m glad.” This was the man who had tried to shoot him point-blank because Alyosha was rude.

“How are the others who were brought in with us?” The Russian was alert and wary.

“They’ve received no special attention. I suppose you’re going to tell me that they’re all necessary?”

“…four of them are.” Just like that he would abandon the others who had followed him so blindly. “Roland Abbott, Fabian Jollenbeck, Melanie Weber, Anka Hartmann in order of importance.”

“[That’s cold, even for you.]” Lisbeth sounded far worse and was now trembling. The morphine had been necessary after all, it seemed. “[I know that it’s the best option, but-]”

“I would like to be included in this conversation.” Ström’s voice was dangerously quiet. He took a step forward.

Chapter Text

Raphael had replaced Azazel, and the only question that left his grasping at was how. How had that uninspiring politburo member managed to wrangle her way into power? She had been in charge of something mediocre and unnoticeable like communications, only taking over once they had been established by her considerably more competent predecessor. How had he missed her as a threat and how she seemed so unthreatening?

It wouldn’t really matter than she had succeeded him naturally, if he had heard of it somehow from retirement he wouldn’t have minded. Raphael was a safe choice, unlikely to do anything drastic, but to learn that she had the patience to pretend to only teeter on the border of a worthwhile choice for the position for her five years in office, biding her time, and building up a powerbase under his radar? That demonstrated craftiness that perhaps even defeated his own.

This new policy against settlements did not bode well. It was not as he had thought from Amadeus, not a misunderstanding; if she had managed to succeed him then it was very deliberate. But to make such a move aware of its unimportance? What was he missing, the people had not been close to uprising, there was no need for it in propaganda, so why would she do it?

He had to talk to her.

But this weight on Azazel’s chest he had been feeling since this news was not one of discontent with the current situation, it was one devoid of his usual patience and calm he had maintained so flawlessly since his ascent into power. There was this pain of inadequacy – how could he conquer the world and miss this? All he had was his ability, morality gone but for a shadow it was a constant struggle to keep alive with justifications, and to know that there was someone out there who had outfoxed him, it was crushing.

His ‘handler’ Amadeus was an ego boost, but even that was soured by knowing that their presence was an insult from Raphael, a comment on his own blindness. Then again, it had sounded like his speeches were at least still respected within the party, this was unusual and would logically be built from her admiration of him. If only he had seen in the last few years of his reign, been able to judge her from her body language and shifting; then, surely, he would have seen.

Amadeus entered, unannounced as always. Azazel was tired of his pathetic ghost of sight, a reminder of what he had lost, and the perpetual headaches that accompanied it. At least he could recognize their shadow from those of the guards, which was something.

“Comrade.” Azazel greeted.

They nodded in return and went straight on to business. “I was told that you would be interested in knowing that taxes are to be extended to all settlements.”

“And where will the money to fund all of this transport come from?”

“…don’t know.”

“Do tell me if you find out.” It was a jab at Amadeus’s lack of connection. He doubted that they would pick up on it.

“I’ll try.” Earnest, touching, disappointing. There was no reward for investing in that naïveté; it became tiresome quickly and opened avenues for exploitation. He was not used to dealing with people like this.

“I need to speak to Raphael.”

“I can pass a message to someone higher up who may be able to pass it directly on.” Accommodating, somewhat surprisingly so. But evasive. “What would you like to say?”

“I need to see her in person.”

“She’s busy.” Well she would be, wouldn’t she? It was still a solid excuse, not once when he had stood as triumphant conqueror did he deign to visit those in prison, never had he attended an execution willingly. No, the issue Azazel had was a different one: the solid perceived implication was that he was less important than whatever matter she had at hand.

It was important for him to confront her and learn what his previous mistakes had been, what to never do again (what opportunities would he have?), what legacy he left with her – but it was more important to see where Tobias was now. For that he needed access to the files and the ability to read them, two things he was unlikely to ever have.

He could ask Amadeus and then there was a strong risk that his inquiry would be logged or it would slip through their straightforwardness and someone would know. There was his risk that Tobias would have all the attention he had worked hardest to avoid by destroying the files drawn to him, and his absence from the system would be noted. Since he was already a clear enemy to the state there would be no effort to find out the truth, just a firing squad.

Azazel didn’t want Tobias to die, but he also needed to think about what Tobias would want. Would he want to have spent the second half of his life as part of a farce the politburo laughed at, a meaningless front of a resistance that was in effect a fly trap? But if he didn’t know would it matter? And what if he had found out and tried to break free, being killed in the process? Tobias had always gravitated towards powerful personalities and latched onto them because his independent decision-making was poor (and yet he had managed to rebel against him, which said something Azazel decided not to acknowledge). Maybe he was happy there, had found another shadow to hide in.

But when it came down to it Azazel was tired of manoeuvring and worn down by waves of headaches, so he decided to stop overthinking it and embrace the possibility of seeing him again.

“Hm, instead could you bring me a file on current members of the…” what had he called it? A description would have to do, “….government resistance members. You’re looking for someone who’s been in there for over two decades, male.”

Amadeus didn’t ask why, just nodded in a way that was exaggerated enough that he could see it. Azazel wondered if it was mocking, if their face betrayed all of the feelings their dialogue didn’t show. He decided that he didn’t care.

Maybe there was hope.

Chapter Text

Mirek and Lisbeth were alone, Alyosha long since having been dragged out by the arm. Ström had gripped his broken one, just above where touching would do serious damage, and the Russian had cried out all of the way down the corridor.

The world was very present and visceral all of a sudden.

Mirek decided that if they had to be here together then they might as well talk about something trivial, to distract them both from the pain and hopeless situation. Drowning the impressions of Alyosha from his ears was also a strong motive. His Russian had already been stretched to the limit that day, so he opted for German. He couldn’t see any recording devices anyway. “How did-” his throat was clogged with phlegm, the words poorly defined. He cleared his throat. “How did you join Equinox?”

“What, now we’re going to just-” she broke off into hacking coughs for a few seconds, “-pretend to be friends?”

He noticed that she was trembling just like Alyosha did when he was stressed or in pain. It was difficult to tell where the equipment ended and the machines began, they crossed and crushed her. Mirek stretched out his hand to see if he could reactivate the morphine – pain should be avoided in anyone – but it was out of reach. The handcuff tugged on his wrist painfully. She didn’t see him try.

“Alyosha wouldn’t want us to fight.”

She wheezed out a snort, derisive. “True … enough. I was studying pure maths at … university, considering myself politically competent …” Her constant pauses for breath were pitiful. “…I’d been slightly active for my three years … attended my first underground forum and saw Alyosha speak … was impressed by him, enjoyed having the shared … language.

“He extended me an invite set me … some tasks to do. I was expelled because of him … he reported me for doing what he told me to … do. It was so I could become ‘fully dedicated’,” she tried to do air quotes, but the handcuffs stopped her with an unpleasant clanking, “to Equinox … at first I was angry, wouldn’t talk to him, but he became homeless … slept on my couch … I believed in the cause … rejoined and worked my way up.”

That opened up avenues of questioning. “Do you hold it against him?”

On the side, looking straight at her, her eyes flashed. “What he did wasn’t right … but he’s a comrade … he needs guidance, isn’t perfect but he’s … good, powerful, competent … right for the party.” She paused. “How are you adjusting to … Poland?”

Just like that she callously threw him into the abyss, this crevasse inside himself that he edged around every moment of every day. He remembered the cold sea and drowned in it. He forced his thoughts to the artificial grey sky outside and fell from it into grey water.

“It’s gone,” his mind gulped for air and swallowed tepid seawater, dense with salty tears, “it’s outside of my control.”

She looked straight at him. “Help to talk. You had … family?”

Magda. He flailed in the waves. “They’re dead.”

Golden afternoons and old Christmases and hot tea by the fire that burned his mouth were in the air above him, distorted by currents in memory and mood. He could not reach them, return to them, he was here and that was it, weighed down onto the seabed by stones of unexpressed grief.

Lisbeth looked at him with a combination of pity and scorn from that reply. “Didn’t like my family much … my parents, they-”

There were footsteps. It was difficult for Mirek to think that there were events that happened outside of the room, real events that he was not there to witness. Alyosha was brought in by faceless men, dragged by his healthy right shoulder. They dropped him in the centre of the floor where he crumpled and stayed down, his face hidden from view. They slammed the door with a click.

“Alyosha?” Lisbeth’s concern was a pale shadow of Mirek’s own. He knew how to grieve; he rose from the ocean for his partner. Anything. Living, the Russian was like buoyant driftwood. But if he didn’t rise from the ground and go on then he would just become another stone.

He lurched forwards and grabbed onto the bedrail, hurling himself onto the bed, brutally smashing his foot against the rail as he did so, in one quick and violent motion. Then he lay there, flat on his stomach, moaning slightly. He looked up and saw Mirek, smiling slightly at the sight of his face. “No one around here respects injuries, a poor hospital.”

He must have been referring to the holds on his arm, designed to cause pain, and the constant disregard for his surgically sprained ankle, Mirek decided. Nothing of the kind had happened to him.

“I’m sorry Alyosha, but,” Lisbeth’s words were a shaky wheeze, “please could you turn on my … morphine pump? You could just sort-of lean over and…”

Grimly, he nodded, and slumped over Mirek in another sudden move that must have required energy he surely couldn’t spare. Perhaps he couldn’t bear the creeping pain of slow movement. It took him five minutes of fiddling and accidentally elbowing the Pole’s bruised body (no muttered apologies from anyone) before there was finally a small beep.

“What number should I put it on?”

“I don’t know the units, use your intuition.” Lisbeth sighed with perceived relief; the real ease to her pain would come soon after. Alyosha remained dangling over Mirek, his presence painful but comforting. From here he had a clear view of-

“There’s blood on the back of your shirt.” Dare he lift it up? When he had treated Alyosha’s wounds the back had been so scarred, so painful even to see. The desire to protect him was strong and senseless; Mirek knew that indulging in it would only lead to eventual self-resentment at his own helplessness.

“I’m tired.” He certainly looked it, willing to lie uncomfortably as a bridge over the gap between their beds instead of expending the slight effort required to get him back. All of this, to spare Lisbeth pain.

It wasn’t an answer, but Mirek didn’t feel like he could demand one now. His handcuffed hands couldn’t move to caress Alyosha, so he just lay and tried to be peaceful. The red bracelets on the Russian’s wrists were prominent, almost bleeding; it looked like they had been supporting his entire weight. Soon they would bruise over. He suddenly felt guilty for his own agitation and self-pity over his mildly chafed wrists.

Lisbeth sighed in relief and the man draped over Mirek smiled slightly. But he felt so suddenly relaxed with his partner that he couldn’t be jealous or angry, not really. He sighed and leaned back, not really resting, just clearing his head of thoughts and letting himself slip into timelessness. It was such a drastic change in mood that he felt distantly that it should have concerned him, but he didn’t really care.

He let time flow over him like a river, smoothing out his edges, drowning out the sounds of gently bleeping machinery, like eroding a pebble. At some point he must have fallen asleep, and when the click of the door opening awoke him Alyosha had lain back in his bed. Mirek couldn’t tell if he was pretending to be asleep as usual or actually asleep, Lisbeth looked like she had passed out on morphine.

Before he could follow suit and play dead the entrant, a woman in a white coat who looked on the brink of starvation wearing broken glasses, saw his eyes open. “[It’s not Ström.]” Mirek told his companions. Neither moved.

The woman avoided his eye contact and started fiddling with the equipment. She paused slightly at the rating on Lisbeth’s morphine pump and adjusted it with an almost invisible shake of her head in disbelief. Looked like Alyosha’s intuition hadn’t been too good after all. Silently, she replaced Lisbeth’s bandages (by the looks of her subtle flinching she wasn’t really asleep).

“Lift up your shirt.” Mirek did so. She looked at them but didn’t do anything. “You’re recovering well.”

She reached over to lift up Alyosha’s shirt but he snarled into life, shifting away from her so violently that he hit the side of the bed with a yelp of pain. “Hands off.” He was trembling.

Placating, the woman in the white coat stepped back. “You don’t want your wounds to get infected; we’ll both get in trouble. I’m just a doctor.”

“You’re facilitating them.” Mirek had never heard Alyosha talk with such scorn and open hostility to someone who wasn’t an immediate danger to him.

“Would you rather the prisoners receive no medical attention? I do what I can.”

“Do you know how short of medical personnel they are in the slums right now? Not only could you make a killing,” Lisbeth smirked as she uttered it, “-you look like you could do with more food, no offence- but you could do a hell of a lot more good than you do here.” She was breathing better, but wincing at every movement due to the morphine level being reduced.

The doctor didn’t reply.

“Uncuff Mirek and leave the medical supplies here, he can do it if you’re so concerned.”

“Look, I understand that you’re wary of anyone here, but I wouldn’t hurt you. I don’t have the key and…” she paused in distaste, almost sheepishly, “I have to put these on you, I’m sorry, but you know the General…”Slowly she withdrew handcuffs from her bag; they had a longer range than Mirek’s.

Alyosha resisted her because he could, without fear of repercussions, Mirek realized. He sat there against the wall two meters away from her, back arching in pain.

“I wouldn’t tell him if you didn’t, but he’d see…” she seemed to be deep in thought, struggling for a way to convince him to spare them both the pain, “I could tell you how the people I’ve seen who were brought in with you are doing? Would that be a fair trade?”

He sent her a withering glare, but moved forwards slightly, turning his back to her. “Look away Mirek, Lisbeth.” His voice was exhausted, the tension giving way to it.

He turned over out of respect, seeing that Lisbeth had done the same. For a while he could hear slight rusting and some sharp intakes of breath, then a few involuntary half-shouts of pain. “Your w-wrists,” the doctor asked, her voice trembling. There was some scuffling, the doctor eventually backed away. Lisbeth looked back first, his gaze followed hers.

Alyosha was handcuffed to the bed with visible bandages around his wrist and throat (Mirek hadn’t noticed anything around it, how could he have missed that?). The rest of him was covered by clothes. He looked hallowed.

The starving doctor looked like she had seen something terrible. She opened her mouth, as if to apologize, and then closed it. Her body language screamed of an uncontrolled flight instinct.

“The news?” Lisbeth reminded her unkindly.

“From the ones that are highest-profile, the old man is untouched and the middle-aged man was beaten badly, but is fine even without medical care. The woman… she said she was called Melanie… she’s close to death. The other one is fine, but none of them have received food since arrest.”

He couldn’t tell whether Alyosha was upset or relieved. Maybe both. His eyes were closed.

“Could Melanie be saved?” It had been so long since the Pole had last talked.

“I-I think so.” Uncertainty wasn’t good.

“Will you save her?”

“If you persuaded the General, we do have the means.”

Mirek made a discontented noise in the back of his throat and turned away. He didn’t realize that she’d left until he heard the key turn in the lock.

“[We can’t lose Melanie; she’s a major part of the plan.]” Lisbeth said urgently in smooth Russian.

“[I’ll bargain with Ström as much as I can.]” His tiredness was laid plain in his voice.

“[We might not have much time.]”

Alyosha didn’t reply.

-

Someone had come and given the party leader food, which he swiftly shared with Mirek. Lisbeth protested that she was being fed intravenously and refused any. It was more than he had eaten in one sitting since before the Environmental Collapse, and had made him drowsy. It was vaguely boring, lying there, with little to do but sleep. His muscles were stiff from not moving.

He had been about to fall asleep when the door handle rattled violently. Alyosha and Lisbeth played dead, ne noted with confusion. Surely it wouldn’t change anything? This repeated tactic had never proved effective, only a hurried waving of Alyosha’s hand convinced him to follow suit. He trusted the Russian.

Someone finally realized that it was locked and he heard a key forced in impatiently. It opened, he couldn’t see who entered, but he knew that it wouldn’t be the doctor again.

“Rise and shine!” Mirek didn’t move. “Your fake sleeping is getting tiresome.” No one replied. “I’ll kick you if you don’t move, that was implied but your excellent perception doesn’t seem to stretch that far.” He added a threat when it failed.

The Pole opened his eyes just in time to see Alyosha involuntarily flinch into his mattress when he saw General Ström leaning over him, only a few inches between their faces. It looked disconcerting.

“For the leader of the entire army supposed to be in charge of a rapidly deteriorating city, you certainly dedicate a lot of your time to your… hobbies.” The party leader spoke bitterly.

“I delegate effectively.”

They eyed each other.

“I would be willing to lend my expertise to the fascist party in exchange for being accompanied by all the comrades I mentioned before, alongside a steady supply of food and all necessary medical care.”

“No.”

“We could continue our meetings, you could set people to watch my movements closely,” Alyosha offered desperately, “think of it like a trial period.”

General Ström leaned back and hummed in response.

Chapter Text

According to the files the man who had joined the ‘resistance’ around when Tobias had was currently in Berlin, under the impression that the information he was passing on in his low-level job was of importance and extending invitations to others. It was a good tactic, asking him to recruit so they could know whose loyalty would waver, one implemented by him.

Being in London did make it logistically difficult, but he had to see him. The question was how could he threaten or bribe them into the meeting. It would be impossible to cover his tracks, but the meeting would be good for both of them. Tobias probably desired closure as much as Azazel did, although whether or not he was willing to surrender his freedom for it was another problem.

But he decided to worry about that later.

The door opened and the familiar shadow of Amadeus walked behind a new person. They didn’t seem uneasy at the sight of the cameras injected into Azazel’s face, but it was difficult to tell when their face was flat, all expression indistinguishable.

“Comrade Azazel.” He knew that voice even if it was cooler and more impersonal than he had remembered, for it had been preoccupying his thoughts for far too long.

“Comrade Raphael.” He kept his face impassive to level the playing field somewhat. It was stressful, being before the individual who held your life in their hands.

“I suppose that you’d like to know what you missed.” Her words didn’t sound deliberately taunting – but surely they were?

“I’m interested in your rise from being the, ah, eminent mediocrity of the Party.” She would understand the straightforward insult but not the veiled comparison to Stalin. No one studied that kind of history anymore, and all his fears of becoming like him had faded in the face of strings of crises until the idea was no longer as repugnant as it had been.

She chuckled, aware that in holding all of the power she could afford to accept a few jabs graciously. If he had had less self-control, he would have snarled. “I knew your blind spots and worked around them.”

It was obvious, almost disappointing, and the rudeness irritated him more than anything else. Sign language, he supposed, and body language, had been her weapons. His illness had deposed him when it took his sight, not her. There was no grand conspiracy, no unrealistically canny rival, just his own unavoidable weakness. It had been outside of his control: inevitable.

“Straightforward,” he mused, “I don’t know why I expected more.” It was still an achievement, he acknowledged inwardly, to forge your voice and words for that long, waiting for the perfect opportunity. But he wouldn’t give her that. Her break had been his justified but unwise paranoia in the face of the perceived tenuousness of his grasp of power.

Raphael didn’t answer immediately. He couldn’t see clearly enough to judge her expression, but her next words were careful enough that he knew she was hiding some strong feeling. “I respect you a great deal, so I’ve answered your summons,” but don’t test me didn’t need to be said, “and I’d like to know why you were so keen to speak to me.”

Her voice was unguarded just for a moment then, or perhaps he was just more attuned to it, and he heard a sliver of unbecoming hope in her tone. Perhaps he was imagining it, for it seemed absurd that she could care about his opinion of her after such a victory. He had never immortalized himself as others had as a means of consolidating power; it had always seemed underhanded and just… unappealing. Even though he was the leader being outside the spotlight called to him. It was safer working from the shadows.

He supposed that was what he was doing now, only more extreme.

“I wanted to find out what kind if legacy I was leaving; it was clear that the version of you I thought I knew had not been the true one. Your cunning has my respect,” he added on the end, an afterthought, just to clarify, “but it doesn’t mean that you’ll be a good leader.”

“I strive to maintain your standards.” Had she been this awed with him when a member of the politburo? How could you overthrow someone you hero-worshipped? She was lying, he was certain of it.

“Then what are you doing with the settlements? Your policy has no political merit. It would only appeal to Amadeus’s type, who take the letter of my speeches above the word of them.”

“That’s the type you left behind,” she said simply, “it takes someone with more imagination to get into power, but one always has to cater to the majority.”

“When exactly did I teach everyone to be so thoughtless and unquestioning?”

She made a gesture; he couldn’t tell what it was.

This was not his legacy. He would not let it be. No – that was not the issue – his legacy was outside of his control now. The problem was whether or not he thought this was his legacy, and that was easily solved. He swiftly stopped that thought process and turned instead to another pressing concern.

“More importantly, there’s great strategic value in bringing over an operative from Berlin.”

Everything had gone wrong when Tobias had turned and betrayed him and he had allowed himself to fall into a chasm of apathy. That had been a turning point in his regime. He refused to believe that meeting Tobias again wouldn’t reverse everything. Maybe it was irrational, but he didn’t care.

Because soon he would see him again, and perhaps that was enough.

Chapter Text

Even with only one naked light bulb in the ceiling flickering incessantly it was still brighter inside the infirmary than it had been last time Mirek went outside. The city was in power-saving mode. Distantly, he wondered how many of the homeless people he had seen the last time he was on the streets had starved by now.

Anka and Roland sat close together (but not touching – very carefully not touching) in the corner. They had spoken briefly when they entered, but Alyosha was too aware of surveillance and no one else spoke Russian. There had been a few words exchanged in English between Roland and Alyosha, but they had stopped once the Russian had said that he found the language a strain and it would be too easy for them to find an interpreter.

Fabian was slumped, sleeping, on the floor at the foot of the beds. None of the occupants could see him, but he had looked pained when they dragged him in, and had fallen asleep almost immediately. Alyosha had stopped Mirek from waking him, citing that sleep-deprivation was a common interrogation technique. He didn’t want to know how the party leader knew that, so he tried not to think about it.

Melanie was in a bed and hadn’t woken up. She looked better than Lisbeth. It dawned on Mirek that it would take them both weeks to recover. He looked at Alyosha, tempted to enquire, but he looked to be asleep. It was difficult for Mirek to sleep with the light so bright, or perhaps he had just been resting too much lately. His bruises barely hurt anymore and had faded massively.

The food was doing him good even though he was technically taking from Alyosha by accepting it. The sharing food was… pleasant. It seemed like a slice of normality in whatever his life had become since Poland had sent it spinning out of control. It was sweet and romantic and he hoped that it expressed Alyosha’s feelings that he could not speak of otherwise.

Sometimes his love felt strange and twisted. He couldn’t decide whether it was the circumstances or it itself.

“[What do you think Ström will do?]” Mirek asked Lisbeth again.

“[My answer isn’t going to change – I’m not going to suddenly know.]” The typical irritation of the freshly-awoken washed through her voice. “[Him putting the others in here doesn’t mean anything. He could still decide to shoot us all.]”

“[But what do you think?]”

“[I think…]” her forehead creased, “[I think that Alyosha will survive this, and he’ll drag you with him even if you’re really lost with Poland. Maybe I’ll make it by climbing on top of a pile of corpses.]” She laughed, but he got the impression that it wasn’t a joke. “[The rest will be lucky to survive, even if our plan works.]”

Mirek nodded and looked at the ceiling. The plaster was peeling. His eyes hurt from the bare bulb. He put his arm in front of his face. They should be conspiring, but everyone was tired. The handcuff was too short for him to touch Alyosha.

He sighed his way into something similar to sleep.

-

“Mirek?” Alyosha’s words seemed far away.

“Co to jest?”

“What? German, please, [or Russian if you will.]”

He jolted into awareness – that had been Polish. Where had that come from? German was the language he thought in, why would Polish decide to rear its head now?

“Przepraszam – uh, I mean sorry. It just came out.” It was mumbled. Mirek felt a familiar depression settle in his chest. Fucking Poland. It felt safer to be angry with it than sad.

“[You have some serious issues.]” Lisbeth said morosely, as though they permanently impacted upon her life. Everyone ignored her.

“Could you stop talking in Russian?” Fabian was unashamed but still out of eyeshot. His confidence sounded false. “We’re not all blessed with multiple languages. How you managed to pick so many up considering you left school at sixteen is amazing, but there’s no need to rub it in our faces constantly.” It wasn’t too bitter, more of an attempted joke.

When had Alyosha told Fabian that? It occurred to him very suddenly that he didn’t really know anyone here apart from his partner, and perhaps Lisbeth.

“Fabian, be a dear and turn up my morphine pump.”

“The doctor said it wasn’t safe.” Alyosha commanded a natural authority when in a group, even bandaged and handcuffed to a bed.

“I thought she was facilitating murder.”

“That doesn’t affect the quality of her professional medical judgement.”

“[Poshyol ty'.]”

The party leader sighed, amusement leaking through frustration. Fabian didn’t move to obey Lisbeth; the hierarchy was still in place here. Mirek felt that it should be more familiar to him than it was. They sat there, uncomfortable under the circumstances, when the door opened gently and the doctor stepped in again.

Mirek felt Fabian’s weight shift against the bed, but no one acted particularly wary. The he remembered her telling him the news; of course they had all met her before. The doctor awkwardly stood in the doorway before moving across the room almost fearfully, glancing at them, and wordlessly checking on Lisbeth. There was no resistance from her.

“Do you know anything about the-” Fabian cut himself off when he saw who else was in the doorway as it wafted open, not Ström but someone in black clothes who had a stance that screamed of military training. He didn’t speak. Everyone watched him like they were expecting him to attack.

“Would you care to introduce yourself? We’re not all familiar with your… distinctive presence.” Alyosha asked, the people in the room giving him courage, or perhaps he was only nervous around Ström. It was a different side to him than the one that Mirek had seen lately.

He ignored the Russian’s request even though they had eye contact and walked over to the party leader’s bed, uncuffing him using keys, all without breaking eye-contact. Then he did the same to Mirek (his hands were rough and warm) before moving on to Lisbeth. Only after that did he turn and exit, although Mirek could see the corner of his sleeve poking through the doorframe.

“[He’s main sledovatel' here, ranking below Ström,]” Alyosha told Mirek, “[I’ve had the pleasure of his company before.]”

“[Sledovatel'?]” He didn’t know the word.

The Russian shook his head, sitting up and rubbing the wrist attached to his broken wrist to restore blood flow. Mirek did the same.

The doctor attended to Melanie extensively, looking concerned at her wellbeing but more overall anxious at the situation, before hesitating over Alyosha. He gave her a look of undisguised refusal and she scuttled out, leaving some food in the centre of the floor. Fabian took a more than generous share, but surprisingly passed half to Anka.

Alyosha stepped in and took the rest, wordlessly offering Roland half and Mirek the other. The older man refused it, so he ate it.

Mirek wanted to talk to Roland, to enjoy a conversation, but it would be awkward with so many people listening and Alyosha’s strange warnings about him still stayed with him. He still regarded the older man as a friend, even if he would be distrustful around him. The people in this group were always on their guard, looking out for betrayal at every turn.

Now that he thought of it, Alyosha had only ever seemed comfortable around him… and Lisbeth. Irritating. He turned to look at the Russian, still crouched over the floor looking pained, and saw that he was looking at the door, which was still ajar. It swung inwards and Ström entered, the same man from before carrying a chair for him, which he placed in front of the beds. He left when waved away.

“I’ve had time to consider your proposal, Demidov, and I’m interested. But I have concerns, your comrades,” half of the time anyone used that word it seemed to be ironic, “cannot accompany you for obvious reasons, and frankly if they won’t be of any use to you I don’t see why we need them.”

That was worrying.

“You need them,” Alyosha replied with a veil of false calm he wore before all his non-Russian speaking fellows, “because I won’t work well without them. I need to consult; they each have an area of expertise.”

“And what would these be?” Whilst Ström had the air of control, of toying with them, there was still impatience in his tone.

“Lisbeth questions my decisions exceptionally well and thinks of plenty of her own; most of my best moves have been due to her. Besides, a mathematical perspective is always worth consideration. Anka is a utilitarian, call her my conscience, I need to consider human losses, and Melanie’s experience in technology makes her valuable as an engineer if nothing else, otherwise someone with insight into how modern solutions can be applied to problems and industry. Roland was a successful solider in the War That Wasn’t, his strategic expertise is invaluable militarily.” Wouldn’t that make Roland the first to be eliminated? He described him like a threat.

“And him?” The General pointed at Fabian.

Alyosha paled. “He’s expert at manipulation, especially with public opinion. Good with psychology and propaganda.” Mirek got the impression that he was not only lying but lying on impulse with little planning, but if Ström noticed it he let it pass.

“And him?” The General pointed at Mirek. Fuck. He didn’t even know the party manifesto, or which party had devolved into the fascist one following the Collapse.

“A talented linguist, good at code-breaking,” that was really lying, plain and simple, perhaps that was why it sounded so true when it came from his mouth, “and able to quickly interpret in diplomatic situations that will arise once international communication has been established.” That was also very not true. “He is currently fluent in Danish, Russian, Polish, German, Lithuanian, and Swedish.”

It was unlikely that they could find someone who spoke any of the languages he didn’t, considering that they were all dead, but if they did he was fucked.

“He doesn’t seem essential at the moment.”

“He is.” Alyosha replied tightly.

“Mh. If Stockholm are following the agreed timetable then we should receive a delegation within the next six months, so I suppose the Swedish is of some use. The rest of the languages are dead, apart from German.” Mirek let his hands clench uselessly into fists. He focused on the problem that he would have to learn how to speak Swedish, and soon. How could he have forgotten Stockholm?

“It’s not what he speaks; it’s that he could learn them. The ability can be used and demonstrates a gift for recognizing patterns, an indispensable skill in governing.” Recognizing patterns. Alyosha would never say something so meaningless; try so transparent a bluff, if he wasn’t desperate. Anka looked concerned.

“They can stay in a room like this with barred windows for light and some running water, the two women can continue to receive medical care, but all non-essential electricity will be turned off and you’ll be responsible for bringing them food.” He spoke like it had already been arranged, all of it pre-planned and easy to execute.

It was fair. They were used to starving all dying slowly anyway, and they stood too much to lose by bargaining. “Deal.” Alyosha replied.

The General nodded to them and left.

“As I understand it,” Fabian spoke slowly, “we’re trapped a room like this, only with worse lighting and reliant on you for food, for the foreseeable future.”

“I’ll be manoeuvring, it won’t be for long.” Alyosha promised grimly. “And I’ll bring you as much food as I can.”

“I appreciate that it was difficult to consult us in that situation, but could we have not had at least some input in this?” Anka spoke in a deliberately non-aggressive manner, but her words sounded hostile even with the care that had been put into softening them.

“It was that or the firing squad. I’m fine with it.” Lisbeth told her.

“Do you think that you can live up to their expectations?” Roland asked thoughtfully. “I don’t mean to question your competence, but it sounds like he expects miracles. Why else would he hold us all here, just for you?”

“He’s bored.” Mirek offered. The others didn’t seem to understand the situation, how much danger they were in, and how much of a strain this was on Alyosha. Looking at him here it was almost possible to forget the fear he had shown before. His mask was too good; it was playing against him through his own people.

“He’s a dictatorial fascist interested in power.” Lisbeth came up with an alternative.

“He’s confused by the Collapse, like so many others, looking to regain an impression of control over his life by controlling the lives of others.” Anka paused considerately, as though waiting for anyone to offer another opinion, before continuing on, “But his motives aren’t relevant right now. We need to think about the future of Equinox.”

It occurred to Mirek that in the middle of this massive crisis the faith and respect the others had held for Alyosha seemed diminished.

“She’s really just scared that you’ll do a political U-turn and turn fascist,” Lisbeth replied, throwing an inflection of boredom into her voice to make it seem like the idea was absurd, “probably because of your questionable ideology and tendency to play both sides to gain control.”

“Alyosha isn’t interested in power.” Everyone looked at Mirek in disbelief, some quite scornfully. He felt like he shouldn’t have spoken. They all seemed to exist in a different sphere of thought to him.

“What Mirek means is that I’m not interested in power for power’s sake. And he’s right, this has always and will always be about the people. If the best way to improve the situation is masquerading as a fascist party member then I will do so.”

“Do tell me what the difference is between pretending and actually being one.” Anka spoke cringingly, as though she regretted saying the words.

“In one you’re at gunpoint, in the other you-”

“You would be supporting the regime by improving conditions.” Fabian interrupted, “People would feel better towards it, you’re reducing resistance.”

Alyosha looked like he desperately wanted to say something but was holding it back. He looked at each of the members in turn, trying and failing to communicate something. Mirek felt like he should have known what it was. When he and Lisbeth shook their heads (the force of hers indicated something other than misunderstanding) he spoke quickly to them in Russian.

“[I can’t tell them that I intend to overthrow or undermine them, we could be under nablyudeniye,]” he saw that Mirek was unfamiliar with the word, “[they could be listening to us.]”

“[Do you think the doctor would have told us about the others if she had known they were listening?]” Lisbeth replied, equally hushed and rushed. It took him a while to separate out the words and translate in his head. Why had Alyosha offered him as a translator? He didn’t even have the capacity to learn languages he had boasted of, he belatedly realized. Was there no better alternative lie?

“[She could have been a spy, she could have not known, it’s too risky. We need to consider a way to communicate this.]”

“I’d like to be included in this conversation, please.” Roland asked without a trace of anger or impatience.

Alyosha spoke to him in what must have been English, briefly. Learning English had never fitted into the life story he had told Mirek. Fabian growled.

“I, too, am a member of this Party.” He said pointedly.

“[To anyone watching it would be obvious that we’re conspiring.]” Lisbeth said with a sigh, when had her breathing improved so much? “[Maybe we should risk it, don’t want a raskol. Just tell them that you’re manipulating us for the skills you pereotsenen to them if they ask.]”

“Comrade, I’m beginning to lose patience.” Fabian was clicking his fingernails on the ground. Mirek noticed that the little fingernail was missing, his palm curled protectively around it. Would they have only stopped after the first if he told them something? No, it was too big an assumption to make, he decided.

“You’ve forced his hand.” Lisbeth said, openly angrier than Fabian, sitting up just so she could see him at the foot of her bed despite the pain involved.

“What?”

“Of course I’ll be attempting to undermine their regime and bring about revolution.” Alyosha said tiredly.

“But your actions will be counter-productive for that cause.”

“Do you have so little faith in him?” Lisbeth hissed. She opened her mouth to continue, but the Russian silenced her with a look.

“Comrade Lisbeth, I can speak for myself. I know how everything works, I assure you that I will be careful.”

“Won’t there be surveillance here?” Anka asked quietly, guiltily.

“Most likely, and I’ll tell each side that I’m lying to the other.” Mirek decided that Alyosha’s boldness must be a test. “You’ll just have to choose whether to trust me or not. I’m hardly a reliable source of information for that, so why should I say anything on the subject?”

Everyone was silent. Fabian inspected his little finger, deep in thought. “They shot the others they captured,” he said eventually, “all of them apart from us. I saw it. They said that they had isolated the area around our base as a ‘hotbed of resistance’ and were going to eliminate it before it became a threat. When you’re in the Reichstag with your influence you should try to avert that.”

It was a peace offering, even Mirek saw that.

Chapter Text

Amadeus stepped in to the room, someone else behind him a blur. Azazel’s heart rose, he had been expecting Tobias for weeks now.

“Azazel?” A voice, familiar, not Tobias’s, rang out into the room. He knew who it was and instantly the situation was clear to him. “What happened to your face?” German, accent heavy, polite ‘Sie’,

He would not explain his ‘eyes’, not now. “Ifrit.” Why he had chosen that pseudonym, he did not know. He had been the one to suggest Azazel, and yet what a choice had that been? None of the Middle East, Asia, or Africa had survived the collapse, except for a few settlements. He wondered if they were being taxed on Raphael’s orders. It wasn’t like the goods received would even cover transport costs - it was entirely irrational. Surely it would be better to just lie to the people if she needed a scapegoat and leave them be.

Or had he set a dangerous precedent in his apparent disregard for human life?

No, it had been his general who wiped out Northern America, even if he had been forced to pretend that it was on his orders to preserve face. Then he’d been forced into his first show trial, because how else could he punish the culprit of the genocide he’d taken credit for? It had been vindictive and pointless; all of the following had fallen into the same pattern. Eventually he had just given up trying to judge people morally.

But all of this was him distracting himself from the bitter truth: Tobias was not here. He could have been missed, perhaps he moved to another country, or have found a way out (which was admittedly unlikely with his personality), but now Azazel had to face one of his oldest rivals (enemies?) in his weakened state.

“I knew it,” Ifrit sounded incredibly bitter, “I knew that your ‘fall from power’ would have always been a ruse.”

The more he spoke the more apparent the other man’s age became to Azazel. He was roughly ten years the elder, by now he must be seventy. To survive to be over sixty when not an instrumental party member was quite an accomplishment, but his old friend would manage it of course. He had always managed to get his way.

Ifrit continued before Azazel could correct him ruefully that yes, it was surprising, but his blindness had robbed him of power. “But now! You must have been watching me for all that time, waiting for the right time to act, and you were always patient, but now! Could you not have waited a month, a year?”

Azazel tried to use willpower to split open the shadow-head and see the facial expression. He sounded anguished, but Raphael had taught him how easy it was to inflect the voice.

You’re making assumptions, was the correct response. It was safe and honest, stopped him from betraying anything else to their mutual enemies. But he was curious with what his comrade of past days had been doing, and from here in this grey locked room, when he couldn’t even see the world burn if it decided to do so again, everything seemed overwhelmingly underwhelming.

“I did what was in my best interests.” A bluff, but he had always been adept at bluffing. His German was not as flawless as it had once been, but he could manage expressing that.

“You just let me struggle, you just let me fester, labouring to accomplish something, just so you could knock it down at the last minute. How could you, you Schwein.”

That was rude. He let it pass. He was going to continue bluffing, but Amadeus spoke up first. “We’ll be running this conversation through our translation software.” Raphael glared at them. This was not something she wanted him to know.

“What does that even mean?” Ifrit hissed, “You’ve had me dragged here and not a single person speaks German but you. I had no idea where they were taking me; I thought I was facing the firing squad. I fucking hate you.”

“It was what needed to be done for the regime.” He had to trick him into telling him what he thought he was doing. It shouldn’t have been difficult considering that Ifrit was convinced that he knew already. Tobias wasn’t here. He quaked internally in rage and helplessness. Priorities. “Have you seen Tobias in the past decade?”

A decade since they had last met. It almost made him question the emotional attachment he held, but he was old with few responsibilities and could indulge in such things. This was his type of retirement. When he thought about it, this lifestyle suited him surprisingly well. He had been here for months now.

“Maybe three years ago, in a corridor. I haven’t spoken to him since I left the Party.” He was suspicious. The government resistance had been a trap; the first to fall into it had been Ifrit. Then Tobias had succumbed which had been awful for Azazel, perhaps the worst thing since his struggle to power. “I never had a chance to tell him that the system was rigged, knowing him from the Collapse days I doubt that he could work it out on his own. He always attached to people, worked from their shadows of exceptional individuals.”

“You… knew it was a government department..?” Azazel realized too late that he’d given away his lack of knowledge, but just managed to keep his voice from rising at the end. It could be interpreted as a statement, not a question.

“Fuck.” But Ifrit knew the uncertainty. The head, looking like it was seen through frosted glass, was shaking as though something was rubbing it. Perhaps he was running his hand through his hair. “Are you pretending… what…”

He owed him an explanation, but that wasn’t why he gave one. “I was deposed. I pulled some strings to try and see Tobias for one last time and they sent me you instead. You’d been a member for roughly the same time, which was all they had to go on.”

“I can’t… Why did you ever think it was a viable policy?” Accusatory, “You put all of your enemies together and give them a forum. Of course I’d see that as a perfect opportunity. I learned from you that you have to be patient, see the bigger picture. Now listen to me,” he was suddenly serious, “you can get revenge on the people who overthrew you, or I can give you more power than you currently have, anything, just don’t tell them what I told you.

“It slipped out, it was a mistake, and I can’t let all of the people I’ve involved and years planning go to waste. I’ll include you in our plans, if we act in a way with the surprise factor we might just win. Or at any rate I’ve set up something to destroy what you’ve created. You must see now what a wreck your administration is, it needs to destruct. I can help you find Tobias.”

Azazel laughed like a cracked bell. ‘We’ll be running this conversation through our translation software.’ What a fucking joke.

Chapter Text

Moving had offered no chance of escape when they were tied down by Melanie and Lisbeth. Two days ago Mirek would have reluctantly abandoned Lisbeth, he was loath to desert anyone but he had disliked her enough, but lately he had been having second thoughts. She defended Alyosha with him, there was a certain solidarity growing between them. He decided that she didn’t mean her hostility in an offensive way; it was just a part of her idiolect.

So they had lain, bored and increasingly hungry, in a plain room for hours. Tensions were running high. Mirek agreed to give up his bed so Roland, who needed it more because of his age, could rest. Fabian took Alyosha’s on the claim of being injured.

They slept when according to Anka’s internal clock, which was apparently surprisingly accurate, it was ‘approximately eleven no promises’. It felt like hours later, perhaps four, when Alyosha came stumbling in, limping worse although he appeared to be using a stick, and crushing Fabian in an attempt to retain ownership of the bed. He yelped and moved out of the way, the Russian keeling into the space he left.

Fabian stood above the bed glaring. “Well, what happened?”

Alyosha didn’t answer immediately. “I’ll explain in the morning.”

He must have known as well as any of them how indefinable morning was, but no one questioned him, possibly because they were equally keen to return to sleep. Fabian took the cold floor without further protest. Perhaps some of them hadn’t even woken up.

It couldn’t have been more than three hours later when Mirek briefly drifted out of sleep when he was Alyosha leave, struggling to use the single crutch with a broken arm and moving in a half-hop. It was undignified, he thought distantly, and before he could register the events enough to bring his mind closer the Russian had left. He fell into oblivion again. When he awoke he couldn’t decide if it was a dream or not.

Lisbeth was gone. He wished Alyosha had chosen to take him instead, until he remembered how injured she had been. How could she accompany him? This boded poorly for him; he was considered less important than her by Ström, and now he was the only person who would reliably take Alyosha’s side.

The mood was heavy, the unspoken consensus that Lisbeth wasn’t coming back.

And then Lisbeth came back.

She walked in looking better than the best of them, putting Mirek’s fading amber bruises to shame. Whoever had escorted her didn’t enter.

“What? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.” Cheerful – he didn’t know if he’d ever seen her cheerful before. Then he realized that she was mocking them. What was this – had she been acting – no, surely not –

“Lisbeth…” Anka looked like she wanted to express concern, but didn’t know what to ask.

“Relax everyone, they have recent old technology.” She was smirking.

That was unheard of. Very few individuals continued to innovate after the War That Wasn’t, and their machinery had always been for private use. To obtain something like that would be near-impossible, the object itself priceless. But this system was corrupt. Of course they would take whatever they wanted.

“What does it do?” Roland asked, curious.

Lisbeth glanced at unconscious Melanie, who had needed the treatment more than her and would understand it better, being scientific advisor. Then she said, “Something to do with nanomachines I think, it was an injection but whatever it was left my body afterwards.”

Mirek thought that it sounded painful. He imagined minute drones ripping through his bloodstream reassigning tissues like a tidal plague.

“It’s amazing how they have so much old technology, you don’t see it anywhere.” He spoke almost on autopilot, more interested in saying something than that in particular. Awkward silences were to be avoided.

“The wealthy and powerful had distributors and innovators; the wave of technophobia only ever affected the masses.” He had never heard that before, never considered it. Lisbeth continued, “Have you seen Alyosha since I left?”

“He was taken towards the end of the night,” Anka answered her, “I hope they do something about his ankle, he could barely walk, especially with that arm.”

Wordlessly Lisbeth and Mirek exchanged glances, recalling the circumstances under which it had been broken.

“And Melanie? How is she?”

“She’s the only one among us capable of telling how well she’s doing.” Roland was steady, stoic. “She’s still breathing, at least.”

“We need her.” Lisbeth spoke to herself, but everyone heard.

“That’s not why she needs to live.” Anka, who else. She always spoke in a self-effacing manner, like she was offering whoever she was speaking to victory before the fight had begun. Lisbeth ignored her.

“I’m going to talk to Mirek now in Russian because I don’t want our conversation to be overheard.” She didn’t ask for permission, so no one gave it. Fabian looked irritated, but didn’t protest. “[We need to talk about Poland.]”

“No we don’t.” Maybe if he answered in German she would drop it and he could decide, once again, to worry about this later. It was hardly the ideal time.

“[Listen here, I’m not doing this for you. It’s Alyosha, you’re] interfering [with his judgement and he’s wasting time thinking about how to get you to stop] repressing [everything. Just talk about it and we can share stories or some] shit.” was the break into German entirely necessary for understanding there?

He wanted to tell her to fuck off, but everyone was riveted by their conversation. It would be interesting to consider what answer they deduced from ‘no we don’t’, ‘interfering’, ‘repressing’, and ‘shit’. They probably knew exactly what they were talking about just from his denial and ‘repressing’.

“[Poland was a country, it’s dead, and…]” he broke off, almost crying. When had this happened? He had been so angry a moment ago, so ready to assault with insults. “[…everyone seems to think that I’m overcome with grief.]” It was difficult to make it sound legitimate when it was so difficult to pronounce, required so much thought to form the words in the uncomfortable language, and he was choking back sobs.

“Leave Mirek alone!” Anka was touchingly blind and deaf.

Lisbeth whirled. “I’m helping him.”

“Your rivalry over Alyosha’s affections is needless!” What? “You just fulfil different roles in his life.”

“I’m not concerned about that, Alyosha values me more.”

“He doesn’t.” He snapped, anger flooding the grief. That had been dismissive and he had to disagree. What Mirek had with him was beyond whatever Lisbeth projected, far more deep and on more planes than she could imagine. “Fuck you.”

“Excuse me for trying to help.” She sat down, leaning against the wall, as far from the others as she could possibly be. For a moment she looked tired, and then a cruel glee overtook her. “My condolences, Mirek.”

It was only the knowledge that she had said that, shamelessly, in full knowledge of how much it would anger him that held him back. How dare she – compete for Alyosha and pretend to care about Poland. It was a desecration. “I’m sorry for your loss,” he spat in return. She paled but the smile remained, painted onto her face. He wanted to chisel it off.

How could he have ever decided to consider her an ally?

-

Alyosha came back later that same ‘day’, his limp considerably reduced and arm healed, wearing fresh clothes (again a new suit, always so formal even during the apocalypse). Mirek could see fresh white scar tissue bubbling in his arm through the tear in the sleeve, but to take issue with it would have been superficial. They leaned against each other and Alyosha passed around a surprisingly large amount of food.

“Nice,” Lisbeth said upon being passed some dense, heavy bread, “now instead of sitting here dying of hunger I can dedicate my newfound energy to sitting here dying of boredom.”

The party leader didn’t reply, just wearily handed the last slice to Roland.

“In case you didn’t pick up on that subtext, I was asking whether we would get to do anything or you would tell us anything.”

“I haven’t done anything political yet, I’ll tell you when I do.” He lay down on the floor besides Mirek and closed his eyes.

Patiently Mirek chewed on his tough bread (it definitely contained more sawdust than flour, the texture was like fibreglass), waited for someone to ask him what he’d been doing if it wasn’t contributing to government in whatever way Ström had envisioned, but no one did. He felt uncomfortable asking it himself, so held Alyosha’s hand. He didn’t pull away or accept it, simply let it happen. This was the support he could give.

The silence was stifling. The mood was as low as it had ever been. The light was dim, he had read once that low-light worsened the mood, but even with that and the slow starvation he had never seen everyone so… defeated. There had been no new attempts to plan; no one even questioned Alyosha except for Mirek. Anka had been facing the wall all day, although she and Fabian had been maintaining physical contact. Occasionally there had been whispers, but everything he’d heard had been meaningless. Discussions about tomato bushes and country gardens.

He had been distant, dreamlike, half-meditating, to avoid the bite of boredom. Lisbeth seemed to be adopting the same policy. Roland was a closed book, out of sight on the mattress.

“Shouldn’t we be planning?”

Everyone looked at him in that particular way again – incredulous and almost scornful. Everything he said had this reaction. He knew that he was missing something, but what use was that when the quality was unknown?

“He’s got a point,” Lisbeth said, “we should be planning. The fact that we’re not planning is…” she trailed off. It was unlike her to do so, he wondered what she’d been about to say. Everyone else seemed to know, shifting uncomfortably. It didn’t feel right to ask.

Alyosha spoke with his eyes closed. “Don’t give up yet, even if you’re convinced that I’m a lost cause.”

After ten seconds and no one replying Mirek felt his hand tense, but he didn’t say anything and the Russian’s eyes remained closed. “I missed you.” He whispered to his more-than-comrade.

Even though his stance didn’t change, Alyosha smiled. “I’ve known you for what, a few weeks? But this relationship is so…” Mirek felt hope rise in his chest, “…comforting.” It wasn’t what he’d hoped for, but it was something. “You just make everything a minute bit better.” The smile twisted in self-deprecating amusement, and then he kissed him.

Lisbeth snorted in the background. Mirek blushed. “Get a room, you two.” Alyosha sighed, but it was more in amusement than tiredness. They just lay breathing on each other for a while longer.

“Those nanomachines are really shit, aren’t they? I wish people had gotten over their technophobia a few decades before they did.” Mirek looked over at Lisbeth as she spoke. She was clutching her stomach.

“The change is superficial, but serves its purpose. I had a graphic description delivered to me about what it would do to intricate sensory organs.” Alyosha looked at Melanie’s bed. She wasn’t visible from the floor.

“Does anyone know what’s wrong with Melanie?”

“I think they’re just keeping her in a coma.” Roland replied to Mirek, “She doesn’t look harmed as badly as Lisbeth.”

“Shouldn’t we unplug the machines then?”

“What’s the point?” Fabian replied darkly, “We’ll all be dead soon anyway.”

“What?” He was genuinely startled. As he looked around everyone turned away. Alyosha’s hand slipped out of his and curled into a fist.

He expected Alyosha to say something along the lines of that he was trying, or some reassurance that they would make it, but instead he simply said, “Don’t be reckless. Take opportunities, but we have a chance here, we have a plan.”

“As far as I see it we were doing fine and then you fucked everything up by becoming involved with a member of the opposition and selling us out, repeatedly. Now we’re stuck in a plain room with nothing to do all day.”

“This situation can’t go on,” Anka agreed.

“I think that perhaps we’re closer than we’ve ever been,” Lisbeth argued, “and yes, it’s risky and it’s unpleasant, but we have a chance at something.”

“We’re further than ever before. We’ll never be able to go undercover and without us Equinox is leaderless. We’ll disappear like Hannes and Stephan.”

Anka whimpered in reaction and for a moment it seemed as if Lisbeth was about to apologize.

“Have you ever considered this as not damage control but an opportunity?” Alyosha’s voice was quiet. “I find your attitude unhelpful. We’re not dead yet.”

Mirek remembered the talk of surveillance. “[No one will believe that you’re not loyal to us after hearing this, Alyosha.]”

“[He’s a good liar,]” Lisbeth replied grimly, “[if he was lying now I couldn’t tell.]”

Mirek didn’t know whether to believe her or not. Alyosha had never lied to him, he was certain of that. 

Chapter Text

Mirek stumbled just behind Alyosha, who was limping despite the medical treatment he’d received, legs worn from disuse. Even though he had been getting more food lately the lethargy from starvation was only increasing; the time spent eating sawdust and book glue increased and his fat reserves dwindled into nothing.

There was this perpetual dizziness and light-headedness, but mostly just this numb almost-grief, this distance. He hurt from bruises that his body didn’t have enough sustenance to repair. Headaches plagued him like ticks, more irritating than crippling but just slightly closer to the unbearable. They all suffered through this, this pain and exhaustion, although he was the most detached.

Lisbeth and Alyosha would say that it was Poland. He decided to worry about that later.

General Ström seemed to cling to his power over Alyosha like a drowning man, pushing him under so he could breathe. There was desperation in the way he dragged him along by the arm, grip carefully painfully clamped upon his bulging scar. Mirek was floating or sinking or something. He didn’t want to think in metaphors when his mind was as murky as the ocean.

He had walked into the room and asked Alyosha to come with him, ordering the guards to bring two others. They had taken Mirek and Fabian seemingly at random, perhaps because they were easiest or perhaps because Lisbeth had looked too eager and Anka and Roland had seemed unconscious. He wished that Fabian could be less hostile and defeatist.

“Where are we going?” Alyosha asked Ström.

“A meeting.”

“[I don’t see how this is going to work,]” Alyosha muttered, “[he’s not the highest ranking in their organization. Whoever’s above him will have a problem with us contributing because this entire idea is terrible.]” Mirek was finding it increasingly easy to understand the Russian. He thanked the lists of words he’d had pasted on the walls of his attic room for his years of university, and the dictionary in the bathroom.

“In German, Demidov.” Ström’s voice was dangerous.

“I was concerned about the other members of your... politburo accepting our input. That’s all.” Alyosha’s reply was rushed. Fabian frowned at the tone.

“Why wouldn’t they accept it?”

Was it better to break his delusions? Alyosha struggled over his reply.

Fabian stepped in. “They might doubt our commitment to your fascist cause.”

Ström looked at Fabian like he would a maggot, disgusted that he had spoken instead of Alyosha. Mirek noticed that his comrade was also limping.

“Point one on your post-Collapse party manifesto in that pamphlet I believe that you personally designed and distributed said that your top priority was, I directly quote, ‘to improve the conditions of humanity as a whole’. You can accomplish this by working with us since Equinox has now been destroyed as a party.”

Fabian began to respond with angry denial, but Alyosha cut him off with a glare. “Yes, we’ll honour our ideals above all else.”

The general nodded with a quick glare at Fabian, satisfied.

They reached double doors and their armed escort waited outside whilst they followed Ström. The room was long and thin, with the table taking up so much space that edging around to seats was difficult. Mirek sat next to Alyosha. There was a breadbasket close to them, with something inside that looked like it might not even contain sawdust but actual flour. It had even risen. He wondered if it was the correct etiquette to take one.

“General, with all due respect this is too far.” A fifty-year-old woman with grey roots contrasting unflatteringly with the dyed chestnut of her hair tips sounded frustrated. “What you do in your free time is no concern of ours as long as you maintain your duties, but bringing the leaders of an opposition party to sit in on one of our meetings accomplishes nothing.”

The next to speak was a man of a similar age who may have just been the only person Mirek had seen since the collapse who managed to continue being fat with such food shortage problems. “If this is the genius who can solve all our problems that you’ve been ranting about, which I’m assuming he is, then I hope you can control him. If he’s as intelligent as you say then he could be manipulating us all.”

Alyosha’s hand twitched.

“Perhaps a compromise, we could just talk about something non-sensitive until I’ve earned your trust.” He sounded smooth, fluent. Mirek wondered how he managed to avoid shaking, his normal reaction to situations like this and simply being in the same room as Ström. It was like he’d slipped into some kind of suit.

“Sounds acceptable.” The person who spoke was wearing an absurd gold chain that dwarfed her shoulders.

There were some murmurs of agreement and no one spoke up against, so someone stepped forward to make the first point, “We don’t have enough engineers and the Dome wasn’t supposed to be used yet, it’s not ready. Starvation aside, it could collapse soon if we don’t have enough people working on it.”

Everyone looked at Alyosha. For a moment Mirek saw him tense in what he assumed must have been fear, but when he spoke he sounded calm, with frustration and anger veiled in his tone, “I’m guessing that there’s no one who could be redirected? I could offer you one talented engineer, but she’s in a coma at the moment.” He looked pointedly at Ström.

“Perhaps if you gave them better rations the engineers would perform better,” Fabian suggested.

“We don’t produce enough food to keep giving people extra to ensure their loyalty. It was supposed to be a temporary measure with the militia and now they’re taking half of what we make.” A nondescript man argued.

“What exactly is your intention with letting such a large portion of your population starve to death?” Alyosha seemed curious, “You need them for breeding if nothing else.”

“After the riots it became clear that we couldn’t control a population this large, and we’d never be able to sustain one. If we just let it decimate for now then we can build a stronger society with the people left.”

“What about increased risk from disease epidemics*? You’ve got a very weak population.” The Russian kept pushing, leaning forward in his chair with eyes alight.

“Let’s return to the issue of engineers,” the woman with the gold chain seemed to be in charge, “is this outside of our control?”

Others talked, first one at a time, but it soon dissolved into heated localized debates and a few more lazy conversations. The woman didn’t interfere. Alyosha sat back in his chair and watched Fabian argue about capitalism with the man next to him.

“[Is this what you expected?]” Mirek asked, glancing around to check that no one was looking at them.

“[I thought the] Dome [was in better shape than it is. I didn’t realize that we had this problem.]” He frowned. “[It’s a bigger problem than gaining power. And how are we supposed to win the support of the militia, which is] fascist [anyway, without giving them food and making the exact same mistake.]”

“[You have a lot to consider.]”

Alyosha nodded. Mirek began to notice people standing up and leaving informally. His stomach tightened as he followed Alyosha out, called by Ström’s casual wave. They had to drag Fabian away.

“You didn’t come up with any big solutions.” General Ström looked straight at the party leader, eliciting an unnoticeable flinch.

“It was my first meeting; I was gathering information, learning how it operated…”

They reached the door. Fabian went in and Alyosha moved to follow, but was stopped by a hand on his shoulder. He visibly paled and backed away from the doorway. Mirek stood next to him until Ström pushed him inside, slamming the door behind him. He didn’t have time to break his fall, his head cracking against the concrete floor agonizingly. Luckily his skull didn’t crack. He was so tired that he just lay there.

“What happened?” Lisbeth asked, impatient. Some concern for his injury would be nice, back home they had always- no, not now.

“It was dull. They’re all fascist Schweine.” Fabian sat down heavily against the wall.

“What did you talk about? Where’s Alyosha?”

“We talked about more obstacles we’re going to have to face.” Gloomy. “Apparently the Dome is on the verge of collapse with an insufficient number of engineers to maintain it. Then we discovered that they’re deliberately using starvation as a means of population control and that their militia is loyal because right now they’re consuming half of the food produced.”

Lisbeth couldn’t quite hide her dismay at the news, she had suspected it, but hearing it confirmed was quite a different experience, but to her eternal credit she did try. “And Alyosha?”

“Ström seemed disappointed that our comrade couldn’t just wave a magic wand and make all the problems go away.”

Mirek pushed himself into a sitting position and shuffled between a bed and the wall, into his own smaller space. Just before he lost sight of them he saw Lisbeth pale and open her mouth with no sound coming out.

“He’s a sadist.” Roland’s voice sounded like an unoiled door hinge. Fabian got up and poured a glass of water which he handed to the man lying down, was rewarded with a nod, and then returned to his alcove.

Everyone sat in silence imagining what must have been happening to Alyosha. Anka began crying quietly. Fabian shifted next to her, but didn’t reach out to comfort her. Mirek drifted off into a shallow doze.

He was woken up by Alyosha falling face flat just like he had earlier, moaning in pain. He rushed to support him, surprised when no one helped him. Lisbeth moved off the bed to allow him to lie there.

“Face up or face down?” She asked him. He mumbled incoherently. “Alyosha?”

“[Down.]”

There was blood coming through the back of his shirt again. They placed him flat on his stomach and then lay on the floor on opposite sides of his bed. He was half-asleep, mumbling poorly-annunciated Russian that Mirek could only pick out a few words of.

“[… Mirek … can make it … no … my back … I’ll try … Russia … Lisbeth … Mirek … water … the water…]”

Mirek brought him some water. Alyosha shook his head and said “[Taps.]” like it was the only obvious logical answer. He lay down again and rested, the light, ever the same, plodding in through the window making it more difficult to rest. If he ever owned a house again he would get blinds. Maybe if they came into power they could turn the sky simulator to see an imitation of the real thing, even if it was only for a day to celebrate.

He remembered cool clouds and cerulean sky and there was only one thing to think about then, so he willed himself into a state of empty thoughts, even if he wasn’t quite asleep.

-

When Mirek awoke naturally, feeling the impact of his interrupted sleep even though there was officially no way to tell how long he had been unconscious for, Alyosha was already sitting up in bed. At some point the doctor had entered, although he had no way of telling when, and she was bandaging his back. It was facing the wall so he couldn't see it. Their eyes didn't meet, Alyosha was unaware that he was being watched. From where he could see the others were still unconscious too.

He wanted to ask the Russian how he was feeling, ask what had happened even if only to set his own mind at rest, but he knew that Alyosha wouldn't want to talk about it. He looked tired, sitting there with bruised eye-sockets earned from being forced awake whilst the rest of them had slept. He wondered if the other was that incoherent when tried to Ström, perhaps that was why he had finally been excused.

"Why do they even keep you?" Alyosha spoke to the doctor bitterly, looking too tired to even react to the pain as his back was patched up. "Why not use the technology all the time?"

The doctor flinched, oversensitive. "It's superficial, mostly. Your friend over there," she nodded towards Lisbeth, crumpled on the floor, "she can walk, but she's still in pain and she still needs to have some abdominal organs transplanted."

"Is there any way that we could get her a replacement here?"

"No, not only do I not have the materials to clone, but there's no sterile environment to perform surgery in and most of the other medical staff are busy." Her words sounded like an apology.

"When I get into power," he used wenn, it could have meant when or if, "I'll get resources from other cities that survived and get them repaired." He looked distant, momentarily. "How long will she live without them?"

"She has weeks, maybe months, but be careful. Cloning technology is slapdash, it may not last or be as effective as the original. It should be fine for her kidneys, maybe her liver if it was before the collapse and you had all of the experts intact with a surplus of resources. I haven't had a chance to look at her pancreas, but if that's damaged then it would be near-impossible to find a replacement, although it's unlikely since it's internal. Losing her spleen wouldn't be much of a concern as long as there was someone there to operate and remove it."

"I had a liver transplant six years ago, done at great expense with the best equipment of the time. Will I need a replacement soon?"

The door opened before the doctor could answer, the guard who always seemed to accompany Ström stepping in. He looked around with mild distaste at the occupants of the room, most of which were waking up from the intrusion, before barking at Alyosha, "You. Follow me."

Mirek expected him to snap something at the guard, but instead he donned his shirt as the doctor stepped away from him and scurried out the door. Then, casually, he walked over to him and politely enquired, "And where would we be going?"

For a moment the guard's hand twitched towards his baton and Mirek thought he would hit Alyosha, but he restrained himself and instead glanced over the rest of the occupants. He expected him to kick one of them instead, or worse, but shouted more orders. "Two of you, with me."

There was no time for discussion, the guard's the guard's hostile manner and twitching eyelid indicated that he was about to erupt any minute. Lisbeth scrambled to her feet eagerly, Anka started standing up but Fabian pushed her down and rose instead. She let him go instead of her. The door clicked closed.

Roland sat up from his bed, groaning slightly as he walked stiffly across the floor to see Melanie. Mirek stayed where he was.

"She's still alive; the doctor must have changed these nutrient packs." Roland addressed no one in particular. "I suppose the militia was only interested in sustenance in familiar forms." He was Mirek's confused face. "I’m not suggesting that we convert food into nutrient pack form to avoid it being taken by the militia."

"That would be a terrible plan," Anka sounded timid and worn-out. Then she turned to Mirek. "Has anyone ever told you that you don't possess the right qualities for this career?"

He blinked. "What?"

"Politics. I don't think it's the right choice for you."

"Why wouldn't it be?" He didn't understand what she was saying.

"You're..." she struggled internally, he could see it in the way she shifted her weight. Anka looked at Roland. When he didn't speak she mumbled, "...never mind."

"Are you even involved in politics?" Now Roland spoke up, "You seem to be here more for Alyosha."

"I care about Alyosha, but I also care about the state of the country." Sitting here justifying himself was unexpectedly hard, and he was painfully aware of how defensive he sounded.

"He’s right. You aren't really a member of Equinox; you’re Alyosha’s plus one." Anka spoke softly, but Mirek felt completely dazed. "Perhaps that's our fault, but you know nothing about our policies, so how can you claim to support us? The only things keeping you here are a directionless inner obligation you feel to do the ‘right thing’ and contribute, and Alyosha.”

“I…” he didn’t want to think about this, “You don’t know me well enough to say that. Why I’m here may be unknown to you, but that doesn’t mean that there isn’t a reason.” There, it had been a trial but he had found the justification he needed to make her leave him alone.

“That argument doesn’t make sense.” Roland’s voice was laced with pity. He opened his mouth to explain why.

Fuck them. Mirek turned away from them both.

Chapter Text

Ifrit was gone, imprisoned and probably being tortured for information, and now Azazel had been given the proverbial medal and earned Raphael’s trust. He wasn’t sure that Amadeus was capable of trust. He understood now that they had been assigned to him because they were incapable of being influenced by him. He had managed to pretend that this had been his plan all along, that he had known about this and was protecting the regime even not as its leader.

But really he just felt sick, for the first time in a long time, at the blood of his former comrade on his hands. There had been a true hope there of rescue or at least rebirth, of more importantly seeing Tobias, and just like that it had gone.

It also irked him more than it should have that he had never had the wisdom to keep an eye on Ifrit. Their conflicts before they rose to power had tainted their relationship permanently; he had never risen to the prominence his position warranted. There was also the insult of recommending the ironic pseudonym he now lived by, Azazel the original sin who brought consumerism into the world, and Tobias, the human he’d corrupted. By the time someone had inquired after the meaning in passing it had been too late to change, and he’d outlawed religious texts after the damaging wave of extremism had hit Tokyo. No one knew what it had meant anymore, the word was his.

When Ifrit had faded into a background role Azazel had not minded, letting himself have one fewer enemy. This had been a terrible move, one he would have never made later on. He knew how sharp Ifrit had been, had known even then. Five years later he would have shot him. Perhaps he had been distracted by Tobias’s unexpected defection.

He heard someone enter, they looked like Amadeus but he could never be sure. They sat down.

“Comrade Azazel.” It was Amadeus, courteous as always.

“Comrade Amadeus. May I ask, what is the occasion of this visit?”

“Raphael wanted to come herself, but she was busy. She told me to tell you that she would like to shut down the government resistance. It has served its purpose, and people are loyal by now from the power of the media alone.” They must have been quoting her; Amadeus could not think that up on their own. “Ifrit finally revealed the actual extent of his operation yesterday.” It had taken him that long to crack? It must have been at least a month. Azazel shuddered.

A brief memory of some paperwork pushed in front of him by his general emblazoned with TORTURE and signing it flashed through his mind.

“Were you his interrogator?” He was always curious about Amadeus. Did they have it in them to torture someone?

“No.” It made sense; they visited him almost every day. “But that’s hardly relevant.”

He nodded. Then the full impact of the news hit him. His deputy had killed herself a year before Tobias defected (she had left a short note: ‘this is fucked up -L’), he had executed his general when he had been about to die of old age anyway. Tamiel had also committed suicide, only right at the beginning of his reign before he even did anything particularly awful, but she had always been sensitive. The engineer had died of old age. Out of the original sextet there were at most two left, and Ifrit was already dead now he had given them the information they wanted.

He had to get Tobias out. He couldn’t let himself be the last.

But there was no way he could prevent this. Logically, he should have terminated the program decades ago. His intention had been a quick swoop to operate for maybe five years, gather up all remaining politically active people from before his reign that would be hostile to his regime, and then eliminate them neatly. Tobias had overcomplicated everything.

He could already have died. There were purges within the department as members grew too numerous, he could have suffered under his old age policies and been denied medical care… every reason he could think of for his demise was caused by Azazel. This was the last thing he had ever wanted. Tobias was supposed to support him forever.

He wondered if Tobias knew about Nadia. She had been a pale imitation of him, but he had loved her all the same, even if sometimes he thought it was just because she reminded him of his dead homeland. Their time together had been too short, what cost him his sight took her life. Science had to be so rigidly controlled that there were fewer breakthroughs than he would expect. And they had lost so much from the Collapse.

“Is Ifrit alive?”

“He was shot a few hours ago.” They were never leidenschaftlich, how could they be so apathetic all the time? It be exhausting.

Azazel couldn’t feel grief for Ifrit and supressed all guilt. Tobias. He had bargained his way out of captivity with them both mostly intact before he had been in power. He was still scarred from what they had done to him (was it worse than what they would have done to Ifrit?). But this was so different – he had never allowed space for sentimentality in the Party before so he would need a solid reason to request that he was saved. And he still needed to find him.

“So, your opinion?”

“There’s someone within it who we should get out first.”

“Tobias?” Azazel flinched at the name. “You mentioned him when you were talking to Ifrit.”

If he said yes then he could be admitting that he hadn’t been making a gesture by exposing the resistance within the ‘resistance’, and he would lose not only all progress but also the opportunity to rescue Tobias. But how else could he save him? By trying to find him he had just ensured his death. He could make excuses about how he had known that Tobias was a member of it, but then why not just kill him if he was a traitor? Catch-22. He wondered if any copies of that ancient book had survived, and if so whether anyone understood them. He doubted it.

Tobias was a traitor; he had defected from the Party. Perhaps Azazel was a worse one – he had defected from everything but the Party.

“He’s an asset worth keeping.” It was the only justification he had and extremely flimsy. Raphael would see straight through it.

Azazel was so glad he’d had the foresight to delete the files, and that Amadeus had never shown any interest in the people. No one here knew his real name or his old nickname. He wondered if anyone even knew his country of origin. Once, he’d been afraid of getting too involved and forgetting everything, but he couldn’t remember anything he’d forgotten so it wasn’t a regret.

Not spending every moment of his life with Tobias dominated his regret, and it was something he could only ever attempt to fix. 

Chapter Text

Lisbeth was thrown back inside only a few hours later with a bruised face. She landed on the side of her body and instantly scrambled to her feet and pounded on the door, yelling for them to let her out. Mirek looked at her, dazed and still upset from Anka and Roland jabbing at him. He should have listened to Alyosha from the start, Roland was clearly a psychopath.

“What happened?” Anka looked concerned.

“Comrade Fabian, that bastard, decided it would be a perfectly wise idea to declare himself not only forming a one-man splinter group from Alyosha, but also the leader of the opposition to a one-party state.” Lisbeth kicked the empty bed in impotent rage. It rattled. “Fuck him.”

She strode across the room to Melanie’s bed. To Mirek it looked like she was about to attack the coma patient and Anka must have had the same idea because she moved to stop her, but before she could be stopped she brutally yanked the wires out of the sleeping form’s arms. Small droplets of blood rose up where the tubes had been removed.

“What are you doing?” Anka shouted, waving her arms in frustration, “You’ve killed Melanie, what did you possibly hope to accomplish?”

“I thought we’d established that she was in a coma. Alyosha asked me to wake her.”

Anka started to protest, but Roland spoke over her, “Why did he want her awake?”

“Probably to prove that we’re of use in the immediate future. It’s becoming clear to everyone that Alyosha’s only human despite what Ström’s said, and Fabian is hardly helping. I wouldn’t be surprised if they took us all outside just now and shot us all, not after-”

She was interrupted by the door slamming open, a dishevelled Fabian on the other side holding a handgun. “Come on, we have to leave!”

“What?” Mirek was confused.

“Help me with Melanie.”

Considering how much she had been ranting about him Lisbeth and Fabian cooperated fairly well in carrying a limp and potentially dead Melanie between them. “Grab the morphine,” she ordered Mirek, “withdrawal’s a bitch.”

He nodded and took the bags. Roland stiffly followed them into the corridor, Anka was far quicker. “I don’t suppose your brilliant and suicidal rescue plan has a next stage, you absolute shit?” Lisbeth panted as they shuffled down the empty hallway, so she hadn’t forgiven him after all. Mirek couldn’t remember the way out, he hoped they could.

“Escape.”

“Ah, perfect, what more could I hope for than something so beautifully specific? Thank you. I don’t suppose you’d deign to tell me what triggered this?”

“Ström showed me… it doesn’t matter. We had to get out; he would have had us shot. I pickpocketed this weapon and shot the original owner, they thought the sound was my execution so they hopefully haven’t noticed yet.”

Anka started protesting about the death, but Lisbeth spoke over her. “They’ll notice pretty fucking quickly. Mirek, Anka, go on ahead.”

Anka started jogging off and he took after her. He could hear Lisbeth and Fabian’s bickering fade into the background. Only then did he realize what he should have asked right from the beginning the obvious question: where was Alyosha? Lisbeth had been hit in the face and returned to her cell, Fabian had been about to be executed, what of the party leader?

“We need to go back for Alyosha.” He was out-of-breath, desperate, and it must have shown because concern flitted across Anka’s face.

“Mirek, if we go back now they’ll kill us all. Alyosha would want us to escape. He has a better chance of surviving without us to look after.”

His feeling towards Alyosha clawed inside his stomach, or perhaps that was the hunger pangs. He couldn’t breathe, but perhaps that was the exercise. His body hurt and everything was blurred, but perhaps that was the exercise too. Besides him Anka kept running despite her shortness of breath and right then he knew what he needed to do.

So he kept going behind her, even as Lisbeth and Fabian faded out of view under the weight of Melanie's body, and even though it was an intense strain and pained him, with strain put on his old bruises, he forced his legs to keep moving. What would they even do once they were out? After their experience their followers seemed oddly superficial compared to their dedication. Anka and Roland would say that he was't dedicated to the Party, only to Alyosha. That showed him how well they knew him.

They rounded a corner and were instantly faced with two armed guards, caught unaware. Mirek balked; he and Anka were emaciated and had no formal combat training. They had to act swiftly, and even then the odds were not in their favour. The militiamen turned to face the two of them, looking staggered by the prisoners running towards them in their *own building*, and reached for their belts.

He knew he couldn't let them draw a gun, and Anka seemed to have the same idea, so they charged. He took the one on the right, elbowing him in the stomach. Being hit in the abdominal area always seemed to drive the air out of people from what he'd seen so far, if he could wind them then perhaps he could disarm them. Unfortunately his absolute lack of combat experience halted him and the blow was barely sufficient to elicit a grunt. he belatedly noticed that the guard's thick black clothing was made of more than cloth.

Desperately, Mirek scrabbled for the gun at his belt, anything to stop it from being drawn, but he didn't know where it would be and was somewhat holding back in case he fired it by accident. He knew nothing about how this worked. The man managed to get a hold on his truncheon and lifted it to hit him with, although he blocked it at the last minute with his forearm. It make an unpleasant cracking sound, but wasn't broken.

He didn't know how long he could hold this for, his strength being far inferior. In the background he heard a gunshot. Anka would never kill, she was probably dead. He tried to relax and step away, surrender, but quickly realized that as soon as he let go he would be shot no matter what. The bulging eyes and sweating forehead of the man bore down on him and he wondered if it was really worth fighting this hard to live.

As he was pondering he felt his hands begin to slip as he gave up, his grip loosening form the strain. Just as it was about to slip out of his grasp and be used to bludgeon him to death with he saw the impact of another gunshot, hitting the guard's arm with a brief pitter-patter of blood, and he dropped it. Lying on the ground, he watched Anka take the gun from the belt of the howling man and hit him with the handle of it efficiently on the forehead.

He didn't fall unconscious, but started thrashing at her whilst still keeping the one hand on his arm to stop the bleeding. She tried to hit him three more times, then gave up and started running. It took Mirek a while to realize that he should be following her, and he left the alarm-bell man wailing there in a puddle of his own blood. Alyosha hadn't bled that much when he had received his arm wound, and that had been at close-range. Had that been deliberate? It wouldn’t shock him if Strӧm had planned the entire thing.

“Didn’t know you were so violent.” Anka flinched at that.

“I did what needed to be done to save your life.” But she sounded guilty. He respected her better for that.

They hurried down the corridor further, painfully aware of the attention they must have attracted with the gunshots. In this distance he could just hear doors opening and muffled shouting.

"Do you know how to get out?"

"No." She admitted, finding it too difficult to breathe to make it sound any less blunt. "But Roland would, having been here before, and he was heading this way."

It was better than nothing and he was too tired to ask any more questions. Wouldn't there be more people as they neared an exit? Why would this place, wherever it was, have a way out other than the front anyway? They turned the corner and came face to face with the doctor, looking alarmed. Anka pointed the gun at her.

"Don't shoot," she whimpered, looking around wildly. Anka looked pained, but kept the weapon raised.

"Which way out?" Mirek asked for Anka, she looked too guilty to demand with the force needed. His words were still surprisingly weak.

"I can take you, I mean, if you want, I know the way out and, uh, I would like to do more, if I could, so I’d be very interested in, you know uh, helping you…”

“Get us out first.”

She burst out of her babbling guiltily and hurried down the corridor, tripping over only a few paces later. Quickly, she pushed her glasses up her nose and stumbled to her feet, emaciated legs shaking under the strain. The doctor had eaten less than he had; he could see that now, and considering the nausea and headaches plaguing him he was surprised that she could even stand. Starvation left him dizzy and light-headed.

They pulled over to a side-room abruptly, the doctor twisting the handle too hard with shaking hands so it took a few tries to open. Inside was a small office and a window, leading onto the street. This room was below ground-level, the pavement splattered with fading chewing-gum just visible. There weren't any pigeons anymore.

The doctor halted at the base of the window, looking at it as though to judge the distance.

"How will the others get out?" Mirek asked no one in particular.

Anka looked away. "I've told you that Roland knows this place better than I do."

He didn't want to argue. The bespectacled woman attempted to climb through the window, falling down. Without warning, Anka pushed her foot up. She overbalanced.

"Mirek and ..." Anka didn't know the doctor's name any more than her did, "...you, I think it would be a good idea if you got up here and push my legs up. I can drag you once I get out."

Their coordination was poor, but somehow they wrestled Anka through the window and onto the empty back-alley. "I know where we are!" Anka spoke with hushed excitement, "I can get us to the warehouse from here. Mirek?"

She offered him his hand and he scrambled up, accidentally bruising the doctor's arm quite severely. She muffled her yell of pain. He didn't straighten up but stayed in an awkward crouch, offering his hand to her as an apology.

Anka frowned. "Fabian wouldn't want us to bring her." Her words weren't intended to be heard. She then spoke up, "I don't think you can come to the warehouse, it’s very sensitive, our last fall-back position.”

“But I… I’m ready to help.”

Even Roland would have left her there in the office, but Anka couldn’t refuse that. She was compassionate, and whether it was a weakness or a strength wasn’t his to decide. He helped the doctor out into the almost-light together.

-

“We’re not going to make it.” Roland faced Fabian and stated what they both knew. “Maybe you could make it alone.”

“Mirek was stupid, I heard the gunshot; Anka wouldn’t make that kind of mistake. This corridor is too long for there to be no people down it, regardless. I wouldn’t make it without your knowledge of where to go.”

“There is another option.”

Fabian turned to Lisbeth with hope in his eyes.

-

Alyosha’s head broke the surface of the water, gasping in pain, fighting for that one second of air he would be allowed, then he was submerged again. It was quiet underwater.

-

The warehouse turned out to be an abandoned warehouse on the edge of the city, one amongst hundreds. The crates inside had Russian text outside, but he was too tired to focus on remembering how to read, and it took tools to open that Mirek didn’t have. He missed Alyosha, sitting there on decades of dust, the only upside was the reliable food source. Pigeons had long since been killed, but rats were plentiful here and they could be cooked to be partially sterilized, at least.

The doctor – she’d said her name was Rosa Dreher when he finally remembered to ask her – had been overjoyed at the rat meat. Anka had carried matches in her pockets, somehow overlooked or she was never searched, although she deflected when Mirek asked her why she would carry them with her. There was a depleted stockpile at the back she had called the “party treasury”, but what use were a few gold watches here? He felt that the sacks underneath were more important; Anka wouldn’t let him open them. Perhaps they contained food and she doubted his self-control.

He glanced at the time on one of those old golden watches; it was still ticking although how effectively it was keeping time was another question. Rosa sat in the corner, her legs drawn up to her chest, looking at the ashes where the fire had been.

It was four hours until Fabian came in, alone.

“Are you okay?” Anka asked him, concerned by the matted pattern of blue-black curing around the side of his face from brow to chin.

He laughed thinly, wild eyes flashing. “Lisbeth could have left, but we couldn’t have saved Roland or Melanie. He said that it was the best long-term strategy, for him to protect her whilst she couldn’t protect herself. She was starting to wake up when I ran for it, but she couldn’t walk or even speak coherently…”

“Your face?”

“Oh, that. We had to fight our way through a few guards, not my strong point, although Roland…” Mirek knew that he had been a soldier, but he had thought that he only controlled drones. “We should get him to train recruits if we tried to establish some kind of rival militia.”

Anka shook her head. “Military conflict is never the way.”

He smiled at her fondly. Mirek edged closer to Rosa, feeling excluded, and the movement caught Fabian’s eye. He frowned. “What’s she doing here?”

“She helped us escape.” The urge to defend was instinctual, forcing him to speak.

“This isn’t good. Only you two would do something this stupid, you know what we have to do now.”

Rosa scrambled to her feet, ready to bolt. Anka paled. “We need a doctor, she’s here and seems loyal to the cause. I don’t see the problem here.”

“You know as well as I do that letting her go anywhere near where we need to go would be compromising the situation. We can’t just let an outsider like her go unescorted everywhere, and there are only three of us. There’s no way we could spare someone to babysit.”

“I’ll look after her,” Mirek volunteered.

“You’re not really an option, comrade.”

He was about to ask why not, but Rosa interrupted him. “’I can help you plan to save your friends, I know the routes. And I can help your friend through her injuries when she gets here, I could treat your face...”

“You’re useful, I get it.” Fabian sat on a crate, rubbing his forehead with his palm, “But you’re not trustworthy. The first person who threatens you could get everything about us out of you.”

“So don’t give them the opportunity.”

He sighed. “Anka, Mirek, you know that Alyosha, Lisbeth, Roland and Melanie would agree with me. But I can’t kill anyone.” His hands were empty, his belt also unburdened, “I can’t promise what Alyosha will or won’t order when he gets back.”

“Don’t blame Alyosha,” Mirek growled, “it’s not like you listen to him anyway. Lisbeth said something about you declaring that you were starting a splinter group right in front of our enemies.”

“I’ll admit that I’m curious about that too,” Anka added. Rosa sat down again.

“A rather grand one-man plan and not a bad strategy overall. If they think we’re divided then they’ll underestimate us.”

“We were divided.” She was timid, cringing as she spoke, “You’re justifying yourself, not explaining why you did it.”

“So maybe living in that room starving to death just sitting there was getting to me, I’m hardly the only one. But I- I wasn’t fair to Alyosha.” He sounded guilty. “I saw… never mind. I was tired, my faith in him is restored now.”

Mirek nodded in approval. It must have been a quite violent nod, because comrades shot him that look of I-can’t-quite-believe-you’re-like-this, a cocktail of incredulity and, from Anka, concern, from Fabian, barely veiled amusement.

“So, when do we rescue them?” Mirek asked, like it was the simplest idea in the world. Rosa laughed.

Chapter Text

Tobias was dead. The records didn’t mention him – Azazel had made sure of that – so now there was no way of telling how or when. He hoped his partner had at least taken a few years of just, well there hadn’t been peace because everything they both did was just a huge unending struggle, a feeling of pride at least. Maybe he could have had hope, or at least felt satisfied in doing all that he could.

But Azazel knew that Tobias would have never been able to feel content with partial guilt for the new world order bearing down on his shoulders. It was fair, whatever that meant.

If he hadn’t deleted the files then yes, Tobias would have gotten special attention every now and then because of his status as one of the original revolutionaries, but he would have been traceable so Azazel could have saved him. Now there was no way, and everyone who had ever stood up against him was dead except for lucky Raphael.

Ifrit was to blame. Anger filled him. This guilt would not be piled onto him like flowers on a grave. But Ifrit was dead too.

“Comrade?” Amadeus was still here, their voice unpleasant with his headache. He kept his eyes closed.

“How is the sight study coming along?” They rarely tolerated him going off-topic, but he had forgotten what they were consulting him on anyway.

“They’ve focused their research on security and surveillance footage, but your eyes could still be updated within a few months, maybe with higher contrast and limited colour.”

“What about the headaches?”

“I don’t know about that.”

Azazel nodded. He thought about Ifrit screaming his last. Had he screamed? Would Azazel himself scream before the inevitable firing squad?

Did it matter?

“Have all of the government resistance members been eliminated yet?”

“I believe the last executions were carried out yesterday.”

The cameras where his eyes had once been cut out without his prompting, and Azazel wondered if he had ever foreseen it ending like this. But he knew, really, that he hadn’t, and whether that was a blessing or not was something there was no space for in his grief.

He would stay here and serve his creation and this was not atonement because he could never atone. Instead he would remain and by doing so help to perpetuate his worst mistake. It was a terrible, terrible crime, worse than any before it because of how horribly aware he was now. He felt so capable of turning away and making a different decision, the change was within reach…

But he wouldn’t change.

Just briefly, through the fresh unpleasant blindness (would it last? would they repair them if they were broken? would he live his last here in this stone cold room, sightless…) he remembered Tobias in the purest sense, before he was even tainted by the pseudonym.

Mirek. 

Chapter Text

It surprised Mirek that their stronghold was a warehouse filled with arms, but apparently Alyosha had secured this place before the collapse. It was derelict from outside, and better yet surrounded by far more appealing buildings to loot. The doors were barricaded from behind just enough that anyone would rather move onto the next than force their way through, and the exterior had been carefully planned to give an appearance of already having been sifted through.

There wasn’t any debate about whether they needed the others, Fabian had pointed out that Lisbeth or Alyosha wouldn’t risk the resources to rescue them, but then his entire argument was destroyed by none other than himself. They wouldn’t rescue them because they weren’t necessary, but Fabian, Anka, and Mirek were hardly the strongest three of the group.

Who knew where Fabian had gotten his newfound humility? Mirek wasn’t complaining.

But the stagnation of their rescue efforts was irritating. He missed Alyosha. “When are we leaving? We have to do something.”

Anka sighed. “We need to work an approach first.”

“Well then let’s work on one.”

Fabian looked tired. “Rosa, if you could explain the situation again.”

“The prisoners are usually held on the basement level, your comrades-” Fabian coughed. “-our comrades will definitely be down there after our escape. Conditions are… worse down there.” She averted her eyes. “I’m glad I don’t work there anymore… but I digress, it won’t be easy to reach. Oh! I just had an idea, they could also have been moved, there’s one place that they take people sometimes.” She stopped herself, closing her body language up, reluctant to elaborate.

“You haven’t mentioned this before.” Fabian stated. “Where is it?”

She shifted. “Hohenschönhausen.”

Anka dropped something metal and round on the floor: a watch. Glass smashed in a pleasant tinkling sound, echoing. “What? It’s a museum.”

“It was converted back. They had all of the equipment already there… they needed somewhere… I’m so sorry, I don’t really know anything about the place apart from a few overheard conversations…”

“What did they say?”

“It’s, it’s, they use i-isolation. The people there aren’t professional interrogators, not yet, because the Collapse had only just happened, but they’re learning quickly. It seemed like it wasn’t used very often, but like it was being… improved, built upon I mean, sorry, of course it’s worse this way, I heard some people complaining that they had more funding but less, uh, fewer, prisoners… I don’t know, don’t know how the system works, but…”

“Isolation?” The worry in Mirek’s voice was so raw and potent that even he could hear it. Rosa winced.

“You know, the psychological stuff. It hadn’t been used, not here, not properly, for centuries. They say it’s more effective.” Mirek tensed – Alyosha.

“I can’t believe that they would…. it’s so cruel!” Anka was horrified. “But it takes longer to work, right? They wouldn’t be too badly affected yet?”

“We don’t even know that they’re there yet.” Mirek could tell that despite Fabian’s caution they all did know it, instinctively, and that this was a rapidly increasing worry. “Let’s not make any assumptions.”

“Can we honestly even check?” Anka chewed her bottom lip, “how would we know whether or not they’ve been transferred?”

“I-I think that they have. It’s something Ström would do. And it’s been used for such a short period of time for so few people when they have manpower problems… I wouldn’t be surprised if it was sparsely guarded.”

“Are you on good terms with Ström?” Fabian was harsh and direct.

“No! I mean, I never supported him, but with Alyosha and…” she fell silent.

“What?”

“Uh, he wouldn’t want me to say, uh, Alyosha, not Ström. Anyway, I ended up walking to a lot of places with him, and my ‘office’ was right next to his. The walls were thin, I didn’t always have things to occupy me… I heard him talking about Hohenschönhausen, he was backing the project with his influence right at the top.”

“Is there a strategy we should be pursing to rescue them?” Fabian asked.

Rosa was proving herself useful, Mirek acknowledged absently. The pain of Alyosha’s absence was no longer visceral, just distantly throbbing in time with his heart.

“I don’t know,” she admitted, “with the sky as it is there’s no advantage to different times of day. If we just try to find a disused entrance or maybe penetrate the fence, enter indirectly… that should be enough.”

“Do you know anything about Hohenschönhausen that would be of direct use once inside?”

“No.”

Fabian looked thoughtful for a moment. Then he addressed everyone. “I think it would be best if I went alone. Anka… we need to use guns to get them out, it’s the only way. I know you’ll protest, but there’s no other way we could accomplish this. We just have to do it that way. Rosa and Mirek, I don’t think you two could really contribute much.”

Rosa nodded. Mirek did not. “What?”

“I don’t want to explain this right now.” Fabian replied simply.

“I’m not going to let you kill anyone.” Anka was stern.

Fabian shrugged, turning away. “You’ll fall asleep sometime and I’ll go. When you wake up, perhaps a few hours later, I’ll have the others to defend my actions.”

Mirek vowed not to go to sleep. He would help Alyosha.

-

When Mirek awoke Fabian and Rosa were gone. Anka was still slumped on the floor, in an awkward position due to her determinedness to not rest until she was sure that Fabian was actually asleep and wouldn't leave without her and kill people. He had evidently managed to outlast her.

It was counterproductive that she harried him so much that he left exhausted. If Anka realised this then she did very well in ignoring it. Mirek had been certain that he could help, even if no one seemed to think so, but as long as Alyosha came back soon it didn't matter.

Mirek prodded Anka with his foot. She growled, then sat up suddenly.

"Where's Fabian?" Her eyes were flitting backwards and forwards before they could even open properly. She squinted at him in accusation.

"I was asleep," she protested.

"Hm. Well, we need to go anyway."

"What? We've missed them now, we can't just catch up like that. How would we even get to... that place." The name had been long and German. Lately his thoughts had strayed more and more into the simplistic Polish he learned at school.

"I know the way, it's right on the outskirts, only just inside the Dome. You used to be able to catch a pram there before the Collapse."

A memory of the fires and shouting, the last dying scream of Berlin, flashed across his mind. They hadn't had time for that in Poland: it had been swift, he didn't want to think about whether that was better or not. He himself wouldn't have minded being spared a last few thrashing, shuddering minutes. Perhaps if their plan worked there would be no need to answer such a question, and a new world could be whitewashed on top of the old.

"We're outside the city centre too, how long would it take us to get there?"

Anka avoided eye contact. "Perhaps a few days. And I know," she burst out, "I know that this is a stupid plan because we could meet them on the way back and end up handing ourselves over, but I have to do something, I can't just sit there!" She rubbed the sleep out of her eyes.

Mirek found her emotional display dizzying. He blinked. "We've got to do what's best for Equinox, not ourselves." It was a line taken from a meeting, familiar, that instinct told him was appropriate here. It must have worked because she relaxed slightly.

"You're right, comrade." Her cheeks were wet. He wondered why.

Mirek swiftly discovered that one of the sacks contained canned food, and over the twelve hours they waited they ate surprisingly well. It was a slight vindictiveness on Anka's part, eating the food to get back at Fabian but also just weakness. It was all there and they were hungry.

Alyosha stumbled in, leaning on Lisbeth for support, without warning. They were followed by an exhausted Roland and Fabian taking half of the weight of Melanie, who looked the best by her own low standards of having been in a coma under two days ago. Rosa trailed in after them a few minutes later and sat down, largely ignored. Everyone was too tired to talk, and when Alyosha leaned against Mirek the feeling of closeness was enough to stop his curiosity. Anka didn't push it.

He fell asleep there, even though he could see Alyosha’s fists and feel his trembling. His back was healed, unnaturally quickly, his clothes fresh.

They rested. When Mirek woke up Alyosha had left, followed by everyone except for Lisbeth and Rosa. The Russian grunted a greeting when she saw that he was awake.

"Where's Alyosha?" He asked, obvious disappointment open in his voice.

She laughed. "Everyone's gone to check the computer water control mainframe with Melanie, except for me. Alyosha didn't want to wake you, he's getting sentimental, and he ordered me to look after you."

He tried to be offended, but the thought of Alyosha caring was so warm that he couldn't. "Did Fabian get you out okay?"

"No, we're dead and I'm a ghost. Of course he did, although a lot of people had to die. We almost got Ström, but the bastard's quick."

"Anka wouldn't like that."

"She doesn't have to know."

They looked at each other, for a while.

"What happened to you? All of you, I mean."

Lisbeth shook her head. “I was just in a small room, swelteringly hot, that’s all. But I heard Alyosha. They must have healed him afterwards, because I don’t see how…” she trailed off. “Melanie and Roland were in a cell together; they didn’t see it or even hear it. But they were doing something to him, something unspeakable.”

“Did he tell you what?”

She looked hard at him. “He never tells anyone. No one knew where he kept going every evening until we got captured alongside him.”

“No one ever asks.”

“He doesn’t want us to ask. It’s private, could make him look weak. Fabian is always waiting in the wings.”

“Earlier he said that he was wrong not to trust Alyosha before.” Mirek remembered Fabian’s serious expression, the way he had cut himself off.

“Fabian will always be looking for a reason to take over, no matter what he says. You saw how quickly he jumped on Alyosha last time; he’ll do it again and again. He only apologized because he was shocked by something he saw, and felt sorry for him. Pity doesn’t keep him in check, but once he starts remembering his overwhelming competence, he’ll find his loyalty properly returned.”

There was a small cough from behind them. “Uh, I’m an honorary member, right?” Rosa was timid, avoiding eye contact. “But I know nothing at all about the structure of… Equinox, was it? I don’t suppose you’d…” she trailed off.

Lisbeth began explaining the structure to her, leader Alyosha, she was the deputy, Roland was technically the third in command but he didn’t really assert himself until he needed to so Fabian was under the illusion that he was third in line for leadership. Apparently Roland was a quiet and direct type, but confident around new people.

His thoughts trailed off. That place – high, beautiful, its name a lie – something had happened there to Alyosha, something terrible that he wouldn’t talk about even to Lisbeth (who for all of her qualities Mirek disliked was trusted by the Party Leader). He would have to try to ask him, but a few half-supressed memories surfaced ‘the usual threat, breaking my legs’. The closeness, the ease between them, was something he wanted the return of desperately. He wasn’t sure that he could maintain it if he didn’t know what had happened there.

He tuned back in to Lisbeth’s lecturing. “Equinox still refers to itself as anarcho-socialist, but we’re more Marxist-Leninist than anything else at the moment. It doesn’t matter if you understand the ideology behind it; all you need to know is that we’ll do a better job.”

“Do you have any way of proving this?”

She smiled. “Experience. We intend to restructure the food system in a way that won’t cause even a temporary dip in production…”

Mirek stopped listening again; he’d sat in on that debate himself. He sat against a crate which probably contained grenades or something terrifying (how had Alyosha obtained these weapons in the first place? it was peacetime) and started when he heard paper crumpling underneath him. It turned out to be in German, so he could read it at least, although it was a strain, some sort of pamphlet.

“EQUINOX RISES” was printed in block caps on the front, in red font on a black background. There were some statistics on the front that he supposed were supposed to be shocking – details of starvation, poverty, corruption. They were low compared to what he expected the current ones to be at. It wasn’t dated.

Inside there was a quick footnote with an address that they could be contacted with (not one he recognized) and some photos of Alyosha and Lisbeth. In the opposite corner, a carefully placed afterthought, was a picture of Fabian with the caption ‘editor’. There a section titled ‘what you can do’ that turned out to just be an attack on the complacency of people, and insistence that the only way to solve this problem was to become involved. There were pictures of decrepit areas of the city, the toppled needle, and articles written in language he couldn’t understand by Alyosha and the now-deceased ‘Stephan’. It wasn’t just his reading ability, these were dense and academic.

Judging by the printing quality at the time Equinox had either has an inadequate financial situation, potentially from the articles dissuading donation in favour of action, or had fatally misjudged the quality of the printing press. It made Mirek feel a spark of glee to know that Fabian was responsible for this failure.

He turned it over, expecting to see nothing on the back, but was instead faced with a short piece of writing by Fabian Jollenbeck himself, a biography of Alyosha. Interested, he read.

Aleksei Demidov, known by the Russian diminutive Alyosha, created Equinox a year ago through the mutually beneficial fusion of several smaller parties and has been ruling ever since. Despite his young age of only nineteen he has proven himself more than capable of ruling tensions within the party and conquering forces playing against the party.

He studied history and international relations in Berlin before his strong initiative drove him to delve into the murky political underground. Through his fresh approach and inventive policies he soon gathered the respect of even the most seasoned politicians, and has since been working with them for the gains and advancement of humanity as a whole.

Alyosha’s popularity stems from his strength and strong humanitarian principals. An anonymous sympathetic source within the government reported, “with Equinox’s leader in power we could achieve a socialist utopia within months”. The same source has also reported that his higher-ups are getting “intimidated” by the threat he poses to their shameless corruption.

This is a turbulent time in history, one of change. Support Equinox for a chance to be a part of this, the only time for us is now!

The source sounded suspicious, but Fabian has probably just made it up. Why else would he be talking to people in the government? He put the paper down on the floor next to him. Lisbeth saw.

“Oh, that leaflet of Fabian’s is shit, isn’t it? Just try this biography, though.” She reached between some crates and drew out a pile of threadbare newspaper articles which had been folded too many times. She handed the top one to him; he read it in the slow and methodical way he needed to adopt in order to understand. It was short, small, enclosed in a box that would have been stuffed into the corner of a newspaper page

KNOWN TERRORIST SIGHTED AT KURFÜRSTENDAMM

Today shots were fired in the shopping district as underground terrorist groups clashed with the armed forces. An underground cell calling themselves a ‘political party’ were handing propaganda out to innocent bystanders when firearms were raised and passing police sprung to the opportunity to save the people. Anka Hartmann, a witness at the scene, described it as “utter anarchy”.

The supposed leader is well-known in underground circles; secret police are currently close to bringing him in for justice. Aleksei Demidov broke free of his traditional family when he ran away from Russia to Germany to study history, shortly after this he fell to the dark side. Since then this inexperienced young man has stumbled into leadership of a crime group of shocking size, which he is leading into the inevitable ruin that accompanies breaking the law.

Although no one was hurt in the attack the perpetrators escaped. Anyone with any information to volunteer can call *** ****** ***

He looked at Lisbeth. She laughed. “You have to love Anka and her joke, ‘utter anarchy’. And describing him as falling to the ‘dark’ side? It’s straight-up fiction. They don’t even try to be unbiased.”

“What really happened with the armed clashes?”

“There was a public peaceful protest, Anka’s idea – she somehow pulled Fabian into helping her organize, and the police opened fire. It was pre-Collapse, but even though we were supposed to be allowed to meet and everything was legal they still shot at us. It was the angriest I’d seen Alyosha up to that point.”

“And – terrorists?”

“We were always terrorists to them. Roland suggested a few strategic bombing campaigns that would have put is there in the category most people think of terrorists as being from, but Alyosha sided with Anka on the peaceful option to begin with. Later, of course, he sided with Melanie and myself on the manipulative option with minimal bloodshed. He’s pragmatic.”

“I never knew that the government did that,” Mirek admitted, “I wasn’t as involved as I should have been in politics.”

Lisbeth made a dismissive sound. “You weren’t even in Berlin at the time. I’m hardly an expert on Polish affairs. If you’re interested you should read these other ones.” She gave him the rest of the pile. He began at the top, it was a paragraph cut out from some kind of glossy magazine. The rest of the article was missing.

That a fresh and previously unexplored perspective could come out of such a widely studied field is surprising to everyone. Doctor Gelbbaum’s fresh thesis on Stalin’s Terror has rocked the academic community and ushered in a new era of analysis. His upcoming book, title currently unannounced, is expected to include an expansion on previous ideas.

It didn’t seem related to anything, at least not in isolation. He turned it over but the other side was half of a smiling person’s face from an advert. “What’s this one about?”

Lisbeth shrugged. “I don’t know, Alyosha collected it for some reason. Wait, Gelbbaum? That sounds familiar…” her forehead crumpled, “hm, I’m not sure where but I’ve heard it before.”

Mirek shrugged and moved on. The next one was a full page of small print, an impenetrable essay beyond his scope of understanding. He glanced it down, mentally noting that the sole author was Gelbbaum, but other than it appearing to be on Russia centuries ago he learned nothing else. After that there were some small posters by Fabian, all with just a symbol in the centre.

There was a little text, the most significant being a short part that justified Equinox’s name. It was something to do with it being a turning point: that they could come into power when it was darkest and bring about the sunrise. He didn’t really understand it, especially not the paragraphs raving about change, but it was something.

Underneath that the text was dense and thick, long dull chronicles with Alyosha’s name mentioned in passing or a political group references but unnamed. There were some more which only seemed to have the same company name involved, Solntse which was Russian for sun. They were all business reports, nothing he could properly interpret. He lost interest with it all and placed the pile on the ground.

Just as Mirek did so another newspaper clip slid out and he picked it up, intrigued by the photo of a younger Ström on it.

GENERAL DUBBED “PROTECTOR OF THE PEOPLE” FOR HEROIC ACTIONS IN TERRORIST PURSUIT

General Ström, a distinguished and decorated soldier who has recently made a career change into the HPT (Mirek recognized that – the “Hilfreich Polizei –Taskforce”, “Helpful Police Taskforce”) where he has quickly risen through the ranks, received yet another medal today for his honourable actions in quelling street unrest. The anarchist terrorist cell known on the streets only as “Equinox” once again showed its true disorganized and ineffective nature when a disjoined attack on the government was mounted.

In a scene that could only be described as a farce, terrorists attempted to throw explosives which failed to go off, before shooting with guns that jammed. Doctor Gelbbaum, a self-proclaimed expert on the Equinox threat and doctor of history and international relations, described it as being “more pathetic than the attempt to assassinate Archduke Franz Ferdinand, an indicator of the desperate state the group is in”.

When the terrorists were forced to resort to using their limbs as weapons nearby civilians were terrified, only the courageous and selfless actions of General Ström saved the day. Several members were apprehended, although they later escaped. The responsible parties for allowing the escape have been dispatched accordingly.

Some see this as a call for tougher police, allowing the army and HPT more power would inarguably prevent similar failures in the future. However, on the competence front, we are still ahead. The terrorists’ leader, ‘Alyosha’, has not pushed forwards any motivation for the attack. Clearly, this was a poorly thought-out mission with no clear aim, and we must hope that heroes like General Ström continue being here to counteract the increasing terrorist threat.

“That’s so stupid.” Mirek jumped, Rosa had been sitting behind him reading. She looked disdainful as she spoke; it was the first time he had seen her nervousness get overwritten by another feeling. “They can’t use that you’re weak and a massive threat. Those are mutually exclusive.”

“That newspaper is unashamed propaganda,” Lisbeth agreed, peering over his shoulder to skim-read the article, “Oh, I remember that one. Don’t remember seeing Ström there, though, I thought the first time I’d met him was a few days ago when…” Mirek remember Lisbeth’s hacking coughs and breathing difficulties in that hospital bed. “But anyway, what really happened was we were walking down the street somewhere, we don’t normally travel together but Fabian messed up communication, and then all of a sudden Stephan was shouting and there was machine gun fire. We ran, and that was the end of it. Their speculation is what’s farcical.”

Rosa nodded. “I didn’t read newspaper often; I was too disgusted by what I saw. But I can see now, that remaining neutral was enabling them, it’s just my own life seemed so big before the Collapse. It put everything in perspective, suddenly I realized that everything could fall apart and none of the small things really mattered.”

“I might use that in a speech, perhaps our victory one. I had this idea, the sky’s a screen, when we win we can show everyone, win them over, by using that sky as a canvas.”

That appealed to Mirek immensely. “Could we use sky cycles after that? The dim grey is demoralizing. I was thinking that maybe we could even enhance the saturation or play recordings of particularly lovely sunrises and sunsets…” he trailed off when he saw the unreadable expressions on his comrades’ faces. They exchanged a private glance without him.

“Mirek, as lovely as I think that would be,” Lisbeth spoke to him like he was made of glass; it irked him, “We have to be careful about not using up too much power. There are serious shortage problems at the moment. But after the system is recovered, I don’t see why not.”

He felt slightly disappointed, but it was something. He liked thinking about the sky.

Chapter Text

Alyosha returned with the others around eight PM, weary but in higher spirits than he had been in a long time. The pleasant physical contact they had always enjoyed was established once again: the comfort easy and instantly calming.

“[We’ve found our way.]” Alyosha whispered to Mirek affectionately. He sighed, a long, contented sigh, and rested his head against the other’s shoulder. It felt warm. “[Before long we’ll improve everything.]”

Alyosha’s Russian is so crooning, Mirek though dreamily, soft. He couldn’t quite bring himself to reply and knock the words out of the air where they hung, a monument to the timelessness of this moment.

Lisbeth huffed suddenly and violently in the corner. “I’m tired of waiting, kindly tell me what you learned, Alyosha.”

He growled. “I told you to ask Fabian.”

“Well that’s what Fabian thought we learned, which was incomprehensive and spliced with all of his beloved persuasive language.” Fabian coughed, she ignored him. “And don’t ask me to get Anka to tell me because I’ll bet she doesn’t even know, and Melanie will tell it to me in such obscene indiscriminate detail that I’ll lose track of what’s important.”

The party leader laughed. “Water supplies can be accessed and manipulated fully by us; the panic room in the Reichstag is completely impenetrable.”

“That’s good news. I knew that you’d tell me only what’s important, but I don’t suppose that you could include slightly more detail? Your intentions will affect my actions just as much as what you know. It sounds like the plan has changed.”

“You should be able to work out my intentions from what I know.” Alyosha was smirking. He kissed Mirek lightly and she looked irked.

“Okay, okay, I’ll ask you tomorrow. But we have watches here; I’m waking you up at 7AM sharp. And please don’t forget that there are other people in this room. And I’m going with you next time, leave Anka behind for Mirek or something.”

Mirek remembered suddenly that Lisbeth had said they were doing something to Alyosha, something ‘unspeakable’. The comfort lessened slightly and he felt like he should ask, but the question might not be welcome. Yet it was so easy, lying there, that he just lay passive as the hours slipped away and physical contact was its own reward.

He dozed, he half-dreamed, he slept, and then Lisbeth somehow managed to find an old-fashioned alarm clock for the specific purpose of causing them as much discomfort as possible. It rang loudly, right next to their heads, causing Alyosha to jump up and begin trembling, slamming the wretched thing against the floor whilst simultaneously trying to free his legs from Mirek’s. The Pole’s reaction was more subdued, the alarm clock sound only reaching him through the haze by the time it had stopped.

Alyosha held up the clock, broken glass hanging off it, squinting at the hands still visible with a ferocious scowl dominating his face. “[Five AM Lisbeth, really?]”

In the background Mirek saw the others awaken equally reluctantly, except for Lisbeth who sat there smugly. “We have a long day ahead.” She replied in German.

“We need to be rested for said long day!” Fabian protested, palm to forehead.

“Headaches don’t improve productivity,” Rosa complained quietly.

“She would know, she’s a doctor,” Anka added.

“I’ll tell you the plan, but don’t do that again.” Alyosha was glowering and rubbing sleep out of his eyes angrily. “It’s the same as before; we cut off water supplies, spread the rumour that the government are doing it as a form of crowd control. This will spur people to action against them because it will also imply that people are rebelling, so people won’t feel alone in their need for ending the oppression. Afterwards as soon as they call an emergency meeting in the barricaded room they use for emergencies, acting under the assumption that they’re under attack, we shut off power, trapping them in there.

“The fascists will be unable to respond to criticism or deny involvement in the crisis, so we will be able spread the false rumour within through the less involved offices and militia so that they, too, turn against them. We step in as the best alternative, put a stop to the water supply blockage, and take credit for saving everyone. We become the de facto rulers.”

“Don’t you think that it’s a huge assumption that every member will be locked in this vault? And why should the people turn to us?” Lisbeth asked. Mirek realized that she couldn’t have slept the whole night; you could see it in her bruised eye sockets. He wondered if she had a reason for that.

“We have to be careful. I’ve been trying to persuade Fabian to accept some help because PR will be extremely important in this, but Fabian is extremely good at focusing on personal resentments and losing track of what’s really important.”

“I think that the Party has bigger problems, that’s all.” Fabian glowered at Alyosha.

“Like what?” Lisbeth challenged, “You studied advertising, not politics or history. Maybe you’ve picked something up, but don’t act like you know what the correct course of action is.”

“Says the mathematician. What I’ve learned over my years of service to Equinox-”

“If we’re going to decide competency based on years of service then surely Roland outranks you, perhaps we should ask him.”

They both looked at Roland expectantly, Lisbeth tapping her ankle in impatience. It was similar to how Alyosha’s legs trembled at that moment, but with more barely suppressed anger.

Roland looked at them wearily from his position of leaning against the crates. “I think that we should get some chairs and beds.” He paused, as if waiting for someone to take over and then when no one did continued, “But we should not let Equinox split apart. Internal disagreement will only weaken us now, the time for that is after we have already gained power.”

“I’m trying to ensure that we will be able to debate after gaining power!”

“And how exactly do you expect me to stop you?” Alyosha glared and Fabian flinched as though he had forgotten that he was still there. “I’m not Strӧm, and I’m certainly not an autocrat. I will honour the manifesto. When have I ever tried to stop you from speaking? Meeting with Strӧm before, to protect the Party, I had ample opportunity to have you killed and make myself look innocent. But I did not. You’re a valuable member, and I want you to continue inside Equinox, but if you cannot refrain from this senseless attacking I will-”

“And people say I use the loaded language?” Fabian growled.

“Language is a tool, like any oth-”

“Comrades,” Anka injected. Alyosha cut off abruptly and looked at her with more curiosity than anger. “We’ve only slept for a few hours thanks to Lisbeth’s solo decision to have a long day, we’re all very tired and hungry and we’ve only just left that place. This isn’t the time for this conversation, let’s go back to sleep.”

Fabian, Roland, Anka, and Melanie all lay down. Lisbeth groaned but didn’t break the peace, sitting down beside a pile of blank paper scribbling. Rosa leaned behind her, surprisingly Lisbeth didn’t swat her away.

“[Let’s go for a walk, Mirek.]” Alyosha offered.

Mirek smiled. “[I’d like that.]”

-

It was dim, even with eyes adjusted to the constant gloom of post-collapse Berlin it was still difficult to see. The sky’s intensity had been turned down further, he could no longer see the textures of buildings or chewing gun splatters on the pavement more than a few meters in front. There was a thick stench in the air like rotting pork. It had been present inside, but so much a part of the background that he had pushed it from his mind.

“What’s the smell?” Mirek asked quietly, half expecting there to be no reply.

“The numbers of homeless people have been steadily decimating as starvation takes them. Some people eat the corpses, I’m sure you know this, but rarely all of it and even more rarely if it’s rotting. And where do they put the corpses?”

Mirek leaned over in the alleyway and threw up, but it didn’t purge his mind of the image Alyosha had conjured.

“It’s good for us,” Alyosha continued, speaking as though he was trying to comfort Mirek, “no one comes here if they can help it, except for the occasional body clearance teams who are all strictly civilians. It’s a chain of command thing, some street official of a policeman who used to be of a particularly low ranking has to do it, or maybe as punishment, but they never actually go through with it. They can pay someone else a fraction of their wages to and still make enough to live better than almost everyone else in this city.”

He didn’t feel better, but he stopped throwing up and wiped his mouth. They continued walking.

“This isn’t new,” the Russian showed no signs of stopping, “even before the Environmental Collapse this was not uncommon. Back then it was mostly done with illegal immigrants doing the majority of the work, or one person working as a manager of sorts, taking on multiple jobs, giving them to others, then taking in the majority of the money and giving some out. I, myself…” he trailed off, muttering something that sounded like ‘belldaum’. Mirek assumed that it was a German word he hadn’t heard before, some obscure economic term or something. He hummed in response.

Then his mind latched onto something that he actually wanted to know that he could ask, but what spurred him to actually say it was a lingering supressed annoyance with Alyosha for telling him about the corpses in a way that betrayed how little he knew Mirek.

“Hohenschönhausen…” he couldn’t think of how to make it a question, he just let the guilty words slide from his lips, already regretting saying it.

Alyosha looked him straight in the eyes, unflinching. “They healed me.” He stopped unnaturally abruptly then started again, like an engine cutting out, “But they left the scars. Maybe you’ll see them. After this.” And by the trembling hand the leader of Equinox waved around Mirek knew that it would be a long time, possibly forever, until he found out anything.

He was still angry for some reason, but it wasn’t quite directed at Alyosha. It had come over him so suddenly that he felt almost as if it had secretly been lurking under his skin all along, like he had always had this feeling but he just hadn’t felt it. There was this vague nagging idea that he should support his partner somehow, but more than anything he was frustrated that there wasn’t an easy response and that he was so tired after barely walking from malnourishment.

Too quickly, too violently, displaying the turbulence beneath the surface plain for Alyosha to see, he turned and stopped.

“Mirek?” He sounded worried and slightly intimidated.

The Pole froze, knowing that he could probably recover this and that otherwise it would make Alyosha less inclined to trust him, but then he couldn’t summon the energy to not satisfy the anger. He was too tired to be indirect, all this tact and persuasion that came to the others so naturally took supreme effort for him.

“I’m tired. And hungry. And it’s dark. Let’s go back.” He paused when he saw how the Russian willed his composure back together in the face of this hostility, pulled himself into something that at least appeared more solid.

“Why not.” He replied. Then, after a fraction, “What’s upsetting you?”

His anger fled and he just felt drained, hollow. What had that been? A sudden surge of feeling, having not experienced anything that intense since he had snapped at Lisbeth over fucking Poland, then the absence of it, almost the absence of himself.

“I don’t know.” He left himself and floated.

Alyosha’s expression softened, but even from somewhere that felt outside of himself Mirek could see how he was still restrained. The tension within him, the guardedness of his demeanour, none of that had been there before. Something had been damaged. He was too far away to fix it.

They headed back in silence despite having not even left the warehouse area, eyes straining to see in the dusk.

“Is it brighter than it was when we left?” Mirek asked, noticing that he could make out the bricks of their hideout from some distance.

“Looks like it. When we were in the meeting, the last one, before Fabian decided to fuck everyone in Equinox over,” it was the first time Mirek had ever heard Alyosha swear (at least in German, who knew what the Russian he spat angrily meant), and he blinked more in surprise of the apparent lack of anger in his tone than of the swearing itself, “Lisbeth recommended that they could save power by putting the sky on a timer, dimming in the night. I suppose they implemented it quickly. I suspect it was a pre-programmed option and the people who knew about it were just lacking initiative. One has to wonder if there are any other…” the words slipped away from Mirek as he withdrew to the blankness inside himself like a cocoon, cutting off all feeling.

Chapter Text

Once again he found himself left behind whilst Alyosha dragged an exhausted Melanie off to investigate some aspect of their new plan. Lisbeth had followed them stealthily after being forbidden to go, Fabian had followed Lisbeth equally stealthily after being forbidden to follow her, and he was left with Anka and her unheard complaints about the lack of team spirit. Rosa went to find food, saying something about not wanting to be spotted. Roland seemed to have dissipated.

He listened to Anka’s ranting. Either something had snapped or she was bitter that she had to be the only one loyal enough to be left behind doing nothing.

“…will recognize the faults here! There’s not enough transparency in this organizations, and Alyosha just works out pans in his head and then expects everyone to follow them. How are we supposed to do what he wants when he won’t even tell us? He encourages initiative then expects us to just sit…”

Mirek began to ignore Anka’s frustrated torrent of rapid German. It was still a language he had not spoken to his peers, contact with only a parent was enough for fluency but she was so quick and eloquent and his mind was slowed by hunger. It was easier to just sit here and rest, just breathing.

His vision was splitting in two, accompanied by a persistent headache that was only just tolerable. It was difficult to look at anything. Could he block out his ears without offending her? Probably not.

“No one even cares!” The shrillness burst through his shield just as he was drifting off, too tired to put the effort into blocking her out. He started concentrating again.

“Mirek?” He flinched at his name.

“Nie zawracaj mi głowy, nie widzisz, że jestem zajęty?“ He snapped, speaking more fluently and quickly than he knew he was capable of. He was hardly busy, but the sentiment of ‘stop talking I don’t care’ would probably carry itself across. His patience reserves were exhausted.

“I know you’re not listening to me.” She paused, diplomatic, remorseless, and unafraid. “I wasn’t really talking to you anyway. They just frustrate me, sometimes. Alyosha doesn’t seem to acknowledge them when he’s so wrapped up in his plan. Although he’ll definitely notice Lisbeth and Fabian following him.”

“I’m tired.” It wasn’t angry, or if it sounded angry then he wasn’t feeling it consciously. It probably didn’t sound angry because Anka seemed more relieved than anything else by the statement.

“I’m glad you’re in a relationship with Alyosha, for both of you I mean.” He felt like the fumbling words were calculated somehow, insincere, but since his vision suddenly jarred in two he was too tired to tell. “It’s good for him.”

He didn’t reply, and without her screeching quickly found himself asleep. All this sleeping – so excessive, pointless, a waste – starvation and his body shutting down. All this sleeping was his hopelessness and rest, his ceasing and oblivion and final ending. He wondered idly if he’d wake up at some point in some dream, but that notion in itself was slippery and destructive and his mind clawed at itself until he shot awake, panting and almost alert.

“Mirek?” He flinched again.

“Yes?”

“Do you know why we have this book here?” She held up a thick hardcover with a portrait of a grey-haired man on the front. He had a thick moustache and there was a hammer and sickle behind him. The title was UNDERCURRENTS – THE TRUE INTENTION BEHIND PURGES IN STALIN’S RUSSIA, although the subtitle overlapped onto the cover in an unprofessional way. The spine was also not printed on in exactly the correct place, but drooped slightly over the side of the man’s hair.

“Alyosha studied history.” His hands were still trembling form the nightmare’s wake. He put them on his legs and resolved not to look at them.

“He specialized in Soviet history, I know this, it’s just this is the only book here. I think the author Rupert Gelbbaum taught him, but he never seemed to remember him fondly. And this copy is about oppression – the opposite of what we’re supposed to support – it’s strange.”

“I think there was a newspaper article which mentioned Gelbbaum as being an expert on Equinox. He didn’t sound sympathetic.” Mirek offered.

“You think it’s about knowing our enemies?” She frowned. “It’s just… there are a few reviews here. Look.”

She handed him some frayed newspaper articles, some of which were in pieces. These hadn’t been cut out cleanly like the ones he’d seen earlier, but roughly torn with little regard as to whether they’d even be whole. He turned them over, expecting something on the other side to surely be the point of this, but there were only fragments and images from adverts.

★ ★ ★ ★ ★
The esteemed Doctor Gelbbaum’s new thesis is undoubtedly ground-breaking, a masterpiece of artfully woven evidence seen through a fresh political perspective. By taking the current political system into account to ensure its topical nature this is a comprehensive and well-evidenced case against authoritarianism.

★ ★ ☆ ☆ ☆
In a politically turbulent time Doctor Gelbbaum has published a book which, whilst interesting to academic or layman to some extent, is at core a political manifesto which sits uncomfortably with the subject matter of an autocracy in another country just under three hundred years ago. Some parallels should not be drawn, and the unspecified yet obvious comparison of certain politicians to Stalin was surprisingly crude. And whatever between chapter 4 and 5? The time jump coincides with a convenient jump in reasoning. This book is the latest in a line of morbid interest stories profiting of the atrocities of the past, and its popularity will pass as surely as the others have.

★ ★ ★ ★ ☆
Doctor Gelbbaum has finally compensated for his previous somewhat lacklustre work with a complete style change, something which is definitely for the best. Presenting interesting ideas about the

Mirek stopped reading as it became too technical for him to understand. “Alyosha could just be sentimental about his student days.” It was a reason, perhaps not the reason, but a reason.

“He didn’t even finish his degree.” She looked at her feet. “I suppose it doesn’t matter and we should trust him, I’m just curious.”

“You could read the book.” He wanted to stop talking. His body was leaden, just lying there was hard enough without the added burden of thinking.

Anka nodded, seeming to sense the meaning behind his words, and opened the first page. Mirek laid back and rested. After a while Anka looked up and commented,

“I can see why Alyosha kept this; he must have drawn great influence from Doctor Gelbbaum’s work. Their style of writing is very similar and they seem to hold the same views.” This nagged at Mirek, something wasn’t quite right here. But whatever it was slipped through his mind, like the quicksand of consciousness, and he couldn’t quite bring himself to care.

-

Rosa had come in earlier with Roland and some food which Mirek had gratefully eaten. The stomach cramps were still awful, but nothing compared to those he’d experienced earlier. He felt less like lying down and never getting up again.

Alyosha, Melanie, Lisbeth, and Fabian walked in together slowly, with an ease between them that surprised Mirek. The antagonism had always been there before even if he had not quite noticed it on a conscious level, barely tempered by Anka. Fabian and Lisbeth wordlessly ate, Lisbeth actually passing him some food, Melanie joined them. Alyosha teetered slightly as though he was about to fall before following their example.

“The militia don’t appear particularly loyal, but they’re afraid of change. They’ve seen the starvation affecting everyone else and fear for themselves. It’ll be more difficult than you would expect to win their support.” Fabian addressed Anka, but he spoke more as though he was trying to make conversation than with the urgency usually accompanying key information. There was a tinge of hopelessness in his voice, but it wasn’t defeated.

No, it wasn’t defeated, but it was resigned; their climb to power would inevitably be uphill.

“I have a first target. It’s small, but it’s a start.” Fabian spoke to Anka, his back turned to Mirek. He could almost be irritated with that.

“What is it? I trust that there’s no violence involved?”

“Why are you a member of this party if you’re not willing to accept the methods we will use?” Lisbeth snapped. “We’ve never pretended to be something we’re not. Your interference is becoming…” she trailed off, slumping as tension Mirek hadn’t noticed before left her body limp. Not finishing that sentence was as close to an apology as Lisbeth could come, Mirek supposed.

Anka was looking at her feet. No one spoke up for or against her, although Alyosha looked at her directly. It seemed a foreign sight to Mirek, eventually he realized that it was strange because he rarely looked anyone in the eyes. It was interesting that he could still impose on people enough whilst looking over their shoulder. Pride swelled within Mirek.

Eventually, Fabian continued. Anka didn’t look up. “There’s a large printing shop nearby, an upmarket one. Before, when we had funds and the currency was worth anything, we would print pamphlets there sometimes. It has come under government control. We agreed that it would be a good idea to hit it at nightfall, take out whoever’s stationed there and print some propaganda to distribute.”

Lisbeth let out a dry cough which sounded strangely like ‘negligible’. Alyosha glared at her.

“We’re the intelligentsia of the party.” Anka spoke with dark sarcasm. “What can we even do? Do you honestly expect a few half-starved intellectuals to take on the army?”

Roland’s belly-laugh startled everyone. “Fabian was in the military. I was in the military. I taught Alyosha and Lisbeth what I know. The three of them will be enough.”

“Against armed soldiers?”

“What makes you think we’re not armed?” Roland was smiling gently. Mirek twisted in his seat. “The printing press won’t be guarded heavily. We’ll be fine.”

“Unless they know we’re coming.” Fabian glanced pointedly at Alyosha.

“Fabian.” Mirek snarled with energy and anger he had not known he possessed. Fabian recoiled from the threat, because it was a threat, even if it took the giver by surprise.

Alyosha laid a land on Mirek’s arm. He realized that he had risen halfway out of his set and slowly sat down again. Everyone looked taken aback. Lisbeth cackled.

He felt like he should feel something or know what it meant, but he didn’t.

“This plan will be fine.” Alyosha told them all, a note of amusement in his voice. It was almost potent enough to cover the undertones of surprise leaking through. “Lisbeth, Roland, and I will be capable of getting through.” Roland was awfully old, Mirek mused. “We have some old pamphlets on a USB stick, adapting the text shouldn’t be too difficult. Fabian, your presence would be greatly appreciated.”

And by refusing to acknowledge the insinuation Fabian had made it was forgotten. Mirek wondered if speaking out in that moment had been a good decision after all, and if Fabian really meant everything he had said, if he was so unwilling to stick to his convictions.

“We could move now. Objections?”

The Dome deprived them of the cover of darkness and people were so disoriented that sleeping was interrupted and irregular. Moving at night would bring them no particular benefit, Mirek knew this. It surprised him every time he heard what the time was, and he had to wonder if this was only because of the constant sky or if something internal had been destroyed by the collapse, or the starvation and sleep deprivation that followed.

“I’m alert enough.” Lisbeth shot Alyosha a glance at Mirek’s words. The party leader shrugged back.

When no one else spoke Alyosha continued, “Rosa, Melanie, and Anka stay back and guard the base. Wait, actually Melanie and Rosa look for food, Anka guard the base. Everyone else with me."

“I’d rather look for food.” Roland told him.

Alyosha looked conflicted. Eventually, he nodded, and they set off together. Lisbeth was smiling with her mouth turned down in the corners, and Fabian looked apprehensive. Mirek laughed and this time he did not startle himself, although he managed to startle everyone else. Alyosha smiled at that, and from then on their pace was slightly quicker.

Mirek worried briefly over why he had felt the need to laugh, but he decided to worry about that later.

END OF PART 1

Chapter Text

She woke up and knew that Hans was dead. She knew before she looked. He had been so weak last night, and woken her coughing for the fourth time. It was too late and she had risen too many times before only to run and see a skeletal child who needed what she couldn't give him. This time she lay there and drifted off, allowing him to choke alone.

Ada (Adelaide who was so small, should she still be this small?) was still there. She knew it and she didn't check.

She picked up his body (even if his chest rose and fell he was dead; he couldn't be alive) and gently placed him next to the body of his brother. Numbly, she covered him with a sheet.

Later, when he rose like a ghost and started screaming, she covered his mouth until he went back to being dead. His small shrouded form was everywhere she looked, so she moved the body to her bedroom to keep an eye on it. Couldn't have another revenant. When she shifted him she nudged his brother (she couldn't think his name) and his arm fell off. She pushed it back. There were some maggots on the floor and she ate them.

-

"Mutti, you're shaking. Are you ill?" Ada said. "And it smells. I want to go outside. Where's Hans?"

"He's with your brother."

"Where's Erich? I haven't seen him in…" she screwed up her face in deep thought. "Days. I miss him."

Erich. Her eyes hurt. Her chest hurt.

"He's just gone away for a little while."

"I want to go out. And I want food."

And she was too tired to say no to this walking dead child of hers whose bones shone through her skin like a flashlight. There was no flesh on either of them to trawl through for energy and no reason for anyone to strike them down when they would provide no sustenance. They should eat Hans. She knew this. They should give up and she could tell her daughter a story of gingerbread houses and desperate witches and siblings starving each other, or of a mother who failed to choose a child to feed in her foolishness and killed them all.

"Let's go then, Liebling."

The stairs were too steep and too long and in climbing down them she knew that she would never be able to climb back up. The door was left open like a beacon to one of the homeless and they would have no qualms about throwing away the corpses of small children who used to be pretending to breathe and burning her family pictures which were only ever not firewood yet.

The streetlamps were off (there had been no electricity in house, days, weeks, months?) and the gloom was as uniform and predictable as ever. She wrapped her shawl around herself like armour and stood still, until the child tugged on her arms one too many times and she broke open (like the Dome would, bleeding in this toxic air and ending them all if disease and hunger didn't reach them first) by picking the little one up.

The exertion was too much but she kept going. There was a poster on the wall, it read 'ALYOSHA CALLS FOR REVOLUTION'. Someone had tried to tear it down, but despite the scratches it was mostly legible. Somehow she still didn't care enough to read it.

"Where are we going?" Ada asked.

She didn’t reply.

“Mutti? Are we going to see Hans and Erich?”

She couldn’t reply.

“Can we go see the glass place? It was pretty.”

“The Kaiser Wilhelm Memorial Church?” Her voice was a rasping whisper.

“The blue one.”

She didn’t like going there; but it was close and she couldn’t deny her dying child that one simple request. The light was blue and she had felt like just by being there she was drowning at the core of the ocean, held down screaming by the golden icon. It had been beautiful and rebuilt after far too many wars has burned it and torn it apart. Could Berlin be resurrected this time?

When they remade it, would history reshape that oppressive deep blue into some mocking image of itself?

It was a church, consecrated ground which was supposed to be worth something hammered into place under wrought iron tiles. A good place to die.

She hushed her child with reassurances of vast expanses of sapphire royal blue crystal which shone like the sky never would again, and turning in more pain than she would ever let her daughter know began a pilgrimage. The pavement was dull and broken and all she could think of was once hearing a phrase somewhere, whispered in a voice she couldn’t place: blessed are the cracked for they let in the light. It felt like it should mean something, but it was just darker in the concrete lacerations she trod upon. And the dark was dark in this place, where she could hardly even see.

Her plan was to walk until she died, or first reach the church and die there, but her feet felt like they were being torn apart and she couldn’t manage to place her foot in front of the other and push herself forwards. Hushing Ada, they leaned against the side of a building together in a gap where they were only partially visible. She couldn’t sit down because she made a promise which required getting back up.

She heard a large group of people walk towards them and stop just a few meters out of sight. They stayed still, quiet, waiting for the group to pass. Criminality was too common. Protect Ada.

They rumbled on in a language she couldn’t understand for such a long time that she shifted to get a peek. There was one lean (who wasn’t?) man with dark hair and eyes who seemed to dominate the conversation with thick and quick and fanged syllables with a vague Slavic bite to his speech. She could hear a woman around the corner, but couldn’t see her face. There was another man there too who commanded less presence than the other. He spoke up suddenly in German,

“Could we speak in German please? Russian is a strain.”

“You’ll never improve if you don’t try,” the woman said in a sardonic reply. “But I agree that Russian is conspicuous.”

“To whom?” The man with dark hair argued. “There’s no one here.”

She ducked back, heart throbbing, and missed the next few moments of conversation. When she looked back the woman was talking again.

“A walk was pointless. We’re just burning calories we can’t afford to lose.”

The man who apparently preferred German whipped his head up to look at the other, then let his gaze drop. His hand crept towards the other’s and grasped it weakly; the other hand embraced his in return. She could see it now, that they were together, and had some kind of easy and wordless understanding.

“I don’t like the way Fabian is behaving.” His voice sounded like it had curved edges.

“There’s always fractions within a political group-” The tall man reassured him, before being interrupted by the woman.

“He’s right, Aleksei Grigoryevich. There are only seven members and we shouldn’t even be together. For one thing, I’m the only one who has any affinity for anarchy, so we really don’t deserve that label. We’re not unified enough and Fabian will overthrow you.”

Affinity for anarchy. She went still and gripped Ada harder.

“Not if Roland gets there first.” The man who must have been Aleksei Grigoryevich replied, “He’s the threat here, and only after I get into power.”

“Tensions outside are one thing, but tensions within? They’ll tear us apart.”

“Fabian and Roland will be content once I assign them some power and they see the stakes. Roland’s intelligent enough not to act until the scales tip, and Fabian isn’t too confident. Now Anka’s here she’ll hold him back.”

The woman made a scornful sound in the back of her throat. “Notice how it’s only the men in Equinox who are so determined to gain personal power?”

“What about Mirek?” The tall man (Alex? Aleksei Gri… something) indicated to the person whose hand he held. He pronounced his name in a clear Russian accent, like Mee-rek, rolling the r, his conscious control on the accent breaking momentarily.

“He’s not political.”

“I’m a member of Equinox!” The less prominent man (Mirek?) protested.

“There’s only one reason you’re here, and it begins d and ends in k with an i and c in the middle.”

He blushed and the man besides him growled.

“Elizaveta Lvovna Orlova.”

“Sorry! Sorry.” The woman was laughing and didn’t sound sorry.

At this moment Ada pulled on her sleeve and opened her mouth.

“Don’t speak now!” She said, and instantly realized that it had been loud enough that the three had paused in their conversation.

These people didn’t seem like they would attack her despite the fact that one of them considered themselves an anarchist. Perhaps she could walk through them. She picked up her daughter and stumbled onwards, cringing as she passed them. The woman had a short and stocky build (despite an emaciated face – was it padding under her clothing?) and shorter still dark hair.

The three froze as she went through them, and for a moment she thought they would be able to see the church before they died after all. Then the woman spoke in rapid and rushed Russian, looking at her. The taller man listened, then called out to her,

“Stop a second.”

“Please don’t kill my daughter.” She replied, without turning around. “I don’t care what you were talking about.”

“We won’t… hurt either of you. Are you interested in offering support for Equinox?”

“I have nothing to give.”

He shouted something else after her, but she couldn’t hear it and didn’t try.

-

It wasn’t long before they reached the church. There were legions of homeless corpses and almost-corpses clogging the streets that she had to step around.

She ignored her child’s questions and the objections of the people who had claimed this building. Instead she knelt in front of the window (panes were missing, the golden statue had been taken by someone, the pews had been burned) and put down Ada. Then she let the blue light drown her.

She felt a small arm tug on her skirt, but she had given enough.

-

Dust – dried dead human skin light enough to float in the air – drifted above her. She could imagine sunbeams which would make it visible, as it was in this grey gloom the only sign was the taste of it, thick in her mouth. There was something above her and around her that she couldn’t quite see, something dead and rotting. Ada could not be here with her.

Something sharp (toenails?) poked her in the ribs.

She lay there for a while, too revolted and helpless to move. There was a gap between her self and herself, or herself and her body, or something she didn’t want to define. Either way she wasn’t quite there. The thought still arose, irrepressible, that although the sludge which surrounded her was no longer people it had been, and she too would soon cease to be a human.

This was one of those warehouses where they piled the dead.

The toenails were no longer attached to the foot when her vision swam into focus again. She couldn’t move her hand to suffocate herself or block the stench. Her eyes fluttered closed and she tried not to breathe.

Ada-Ada. She repeated the mantra in her head like a heartbeat. Ada-Ada, Ada-Ada .It seemed to her that it continued being said even as her own heart faltered and failed.

Chapter Text

BEGINNING OF PART 2

“I’m going to scout around.” Lisbeth told them in a hushed voice. It made sense, she was the smallest and probably the quickest, also one of those less likely to be recognized (although Alyosha had expressed doubts that they had sufficient resources to show everyone a likeness of his face Mirek was still worried).

It didn’t matter anyway because Lisbeth ran off without waiting for a reply. Fabian swore under his breath. She looped back a few minutes later.

“They’re armed but they look inexperienced. It’s likely that the guns aren’t even filled with ammunition.” She looked at Mirek. “They mentioned that at the meeting you didn’t attend, problems with shortages of metals.”

Mirek thought that bullets didn’t take much metal and must be quite high up on the priority list, but he said nothing.

“Shall we approach?”

Alyosha glanced with concern at Mirek at Fabian’s words. He realized that he was the only one without some form of combat experience.

“I’ll hang back,” he offered. Alyosha and Lisbeth looked relieved, but Fabian narrowed his eyes in disdain. He had a strange urge to tell the German that he only hung back for the party leader’s state of mind, but he repressed it.

There were some nods exchanged before Fabian barrelled out into the street. Lisbeth ran in the opposite direction – strategy, Mirek hoped – whilst Alyosha pushed Mirek back roughly before following Fabian at some distance. His limp was noticeable when he was in full sprint. If Mirek lurched that much as he ran he would feel sick.

By the time he had climbed to his feet and walked close enough to see what was happening Alyosha was on the ground curled around his stomach whilst Fabian struck out at the two people attacking him, rolling off the force of their blows. Mirek could see that he was losing, starvation having taken its toll. It was odd to see two people who weren’t entirely emaciated again. He recalled Ström’s bulk and was filled with cold rage.

One of their punches clipped Fabian’s neck and he stumbled. That was all it took for him to cave into the dizziness they all felt from stress and sleeplessness and hunger. He fell to the ground and the two men started kicking him brutally, failing to notice Mirek. The blows seemed to be falling on his limbs curled around his abdomen rather than the more dangerous area, luckily. He hoped they hadn’t also beaten Alyosha.

He hung back, uncertain if there was some greater strategy here or if he would worsen the situation. When Fabian’s grunts became higher pitched and the kicking became more frequent and the low words the attackers spoke became almost audible for him he stepped forward. Lisbeth was not here. Lisbeth would not be here, he realized. She was gone. It hurt him more than he would have expected it to.

Then just as they finally saw him and raised their heads Lisbeth dashed out behind them silently and clipped one of them in the back of the neck. They stumbled, and as they did so she struggled for the waistband and just managed to withdraw something. She then ran off with it.

“Pursue?” The burlier one grunted the question. Their German was rough and accented; it was difficult for Mirek to understand.

“Too fast, it’s empty anyway. Deal with this one.” The other spoke in clipped imperative sentences. They must have been in command.

The two men turned towards Mirek. He had about two meters distance between them, but he couldn’t outrun them and didn’t know how to fight back. They took a step forward, but two things happened. Alyosha thrust his face upwards (his nose was bleeding heavily, Mirek noted sadly) and threw his body forwards to awkwardly fall onto one of the guards. This seemed to hurt him more than them, but did cause them to stop and turn in confusion. Just as that guard had struggled to his feet and was about to kick Alyosha in the head Fabian’s arm shot out and grabbed the leg, causing the man to overbalance and fall partially onto Alyosha. Mirek could just see the gleam of his eyes beyond the hair covering his face.

Lisbeth leaned into view, holding a gun in her hands. She shot the man still standing in the back. He didn’t fall over straight away but rather teetered in almost disbelief before crumpling. She learned from the error and shot the next one in the head. Fabian was covered in blood. Mirek panted in relief.

“Where did you get the ammunition from?” Alyosha asked, pain present in his voice.

Lisbeth shrugged. “I took some with me from the base, just in case.”

The words ‘transparency’ and ‘why’ slipped through Fabian’s groans as he slowly rose to his feet. Alyosha nodded at Lisbeth (had he known?) and limped inside, closely followed by the others.

There was a large machine which was far beyond what Mirek had envisioned based on his previous limited experience of printers. They were small, for one thing, and square. This one must have been massively powerful.

He watched Fabian stumble over to the terminal where he plugged in a flash drive. Mirek vaguely remembered them from the media and some of his previous workplaces, but had never possessed one himself. There was some tense clicking, Alyosha watched Fabian enraptured. Slowly he began to frown, clearly something to do with the progress. Lisbeth pushed him aside.

“We should have brought Melanie.” Alyosha muttered, irritated. “I don’t think our file format is supported by this platform. She has the most experience with technology.”

“I thought Melanie foresaw that and saved it in several different ways? Fabian, let me try.” Lisbeth pushed him out of the way, semi-accidentally pushing his bruised limbs eliciting a whimper.

After a few minutes the machine began to whirr loudly.

“Shit!” Alyosha shouted, still barely audible over the racket, “There’s no way no one will hear this – and we have to carry whatever we’re printing out. Mirek, grab whatever comes out there and as soon as you have as much as you can carry go back to base.”

Could he navigate back alone? It wasn’t something he was ready to think about. Lisbeth sighed in an I-knew-you’d-do-this-but-really? way.

“Now we’re suddenly less important?” Fabian snapped. Lisbeth hissed an angry reply, but it was lost under the machine noise.

The machine spat out ready-bound bundles of leaflets. Mirek picked up as many as he could and moved next to Alyosha, who looked at him but didn’t say anything. Shrugging, Lisbeth also lifted an armful, Fabian and Alyosha eventually followed. Then Fabian began to lead the hasty jog back, grunting in pain.

As soon as they were back at base Fabian threw the bundles of paper on the floor, ignoring the members who had remained at base, and glared at Alyosha in poorly-concealed rage.

“Why didn’t anyone hear and try to stop us?”

“Maybe they knew it would be loud so the building was soundproofed to stop the neighbours from hearing. I’ve never heard it before in that area of the city.” Lisbeth offered. She was more curious than irritated. “Yet another excuse to pursue your tiresome personal vendetta?” But it was more of a question than an assertion.

“I think the answer is obvious: Alyosha is working with Ström again.”

Something incredibly cold passed over Alyosha’s face and rather than trembling, as Mirek had come to expect from him in times of stress, he went deadly still. He did not reply, but levelled an even gaze at Fabian.

“After all… all of it… you expect this?” Lisbeth’s voice was full of anger, more righteous than the bitter sarcasm she usually deployed. Mirek began to realize that her usual rudeness and provocation was, if not calculated, at least not quite genuine. She was trembling, like Alyosha so often did.

“Fabian,” Anka said quietly, “I don’t think that’s kind.”

Even though kindness wasn’t really what Fabian was after he stilled at that. It was interesting how often he dismissed Anka as a pacifist, and yet how he still listened to her more than the others. Perhaps it was because she often came into conflict with Alyosha.

“Remember it.” Lisbeth hissed.

“He loves Equinox above all else,” Fabian protested, but Mirek could hear his confidence fading, “even that.”

“No.” Alyosha’s voice was deep and hard. “I don’t.”

Mirek curled his hand around one of the party leader’s fists, the Russian relaxed slightly at that. Gently, he led Alyosha away from Fabian, leaving Lisbeth to a heated argument she would most likely win. He trusted her, in a way.

-

Rosa entered the next day holding sheets of cardboard and antiquated spray paint cans. No one had noticed her leave, although only Mirek and Anka felt guilty about that.

“For vandalism,” she explained, “drawing, writing slogans on walls. We could make a stencil, I thought maybe…”

“It’s a good idea.” Fabian nodded approvingly. Alyosha half-smiled.

“So, today we’re distributing the materials we printed and using some of these along the way if we get the chance.” Lisbeth surmised, “We should each do this individually to avoid detection. Here’s the map.”

She detailed each of their areas, giving the most physically capable the widest and most populous areas, and not assigning Mirek or Roland anywhere. They were to keep watch at base.

“Fabian and Alyosha were brutally beaten yesterday,” Mirek protested, “I am more able than them.”

“Alyosha wouldn’t be able to concentrate with you ‘in danger’,” she replied sardonically, and didn’t seem to be lying, “and you also wouldn’t be able to find your way back.”

“What if I accompanied Alyosha? Surely he’ll be a major target anyway, and less suspicious with two.”

“Alyosha’s call.”

Mirek looked at Alyosha.

“Fine,” he sighed. Anka giggled.

Roland didn’t look pleased to be left behind, but begrudgingly allowed it to occur. He and Rosa began working out strategies for the spray-painting which she would later enact.

Mirek let his eyes wander to the surface of the leaflet he held.

WE’D ASK YOU TO VOTE FOR US, BUT GERMANY ISN’T EVEN DEMOCRATIC ANYMORE

The headline was certainly blunt.

Equinox pledges to provide more food by taking the corrupt unnecessarily-layered system apart at root. Those of you who did not support socialism in the past may find that your opinion changes once you have joined the lower classes, and a more caring system would benefit all except those who already reside in power.

If you are still undecided we offer you this: could things possibly get worse? If you have been receiving extra rations because of your status as a member of the oppressive secret police then your food will not be taken away, but everyone’s will be raised to that level. War criminals will be held accountable, but only once the system is strong enough, and anyone who joins us now will be instantly forgiven.

To the homeless, abandoned, masses we can give you what fascism cannot

The small text continued on. Mirek instead glanced at a poster containing four bullet points under a large EQUINOX CALLS FOR REVOLUTION heading.

o REPRESENTATION OF THE STARVING AND ALONE
o FOOD DISTRIBUTED NOT HELD BACK BY THE CORRUPT
o EMERGENCY SHELTERS FOR THE HOMELESS
o JUSTICE FOR WAR CRIMES AND FASCISM

There was another stack just beneath them. He could see a silhouette of a man in front of the rising sun and the words ‘ALYOSHA REACHES’, although the rest of the sentence was cut off and he couldn’t shift the posters to glimpse it without dropping them all.

“Follow me.” Alyosha told Mirek affectionately.

They began to head toward the centre of Berlin, out of the stench of the warehouses and into the clusters of recently homeless swept to the sides of the street. Mirek considered their approach somewhat unsubtle – carrying piles of leaflets after a printing press had just been robbed and pasting them on streets with no pretence of secrecy – but he trusted Alyosha to have a plan.

However each passer-by made Mirek flinch; he had to ask Alyosha what they were doing here.

“Aren’t we being slightly too… blatant?” He murmured. Alyosha acted as though he had not heard, so he repeated himself.

The party leader shrugged. “Everyone knows who we are, my face is practically on half of these posters, and our designated area is quite far from the more central, better-policed areas. Even if one of these people was an informant, what would they say? They saw us putting up posters? It doesn’t matter if they know that.”

Mirek nodded, even though arrest had been the thing he actually feared. Alyosha was a significant threat, there could be a bounty and then perhaps citizen arrests…

“Most people are probably pro-Equinox anyway,” Alyosha continued, “so anyone who was seen to be in league with the authorities would be attacked by local groups.”

Mirek wasn’t sure about that, but he didn’t say anything. It wasn’t like he knew more about it than the Russian.

They pasted the posters to the walls with glue, thoroughly sticking them down so it would take fire, chemical agents, or hours and some fingernails to take them down. Mirek mostly held the tools. There were other posters on the walls, although mostly handmade, relics of Berlin before the Collapse. Music and street art, mostly.

The date for one of the concerts was that very night, and somehow Mirek doubted it would occur.

When they finally ran out of posters (for a moment it had seemed like the walls would cease first) they turned back. It had been more frantic and exhausting than Mirek had expected, and he wished more of his time with Alyosha had been the easy calm they had when alone in each other’s presence.

On what Mirek presumed was the way back they encountered Anka and Lisbeth, walking together. Alyosha hissed at them, and they pulled into a small space between two tall buildings.

“What are you doing together? We agreed-”

But Alyosha’s words faded away when the dim grey light flickered out. If this had happened before the Collapse (not that the Dome was even active then) Mirek imagined that there would have been screaming and rioting. The silence was a statement of the absolute lethargy of the damned and dying and already dead; it spoke volumes about the apathy starvation had drawn across post-Collapse Berlin like a shroud.

“Is this it?” Lisbeth whispered.

This is the way the world ends. The words echoed through Mirek’s head, again and again.

“They can’t have been this close to…” Alyosha struggled for a word.

“Apocalypse.” Anka completed, her voice hushed.

They stood there for long enough that Mirek began to wonder if this was really it, and they would just stand here now until they dropped dead, when the power flickered back on. He could see, but he was also certain that it was dimmer than before.

For a while they adjusted to their continued existence, and then began to head back to base. Alyosha didn’t ask again why they had been together, he had forgotten Mirek supposed.

Then they encountered Rosa running towards them, glancing behind herself in fear. She was so emaciated that her thin frame running looked painful and exhausting. Immediately Lisbeth and Alyosha turned and power walked back the way they had come, grasping Anka and Mirek’s arms respectively.

“This is ridiculous.” Alyosha grunted, partially obscuring his voice by playing up his accent, “There are far too many of us here. We should have split up as soon as we encountered one another. In our absence Equinox will be reduced to Melanie, Roland, and Fabian.”

“Let’s rectify it.” Lisbeth spoke up, not bothering to attempt to obscure her voice, “Split now?”

Alyosha shot Mirek a pained glance. “Yes. Everyone go in different directions.”

Before Mirek could blink Lisbeth and Alyosha had dashed off and dissipated into the grey surrounding city. Mirek halted in surprise, causing Anka to crash into him. She fell to the ground with a cry.

“Anka!” He stopped to help her up.

She tried to stand and fell. Rosa ran past them.

“Go! Watch Alyosha!” She shouted. Mirek could see a flash of dark uniform of the militia just behind her.

In that moment none of the thousands of arguments of her worth, or reasons to stay mattered. Mirek turned and ran, and he didn’t look back.

Later he would wonder whether she meant to stop Alyosha from doing anything too unethical, or to protect him. He wondered which, if either, he was capable of.

He made it back to the warehouse by using a navigating instinct he hadn’t even known he possessed.
 

Chapter Text

Tobias stumbled into their apartment, trembling slightly. Azazel sat at his desk, resting.

“Alyosha.”

“You know that you should call me Azazel, Tobias.”

“Alyosha!” Some emotion cracked through his voice. “I don’t… I mean that’s your party name, I appreciate it, but in private can I not call you what I always have? Alyosha was half a revolutionary pseudonym anyway. Will you never call me Mirek again? It was Fabian who chose our codenames; I never had any say in this… anyway, didn’t you work out that they’re part of some huge biblical metaphor as a fuck-you to us?”

Azazel’s face softened as Tobias neared him and his distress became more apparent. “It’s too late to change them, Liebling. I’m sorry. What’s on your mind?”

He ran his hand through his hair and then, just like that, started crying. Azazel stood up immediately and embraced his partner, stroking his hair which was so much shorter now than it had been when they met.

Eventually Tobias choked out a few words. “Roland wiped out North America.” Then he hiccupped and buried his head back into Azazel’s shoulder.

Instantly Azazel’s entire body stiffened and tightened around Mirek, clinging to him. “That svloch. That’s fucking genocide. He couldn’t have. What did he do?”

Tobias stayed wound around him in misery, only managing to speak a few words. “Official report.”

Azazel knew that he had to get up and check the report, discuss matters with his deputy, but Mir- Tobias was so comforting and warm. No one would enter their apartment, even with news this important, unless there was something to be done. Quickly he racked through the possibilities:

1) Someone lied to Tobias
2) Tobias was lying to him
3) North America was so totally obliterated that the situation wasn’t urgent (thus he hadn’t been contacted) and unrecoverable

Courting the North American cities had been important, he had put his best person in charge (deputy leader, Lisbeth who liked the concept of using new names about as much as Tobias did and refused to be a part of it, she had chosen her own name after all). They were looking at a potential fifth of the world’s population and necessary genetic material, this had to be dealt with delicately with a respect for human life.

Slowly, he disentangled himself from Mir- Tobias and gently put his partner on the bed.

“I’ll be back soon, Liebling.” He promised. Tobias didn’t stir to reply, but he could see how distraught he was. He wanted desperately to stay here with him, but he had responsibilities. “I love you.” He offered on the way out.

As soon as he left the room he bumped into Nadia, Lisbeth’s secretary. Her face was uncomfortably close to his.

“[Aleksei Grigoryevich.]” She mumbled in heart-achingly familiar Russian. “[Do you have a moment?]”

It took him longer than it should have to take a step back from her, and he was still partially fixated on her face. Azazel tried to keep Tobias in the forefront of his mind.

“Inform me of the situation, please.” German was the go-to language, and indulging in Russian would be too informal.

“The Commander-in-Chief detonated Berlin’s remaining weapons of mass destruction, obliterating the entire continent including cities and settlements. It seems that the radiation we have coming our way will be mostly deflected by the Dome system, however it may be too early to tell.”

“How did he get authorization?”

Nadia hesitated. “I’m not sure. Ms Orlova took him into custody and is questioning him currently, would you like to join this session?”

“Yes. Take me immediately.”

The walk to the transport pod was short (it was amazing how much technology they had been able to develop and distribute in so few years), although the journey took about twenty minutes. he wondered if Tobias would be okay without him, he could see himself only returning in a few days’ time.

When he arrived Lisbeth was waiting outside, pacing impatiently. She had put on weight since they had access to food, but it was mostly muscle mass. He knew that she enjoyed exercising.

“It’s all fucked.” She told him, frankly, never with any desire for routine or regulations.

“What happened?”

“Mrs Orlova, Azazel, come through please.” Azazel didn’t recognize the suited man speaking, but followed him through into a room he recognized as a cell.

Roland sat in the centre (he was so old by now, why couldn’t he have fucking died yesterday of a heart attack or stroke or some shit) with a bruised face but triumphant expression. Lisbeth’s hands curled into fists when she saw him.

“[This piece of shit, Aleksei Grigoryevich,]” she snarled, “[was diagnosed with malignant lung cancer yesterday. Evidently he decided to go out with a bang.]”

He kept his eyes locked on Roland’s as he replied. “[But how? He’s the head of the armed forces, but he’d need… to find or make those weapons for a start, I didn’t even know they existed. And then once they had been restored surely there would be safeguards… and why.]” He cleared his throat. “Why, Comrade Roland Abbott, would you find the need to commit genocide in your final months?”

His response was instant, premeditated. “To see what you’d do, Comrade Aleksei Demidov and Comrade Elizaveta Orlova.”

[“Our reaction to this is going to have to be extreme.]” Lisbeth hissed. “[We can’t let on that he pulled something like this off without our knowledge, but there’s no way we can seem complicit in this. We need an official line, like this was the right thing to do somehow, but we also have to bring this piece of shit to justice.]”

It was around then that Azazel realized that Nadia could speak Russian and would be listening in on this. He couldn’t bring himself to care.

Azazel hesitated. “[Show trial? That’s not the direction I wanted this regime to move in.]”

“[Bastard’s forced our hand.]”

“[It’s just… Nadia, could you leave the room please?]” She nodded her head and left at the command from the party leader. “[Tobias is having doubts about me and he’s upset. I think he represents the loyalty of a lot of members and civilians… we can’t lose their support.]”

“[Fuck it Alyosha! This is bigger than you and your struggling romance! We need to think outside that. There’s no one on the same page as Mirek.]”

“[He makes me doubt myself. Couldn’t his disapproval be a sign?]”

“[You know as well as I do that even though Mirek’s come along a great deal recently emotionally and politically he’s still remarkably ignorant. Remember what Anka did to herself as soon as the situation grew tough? I kept going and we didn’t change direction, and that was a bigger warning than your boyfriend being upset briefly. Look, I get that he matters to you, but if you let yourself get influenced by him much more then I would make a better leader than you.]”

“[We’re technically co-leading. Your point has been taken.]”

“Could I get a pointer as to what you’re talking about?” Roland’s deep rich English voice collected in their ears like syrup.

“You’re going to fucking die you bastard.” Lisbeth told him, her voice without anger.

“Tell me something new. I don’t need your help for that.”

Grinding her teeth, Lisbeth stormed out. Azazel followed her, shooting Roland a backwards glance. One of the original eight who had clawed their way to power from the wreckage of Berlin, his former comrade, and his idea of a perfect last act on Earth was genocide? He thought the list through in his head:

1) Himself
2) Lisbeth
3) Mirek
4) Fabian
5) Anka – suicide
6) Roland – he’d kill the bastard
7) Rosa – organ damage from starvation
8) Melanie – heart attack presumably from stress

Down to four. He shuddered, and wondered what it would look like in ten years’ time. Would even he still be standing?

“This is absurd.” He told Lisbeth, head throbbing. “This is hardly real. Mire- Tobias needs me. We created this. I can’t believe we did this.”

She ignored most of what he said. “Go to him, I can deal with this.”

He wanted to second guess her, but was too exhausted. His hands were trembling again; it had been so many years since that had last happened. Azazel could just feel some kind of anxiety attack flashback waiting in the wings which only Tobias could put to rest, so he turned and went back the way he came, unaccompanied by Nadia.

The way back was quicker according to his watch. He numbly counted the seconds to calm himself, counted the steps, felt the ground against the soles of his feet. All of these techniques worked to some extent.

Tobias was asleep when he got back. Gently, he closed the door, stripped, and curled himself around the outside of his warm body. This position felt safe. He relaxed and let his mind slow down, although he didn’t feel ready to sleep. Absently his fingers intertwined themselves with Mirek’s, causing a small grunt from his partner as he stirred.

“Ssshh.” Azazel said gently. “Lisbeth’s on the case.”

The mumbled reply sounded a bit like ‘good’. His hand squeezed his partner’s. Then Tobias shifted suddenly and uncomfortably quickly away from Azazel.

“What is it, Liebling?”

“Alyosha, the entire population of North America were just murdered. This isn’t something we can just move past.”

“It’s outside of our control.”

“We could have- should have done something! And you know what wasn’t outside of your control? What you did to the elderly worldwide. I don’t care what problem you thought you were solving, but you’ve changed, Alyosha. That was brutal. I love you, but sometimes you just seem so different to the person you used to be.”

His blood turned to ice. “You can’t blame me for this, and I haven’t changed.”

“I am. The more I find out about you the more your actions seem so against what I was told Equinox stood for – this is control, and this isn’t equality.”

“That’s not-” Azazel aborted the sentence rapidly as Nadia opened the door. He looked at her coldly and shifted so the sheet covered more of his torso. “Get out. And knock next time.”

“I’m sorry.” She cast her eyes to the floor, seemingly distressed. “But Lisbeth told me to give you this even if…”

Tobias finished her sentence. “Even if we were fucking. Which we’re not.”

Azazel grimaced at the vulgarity. “Fine. Hand it over, then leave.”

She quickly passed the note over and fled. It was written in Russian.

Comrade Alyosha,

I’ve been working by your side for long enough to know how many mistakes we’ve made, and how wide they are in scope. We’ve taken this ruined world and through half-hearted good intentions changed something. I can’t decide whether it’s for better or worse.

Do you know how many people lived in North America? I don’t and I don’t want to ever hear the answer to that question. We’ve done exactly what Fabian kept warning us about in the early phases – replaced one capitalist military elite with another new and equally privileged political elite.

We had to work from nothing and what we’ve achieved is great, but not good. There are too many problems and our solutions seem destructive in themselves. There’s something horrifying in having that control over these people – of deciding that restricting medical care for over-60s is the utilitarian choice. I can’t make any more decisions like that.

I’m starting to understand how Anka felt. We have no way of knowing if what we’re doing is right – if there is any right – and it’s destroying me from inside out. We could be ruining the world or saving it, but I don’t have the energy to think further about what we could have done.

I saw the drafts of your mechanism for a ‘government resistance’, and for once let my emotional reaction run full course. The fact that this idea (is it a trap for Fabian? is he really such a threat? since when have you surrounded yourself with blind followers?) is so inherently repulsive means something. I thought to myself: we’re becoming totalitarian and I hate that, I’m an anarchist. Then I realized that we’ve been totalitarian for a long time, and I don’t remember when I last opted for anything even leaning in the libertarian direction. I hate saying this to you, but that’s exactly something Ström would have done, this ‘resistance’. It’ll catch the best and brightest and sweep them away from you.

Mirek is special to me as well as you; he’s something to be protected. But mark my words – if you continue along this path he will eventually be pushed into action against you, and you don’t want a ‘government resistance’ around to tempt him away. Keep him close, you need him as much as he needs you.

There’s no retirement away from what I’ve done, and there can be no absolution.

I hope you can recover from this old friend,
Lisbeth

As his eyes numbly stayed at the base of the letter Nadia burst back in, shell-shocked.

“A-Azazel… news just came in… Mrs Orlova shot herself…”

1) Himself
2) Lisbeth – suicide
3) Mirek
4) Fabian
5) Anka – suicide
6) Roland – he’d kill the bastard
7) Rosa – organ damage from starvation
8) Melanie – heart attack presumably from stress

Chapter Text

The loss of Anka had hit them all hard, particularly Lisbeth. For a time she had urgently listed methods of saving her, and then she had stopped. Anka was gone, this was the general consensus. She might be dead now, she might be dead later, and it was possible that they could seize control in time to free her. This was her situation and they could not change it, or would at least not consider the possibility and thus take responsibility.

Mirek sensed a rift opening between Alyosha and Lisbeth. He had overheard a hushed conversation in rushed Russian in which Lisbeth accused the party leader of choosing not to rescue Anka. He would rescue Mirek, she argued, and he was of far less worth. Alyosha told her that Mirek was important to him and that his absence would interfere with planning. Then he had hissed something about Fabian and Anka’s feelings, from which Lisbeth had turned away.

He was sure that Lisbeth had not seemed that attached to Anka recently. Now she seemed so lost without the conscience of the group.

The next step in their plan was to somehow win over the militia. This was far more difficult than it appeared. Several plans had been proposed, primarily infiltration with different but equally unviable specifics. They were known to the state now, and there was no chance their recruitment into an army led by Ström would go unnoticed. Someone else had mentioned intercepting messages, but the lack of Intel also made this course of action impossible.

Alyosha was very concerned about the possible impact of any armed conflict on the small population. Their position as one of the final strongholds of humanity against the Environmental Collapse made him unwilling to enact any plan which put significant numbers of civilians at risk, like an uprising. Furthermore, his core support came from the unarmed starving masses. A massacre was inevitable if they went up against the militia on their own terms, and the area was too small for guerrilla warfare.

Mirek felt like a person completely different to the linguistics student spending a year abroad in Germany he had once been, but he doubted it was particularly relevant to their cause. He glanced over at Lisbeth who was shifting through some papers looking for something to write on, jolting his memory.

“Who is Doctor Gelbbaum?”

Alyosha froze and sent him an angry look. “Where did you hear about him?”

“He wrote some articles about Equinox, and a book that was lying around. Did he teach you history? Lisbeth said your writing styles were similar…”

“I have nothing in common with that fraud.” He said bluntly, cutting the conversation off.

Mirek got the message and dropped it. He went over to where the pile of papers were Lisbeth was dumping on the ground, although they all seemed to be maps and lists rather than information on Gelbbaum as he had hoped. Someone called Stephan Hartmann had signed these papers at the top. Anka's surname was (had been?) Hartmann.

“Were Stephan and Anka related?” Mirek wondered out loud. He jumped a second later, having realized how close to him Lisbeth was and how tense her reaction would be.

“He was her brother and a valuable theorist.” Either Lisbeth was masking her reaction or apathetic about his demise. “He involved her in the party. She would have left when he was killed if not for the Collapse.”

“And Fabian.” Roland added. They whipped around to face him, and a look of rage flashed briefly across Lisbeth’s face at the interjection.

“And her humanitarian principles.” Alyosha added from across the room, diffusing the tension effectively. Lisbeth went back to sorting the papers.

Mirek absently skimmed a newspaper article.

STABILITY PROMISED AND DELIVERED

As of today, the Nationalist Democratic Party have swung their majority in government to suspend elections until Berlin has recovered from what experts are now calling an environmental collapse. These emergency provisions should bring stability to a city being rapidly torn apart from within by radicalized guerrilla terrorist groups.

“It is significant,” Prime Minister Hans Berger said in a public address early yesterday evening, “that in this fractious time we remain a united nation. Currently, we are in crisis, but I believe that Germany can recover from this blow.”

It was uninteresting. He still wanted to learn more about Gelbbaum, but it was important to respect Alyosha’s privacy. Slumping against the wall and dozing seemed like a tempting option for future action, but then Roland beckoned him over. They hadn’t talked since almost his first meeting.

“Hello.” Mirek offered as he sat down besides Roland.

“I haven’t talked to you in a long time.” He regarded the younger man in a measured way. “How is Alyosha fairing?”

A spark of irritation lit up inside Mirek and promptly died. “Same as always. Quieter, maybe.”

Roland nodded. “So that’s the facet he’s presenting to you.”

“It’s not a facet.” Mirek didn’t bother to conceal his feelings, he was too tired, “Just him.”

“For you.” He conceded.

“And who is he for you, then?”

“What I want in a leader: ruthless and driven. For Lisbeth he’s competent, for Anka he’s almost the most compassionate out of all of us.”

“Fabian? Rosa? Melanie?” Mirek asked, expecting no reply.

“He doesn’t care about Rosa yet, she has to prove herself. Melanie would follow him either way. And Fabian, well… whatever it is Fabian wants the only reason he hasn’t mastered it yet is because he wants to. He doesn’t like Fabian and he doesn’t like me, I suppose he considers me useful enough to be worth the effort.”

Suddenly the whole conversation began to make Mirek’s skin crawl. The implication that Alyosha was not… honest? transparent? disturbed him. He moved to get up, but thought better of it at the last second. It would be rude.

“Fabian has an active role in Equinox.” Mirek was astounded to find himself defending the individual he liked least in the Party.

“He looks like he has an active role, but it’s all internal politics. No risk.”

“And you don’t respect that?” Rosa’s voice rang out from across the room. He became uncomfortably aware that their conversation was the object of everyone’s attention. Where was Fabian? Listening?

Roland shrugged. “My sympathies are no secret.”

“I’m new here.” Rosa shrank back.

“I like strength and a leader.”

“That’s a euphemism for ‘I’m an actual fascist’.” Lisbeth informed them loudly with a high-pitched laugh.

“Anka and Fabian are democratic socialists, it’s not like I’m the only one straying from the party line.”

“You have to wonder,” Alyosha spoke with a smile which could have been interpreted as joking or serious, “if I’m the autocrat you want or if you’d rather fill the position yourself.”

Roland laughed once, and the room fell into silence.

Mirek shuffled over to Alyosha and sat at his feet, leaning into the lightly trembling legs.

-

They all dozed off in their own time. The Collapse had disoriented them and they needed varying amounts of sleep anyway. Alyosha sat in the chair when Mirek slept and was frozen in exactly the same pose when he awoke. It didn’t look like he had slept.

He looked around.

“Where’s Lisbeth?” He almost added and Anka, but caught himself just in time.

“She left for a walk.”

A walk in the decaying air, heavy with the scent of the dead. Mirek doubted this, somehow, but did not voice it. Instead he walked over and stood next to Alyosha, just barely touching him.

“What was the next stage in our plan?” Mirek expected that Alyosha would enjoy explaining it, and he could use to know what was coming.

“Our next objective is to turn the militia. The question is how.” Fabian spoke up. “Any ideas?”

Mirek bristled at the intrusion, but said nothing. No one said anything, in fact.

“We’re working on it.” Alyosha said eventually. “I have some ideas about intercepting communications, but I’d rather use them as a last resort.”

“Do they still use paper and couriers?” Roland asked, seemingly interested.

“Yes.”

“We could send forged orders if we could work out how they verify orders.” Melanie offered.

“That’s the plan, but the only orders we could send which would cause significant disruptions would come at a great cost. We could only strike once before they realized the error, and we don’t know how they verify that messages are from their commanding officers.”

“You’re thinking of ordering them to open fire on civilians aren’t you, Alyosha?” Fabian voiced a quiet objection. “Anka would never…”

“It was my idea. Anka isn’t here.” Roland’s eyes gleamed.

“I disagree with it on several levels, as I told you when you proposed it. Even ignoring human loss this is exactly the kind of thing which could be exposed now or later and seriously undermine any regime we put into place. Humanity is already seriously… waning; we don’t want to worsen the situation.”

“Every revolution has its price.”

“It will if you have that attitude, regardless of whether or not it could be avoided.”

Roland and Alyosha studied each other coolly and Mirek realized for the first time the enmity and rivalry between them. The elder was always quiet, rarely speaking out, but Alyosha still regarded him as a serious threat to his leadership. Perhaps a greater threat than Fabian.

Lisbeth chose that moment to walk in. She looked at the two men facing off and snorted slightly, then turned to Mirek.

“Have you ever played chess?” she whispered to him, shielding her mouth so Roland could not overhear in an exaggerated and obvious movement.

“I’ve seen it played?”

“I hate chess metaphors, but this one is apt. It often ends up with the two players lining their pieces up against each other, protecting one another, just waiting for one to trigger a massive trade in which they both lose many pieces but one loses more. Roland can’t trigger it yet because he isn’t in a superior position, even with Fabian’s doubt, and Alyosha can’t because he still needs Roland’s help.”

“Why are you telling me this?”

“I don’t think you’d understand on your own.” She said unapologetically. “And you really should understand to survive and you matter to Alyosha. Anyway, we’re comrades.”

So are Roland and Alyosha, Mirek thought. But he didn’t reply.

He thought about how friendly Roland had been when he first joined Equinox. The older man had greatly encouraged Mirek to join. Now he wondered if there had been some kind of ulterior motive involved, although he couldn’t think of one. Lisbeth seemed to think that his relationship with Alyosha weakened his position as leader, but there was no way Roland could have predicted that, and he still wasn’t sure Roland really wanted to overthrow Alyosha. He was so old that it was difficult to see him ruling a country.

One thing was certain: Roland was manipulating Mirek in a way he didn’t even understand.

He decided to worry about that later.

"If you're ready to include the rest of us in your conversation, then do you have any further ideas on controlling the militia, Lisbeth?" Alyosha asked, unable to hide the hope in his voice. For a moment, he sounded like Anka.

"If we gave them a truly unreasonable order they might refuse to obey. Maybe... if we gave this truly unreasonable order to someone high up to pass down and then they punished the militia for refusing to obey? Something people would believe that Ström would do."

"There's nothing I believe he won't do." Alyosha bit back, acid in his voice which everyone knew wasn't directed at Lisbeth. He recoiled afterwards, perhaps that was his way of apologising.

"Something like opening fire on unarmed, starving, and homeless civilians." Fabian levelled a cool glare at Lisbeth.

"I never suggested that."

Mirek half-expected Roland to protest that, but he didn't. Maybe it was something to do with what Lisbeth said, that if he confronted them now he would lose. If Equinox was to be split into two rival blocs then Roland wouldn't want to be the only one in his. He was fairly certain that Anka and Fabian would accompany Roland under the right circumstances, although he was confused as to what Melanie would do. What did she even want?

Then Roland did begin to reply, slowly and clearly. "Have you heard of the Trolley Problem in ethics? There's a trolley on a track about to run over three people. You can pull a lever to divert it so it only kills one different person, but without the action that one person would not have died. When you put it in the abstract three lives over one is an obvious choice, but when you have to actively kill the one yourself most people's resolve falters. They think that it would make them a murderer or something similar, and thus they cannot be consistent in their ethical outlook.

"I'm telling you all this now, as the one with military experience in the group, there will be bloodshed if we do nothing and if we do something. The question is just how much."

Alyosha narrowed his eyes. "What is the difference between the current system and the one you would advocate?"

"More competent leadership."

"You have no issues with their social approach, repression, or the structures they've put in place? And this is the provisional authoritarian system you're advocating, not the previous 'democracy'?"

"[It's a power play,] Lisbeth whispered to Mirek.” [He's convincing Fabian to remain by his side, that Roland is worse than him.] "

He nodded a polite thanks, although he didn't appreciate it as much as he should have.

Roland's face darkened but he shrugged in a way which implied apathy. No one pressed him. He looked dangerous. Then, with no warning, he suddenly burst out to Alyosha in a rapid torrent of English.

The Russian stiffened and replied with a few words. Roland began again more slowly, but his anger and frustration was still apparent. Everyone stood around glaring at them, furious at being cut out of the heated exchange.

Then Lisbeth started chattering to Alyosha in heavily accented Russian so rapidly that Mirek could not discern the words entirely.

"[He cannot be my enemy!"] The party leader's words were rapid but he could understand him.

Then Alyosha resumed his argument with Roland, although his words were somewhat stilted. His English was worse than his German. Some of the words were recognisable, the same as their German counterparts, but he still didn't pick out any words that made sense on their own.

The one word he did understand was "fuck", which both were saying quite a lot.

Fabian began talking to Melanie in the background. Lisbeth sat down besides Mirek.

"I suppose this is how they feel when we exchange secrets in Russian. It's very frustrating." He offered, opening up the possibility of conversation.

"Didn't you learn English in school?" Lisbeth muttered. "It's so widely spoken. Any linguist should know English."

Mirek shrugged. "I never understood it as well, I forgot."

"I suppose America has lost influence. There was a time when we would have all been able to speak English from school. I only did German in school, but I wasn't very good until I moved here."

"Any reason you did come here?"

Lisbeth shrugged. "Maths is supposed to be the international language. I was bored. There was crime back home, upheaval."

"Family?" Mirek asked without thinking, and instantly regretted the question. "Sorry, I wasn't..."

"Don't worry about it. They're all dead, of course." She looked at the floor. "It doesn't matter that much. I hadn't spoken to them in years. We weren't that close."

He wondered briefly if that made it worse, but had the good sense to at least not ask that.

"You?" He couldn't really hate Lisbeth for having asked that, not after he had begun this insensitivity, but he still bristled at the query. He almost snapped back rudely. She must have noticed his discontent because she half-moved to pat his shoulder but then froze as though she had changed her mind halfway through.

"We were close, and they're dead too." It hurt to say it, but he had expected it. He should have stopped there but found himself incapable of it. "My father was German and taught it to my sister and I. Magda was about to start studying medicine. My mother was a pianist, but she never had a break and ended up teaching for her entire life. It wasn't what she wanted." His sentences were stilted, wooden. Suddenly he found himself at a loss for words.

"Alyosha plays piano, you know. He's good."

Lisbeth had saved him by reminding him of what he still had. He was grateful.

"...and now we've become more civil I think that we can switch back to German, don't you? We shouldn't keep secrets." Alyosha burst into the favoured language mid-sentence.

"Well, your English was under considerable strain."

Alyosha tensed, but ultimately let it pass.

"Will Roland be remaining with us?" Lisbeth asked, directly and without embarrassment, staring straight into Roland's uncompromising eyed.

"Yes." He answered, and then walked straight out of the door.

Fabian, Melanie, and Rosa looked at Alyosha, but he waved them away and turned straight to Mirek. They went over to the corner to achieve the best privacy they could.

"What was that about?" Mirek asked.

"Roland thinks that I lied to him about the true goals of Equinox and recruited him under false pretences. All I promised him was a military command."

"When we met he introduced Equinox as anarcho-socialist, so I don't see how..."

"Roland cares about something other than what the others do. They're idealists of one sort or another. He's like Ström."

"How?"

"He doesn't care about politics. He wants power, only he won't settle for holding it over one individual, he wants more than that."

"Wait..." Mirek thought for a moment, but his reply was still thoughtless when it came. "Ström wanted power over you?"

Alyosha paused. Mirek noticed one of his hands begin to shake lightly. "It's far easier in politics than with Ström. What he wanted from me wasn't political, nor something I am willing to give."

Mirek knew to drop it. "Lisbeth was very kind to me today. She explained some details, I think I understand the inner party structure more." It was impressive to him now how Alyosha managed to remain undisputed leader.

Alyosha chuckled. "That's not something easily understood." Then his face turned suddenly serious. "I'll protect you from all that Mirek, I promise."

He nodded and wished that he had the power to pledge Alyosha the same.

Chapter Text

She stayed quietly awake until even Alyosha passed out and slumped forwards on his desk. The idiot needed to rest more and more often. Everyone was asleep.

"Where are you going?"

Everyone who mattered anyway.

Mirek looked at her with dead eyes. Something about him that reliably invoked dislike in her was how little it sounded like he seemed to care about anything. She felt like leaving without any explanation wouldn't be a betrayal, like all of their affairs were somehow apart from him. That level of apathy was poisonous.

She shrugged. "Out."

"Why?"

"There's something I have to do." He should just accept that, it's not like he knew about Equinox and procedure (not that it applied in this post-collapse world). He would never draw a line between her and Anka.

Lisbeth alone had helped Anka through grief over Stephan's death, steered her away from the beginnings of disloyalty, and all of this in such a twisted and chaotic climate. All of this work had been building up to something (what? not what Alyosha and Mirek had, but something) until she threw herself away for this useless tagalong who Alyosha tolerated because of some emotionally fucked-up loneliness. Probably because of what Ström had been doing to him every night for such a long time. He needed the control.

But even though she had come to tolerate Mirek in his uselessness she still wished that he was in that fucking cold gaol cell instead of Anka.

"What should I tell Alyosha?"

At least Mirek was loyal (blindly, like a stupid dog). She could rely on him to protect Alyosha and give him that support whilst she was away, even if he would never quite grasp exactly what Ström had done and realize how difficult it would be for Alyosha to move past it.

"Tell him I'll be back in a few days, and not to worry."

"He will worry."

One of Alyosha's quirks was that he avoided eye contact as much as he could. But Mirek? He just stared straight at whoever he wished with no intent of dominance or intrusiveness, with no hint of subtlety or stealth. He had been looking into Lisbeth's eyes since the conversation began, and she was finding it difficult to keep up with him. How often did he blink?

She shrugged and blinked slightly longer than normal. "Not my concern."

He kept looking at her even as she turned from him and headed towards the door. She turned back at the last moment to find him still there, now seeming vaguely concerned, looking after her. It felt like defeat when she broke the stare and left. It occurred to her briefly that this might be the last time they met, and she acknowledged it. Looking through the potential outcomes of her actions was important, even if there was a chance of dooming a city to save someone she wasn't even sure she loved.

There's nothing rational about this. She let the accusation rise and settle in her mind and walked, carrying it bundled up inside with the rest of her secrets.

She wandered and wondered about Mirek and who he was, who he could be. There was something vacant and unsettling about his appearance, and when he did show emotion it was almost artificial. A deeper level of deception - deceiving himself. And she remembered Poland and how he would hunch into himself in anger and lash out in helplessness whenever it was mentioned.

His relationship with Alyosha was unlikely and unexpected, and it made her feel as if it almost wasn't quite real. Perhaps it was because Mirek was so abnormal himself. A thought struck her, had she ever seen him act in his own self-interest? She met him looking to help others (even if his actions were hardly having that effect). But it wasn't selflessness, more like he was just so passive. Like he had no control and wouldn't even if he tried so he just gave up and let everything happen to him.

Mirek had given up on something. Maybe it was this backdrop, this huge collapse dwarfing them all, which had driven him to it.

Lisbeth briefly recalled Alyosha's previous romantic partners. He had pursued a young socialist once and held ferocious debates with her following loud and irritating sex. She was the person he was with when she joined his party (not Equinox back then), although their relationship was somewhat open and they drifted apart. In the past she had heard rumours of when he lived with a far older man he could have been involved with, some perverted professor, but she had always dismissed this as gossip.

Apart from that he'd been married to the cause, at least until Ström. As much as she disliked Mirek she loved Alyosha in a fierce and platonic way. She could not think about that.

And then Mirek, this passive introverted lost puppy who had apparently imprinted on Alyosha and was now determined to follow him (even to his grave).

Mirek should be fucking freaking out by now. Weird shit was going down. The fact that he wasn't told her more about his emotional distance than the rest, and she wondered if he was as enamoured with Alyosha as he thought. It was a rational fear to almost consider him a shell or screen Alyosha projected onto.

Whatever he was, he was the opposite of Ström. If that was what Alyosha wanted, needed, then so be it. Even if the attachment seemed to run deep. It was difficult because even though their bond was probably formed from mutual trauma (she couldn't see them ever getting together in a pre-collapse world) that didn't stop the feelings from persisting. The collapse brought them together, and it could keep them together.

She snorted at the fleeting wish that Anka's grief had turned her towards Lisbeth for physical comfort. It wasn't an ethical thought. She indulged it anyway. At length.

-

When she had first met Alyosha he had surprised her straight away with a forthright and perceptive question, framed like some sort of con artist.

At what point did you stop thinking in Russian.

It blew her away - the Slavic familiar and almost forgotten language it was enunciated in - this question posed to someone who adopted the German nickname of Lisbeth. She was distant to most; the name change although not official had been seamlessly accepted by all she met (including university staff). Then this man who looked more like a boy who didn't belong in university yet, who had been described by her friend as a quirky loner who lodged with a professor, had broken any pretence she had ever attained at getting away from home and all that came with it.

He addressed her as Elizaveta Lvovna for months and spoke only in Russian, claiming to be afraid of allowing her skill to lapse. In return she skipped on the Alyosha which seemed far too informal anyway and opted for Aleksei Grigoryevich. They grew closer, flew apart when he tricked her out of her course and onto his path, but for months they had just been friends. And before that, just after the meeting, for most of a year they had been acquaintances meeting in passing.

She remembered rumours of a relationship with the professor and questions of what right he had to attend lectures when he wasn't officially enrolled. Then something soured and after a few weeks squatting Alyosha seemed met up in a home of his own, and stopped being on-campus. They only met after that when she pursued politics, and by then the only rumours were of his mysteriously quick rise to power.

It was strange because she could tell that they both wanted to escape Russia, had both run away and never considered returning, but they found comfort in the familiar language and shared culture.

Out of all of those remaining she has known him longest and best, and despite Mirek she was trusted the most. Before the collapse they had formed the leftist faction of Equinox with Erik, but since then Anka had seemed to have joined the rights and they were outnumbered, but also too confused for infighting. The factions were meaningless, anyway; they would wait until they attained power. Alyosha insisted that Roland, of all people, was the one to be worried about. Lisbeth wasn’t so sure.

It was key right now to save Anka, and although she did it for herself (she admitted that) there were also benefits for the party. Anka was probably the only pacifist, and an important diplomatic balancing force. Her desire to avoid conflict kept tensions in check, something Lisbeth herself failed at dramatically. She enjoyed provoking people and seeing their reactions too much to arbitrate. Alyosha liked that she was forthright but disapproved of encouraging people to slip into logical tailspins for entertainment. Like that could make her hesitate.

Ström overestimated Alyosha, likely because of his obvious infatuation. The way she saw it, the more critical the situation became the more he relied on her co-leadership. She didn’t want to overthrow him, but if she kept getting this amount of power and responsibility then she thought that an equal ruling partnership could be possible. For a moment Lisbeth indulged in the thought of throwing Alyosha from his position, something she was probably capable of doing, but it slipped past. He may have been skittish and struggling, but the kind of dull extended speeches and interaction leadership demanded were not something which appealed to her. Besides, she liked him and could influence him with her respected opinion.

Unfortunately ‘influence’ did not equal control, and she couldn’t persuade him to mount a rescue mission for Anka any more than he’d be able to persuade her of the same for Mirek. That was why she was lurking outside a shack that passed for the detention centre most likely closest to where Anka had been arrested.

It was risky; even if they hadn’t connected Anka with Equinox they could recognize her on sight. Hesitantly, she neared the door. There was a note leaning against the glass pane from the other side, as she neared she could just make out ‘CLOSED’.

Were detention centres even open? Was that someone’s poor attempt at humour? This was not to be rushed, so she pulled back and crouched in a nearby alley against the wall. It was easy to camouflage here: everyone expected the homeless to be everywhere, she looked shabby enough to be one of them, and no one would shift her. She hunched into herself, careful to make sure that the door remained in her sights.

-

She didn’t remember falling asleep or even feeling tired. There were boots in front of her making a sound she associated with truncheons and beatings: militia. Very carefully she raised her eyes without moving or flinching, observing as they walked straight past the building she sat in front of. How much time had passed since she had fallen asleep? It felt like a long time, but that meant nothing. Her mouth felt disgusting; she wanted to go back to base and brush her teeth.

Instead she waited until the footsteps had completely faded and once again approached the door. This there was someone moving on the other side of the glass, they were clearly not military. She went with her impulse and opened the door, walking in with confidence as though she belonged here.

“Good day.” She said politely, half-expecting a button to be pressed and to be arrested.

“Yes?” The attendant was in attire that had probably once been formal.

For a moment she was stuck, then just went with whatever came into her head. “My name is… Elisabeth Hartmann. I’m here to plead for my sister, Anka Hartmann, to be released on bail.”

They scratched their head. “I’m not sure if that procedure is still in action under present circumstances. So far we’ve been acting on a case-by-case basis, I can call it in for review and if you return in a week to hear if the situation’s changed.”

This called for a change in strategy. Damn, she really wasn’t good at acting.

“It’s my sister!” She was aiming for distraught, but it came off more as angry. She tried again, attempting to sound worried. “Will she still be alive by the end of the week? How can you feed the prisoners with the situation as it is, I understand the lack of resources, but Anka hasn’t done anything wrong. She was just unlucky, and she shouldn’t starve for it with all those criminals.”

“I’m sorry,” they looked unsympathetic, “But rules are rules. Where are you from? Your accent is interesting.”

She froze; xenophobia was the fascist government’s front-line propaganda.

“I’m German, but I spent a few years in Lithuania where I picked up the accent. But back to my sister,” Lisbeth pleaded in earnest now, “Is there nothing you can do?”

They hesitated. “Well, I do hate to see a fellow German in distress, and I doubt that your sister did anything wrong. It’s all those immigrants who are the criminals, smashing our infrastructure. Did you hear,” they dropped their voice to a whisper, “That the food system was sabotaged by Jews?”

What the fuck. She struggled to keep her voice amicable and body language unchanged. Quickly she ran potential affirmative responses through in her head, but they all sounded insincere. It was better to let that pass.

“We paid our taxes and worked in honest jobs,” she attempted to sound proud of this, even though it was against everything she stood for and she was awful at lying, “But since the collapse we lost our savings, our apartment, everything. All we have is each other, and suddenly she’s taken away because of some bad luck. Please let her go so we can spend our last days together in peace.”

“Well…” they grimaced, “I do have the paper records right here… And it is true that we real Germans have to stick together in hard times… But understand that this would be at great personal risk to me.”

They wanted to play hero, fine. They could play hero. “You’d be saving both of our lives.”

“Okay.” That seemed to clinch it. “What does she look like and when was she taken into custody?”

“She’s got long blonde hair, and she was taken from me yesterday.”

They left briefly and returned with Anka, unbound and lightly bruised. She looked confused. Joy welled up inside Lisbeth and came bursting through. That was ridiculously easy; all she had had to do was pretend to be racist for a fool.

“You two look very different for sisters,” they mentioned, not letting go of the top of Anka’s arm.

“Anka!” She said pointedly, “This kind and honest German has freed you!”

The attendant looked suspicious at that, had it been too obvious? Shit. Better leave quickly.

“Thank you, I’ll never forget this.” Lisbeth tried to sound as sincere as she could, which didn’t seem to be very sincere, before grasping Anka’s wrist and half-dragging her out of the door. Damn, she never got a chance to ask about the ‘CLOSED’ sign. She didn’t look back to check the attendant’s reaction, but they didn’t call after her so hopefully there would be no official report.

“It’s great to see you again,” Lisbeth said eagerly.

“Are the others okay? Are they close by?”

For a moment those words wrenched and festered in Lisbeth’s selfish gut before she supressed those feelings.

“Actually I came here on my own initiative. Opinion was that looking for you was too high risk. We’re both AWOL.”

The way Anka’s face fell was devastating. Lisbeth kicked herself for that selfish desire to receive some kind of recognition, or award, or affection in return. Anka owed her nothing, and she probably owed Anka something to make up for her incredible insensitivity. How could she just tell Anka, like that, that only Lisbeth cared she was gone?

“Let’s head back,” Lisbeth mumbled, still stewing in shame. Anka nodded and followed, and not a word was exchanged between them on the return journey. 

Chapter Text

Lisbeth left for a day with barely a word to Alyosha. They were spent in restless worry, mostly scavenging for food, discussing plans, distributing leaflets, and talking to what Fabian perceived as community leaders. It didn't seem like they were making progress, more like they were unwilling to continue without Lisbeth.

Mirek wondered at one point if they would continue like that, like they'd drawn in a breath and were unwilling to release it, if she never returned, at least until they faded away from starvation. Alyosha was so tense the whole time, and so utterly reluctant to move on or do anything. Fabian wasn’t positioning himself to overthrow him that Mirek could tell (then again he seemed awful at judging these things), just fetching food and passing comments.

But she did come back, and she wasn't alone.

Anka trailed behind Lisbeth, bruised but hopeful. She was hurt less than she had been during her last incarceration. The first thing she did when she entered was walk quickly over to Fabian and embrace him. Lisbeth's face darkened.

Alyosha wasn't angry (how could he have been with Anka there, watching for his reaction?) but he raised an eyebrow at his deputy leader.

"Really poor security," she said with a shrug. "It has some uses."

Abruptly Mirek remembered Anka's frantic farewell and the storming boots as he fled and left his comrade to what they had both assumed was certain death.

"Surely Anka was high enough profile that she would have been somewhere secure?"

Lisbeth smiled. "She was still a file on someone's desk. Despite the Equinox connection she was in transit."

"If I'd known it would be that easy..." Alyosha trailed off, before suddenly continuing in focused Russian. "[If it hadn't been that easy then what would you have done?]"

Lisbeth clenched her hands into fists and walked over to where Anka was sat with Fabian.

"I think she's in love." Mirek jumped at the sudden voice from behind him. Rosa always seemed to slip everyone's notice.

Then the words registered. "What?"

"Lisbeth... with Anka, I mean. I'm not sure at all, it was just a thought." Rosa looked at the floor, diminishing her already slight frame as much as she could.

"You're probably right." Alyosha admitted. "But I know this much, Fabian is the one Anka is interested in. She doesn't... swing that way, for one thing."

"And Fabian?" All of this had completely shot over Mirek's head. Was he really that unobservant?

The Equinox leader shrugged. "No idea. He likes Anka more than anyone else in the party, but it's likely platonic."

Anka smiled at Mirek from across the room and he returned it, moments later remembering his own complicity in her abduction. It faltered slightly, but she didn't seem to notice. He didn’t think that she placed any blame on him, but he wondered if she could have done under any circumstances. He felt oddly protected by Alyosha, and Anka was so kind.

“So what were you working on during my absence?” Lisbeth addressed the whole group, steamrolling Fabian and Anka’s conversation. “Have you started infiltrating the militia yet?”

Everyone looked to Alyosha to reply, but he remained silent. Eventually Roland spoke up,

“We sat here. Fabian found some food.”

Lisbeth looked taken aback and almost angry, but she didn’t pass comment. After a short while Anka and Fabian went back to talking and she strolled over to where Alyosha sat with Mirek.

“[What was that about?]” Her Russian was sharp, hissed, hushed, but Mirek was close enough to still catch it.

“[Do you want to tell me how much we, I, need you? Or would you rather hear some account of my emotional weakness?]”

“[I’m not asking for an emotional tirade, Aleksei Grigoryevich.]” She was angry and loud enough now that he could hear her clearly. She ignored him, focusing on Alyosha.

“[Very well, Elizaveta Lvovna, I was worried you were gone and uncertain to continue until we knew what had happened to you.]”

“[How long would it have been? You’ve always trusted me to keep Equinox together with you absent, but you can’t keep functioning without me?]”

“[Anka was gone as well and we’re tired, Lisbeth. You know how much we’ve gone through lately, we needed to regain our strength. How about next time not leaving at such a crucial moment?]”

“[It won’t happen again, but that’s not the point and you know it.]”

“[I thought you were willing to make sacrifices, so what was that about pursuing Anka? You should have given up on her.]”

“[You should have given up on me.]”

“[Would you rather have returned to an empty warehouse? You could have. You could have cost us everything just for-]”

“[But it shouldn’t have to cost us everything! I thought you were stronger than this.]” The last part left Lisbeth’s mouth tinged with regret.

“[You know better than anyone what I’ve been going through lately.]” Mirek felt hurt by Alyosha’s words, but did not pass comment.

“[Our enemies won’t care how many excuses you have! They’ll just see the weakness and they’ll strike. You can’t let Ström know he’s getting to you.]”

“[It would get to anyone. He knows.]”

“[You don’t have to broadcast it to him!]”

“[And how, exactly, am I doing that?]”

“[By lying low in this warehouse with you team and waiting to starve instead of taking action.]”

“[We’re supposed to be covert, he’s not supposed to know what we’re doing. He might think that we’re succeeding.]”

“[You could defeat me in an argument even if you were wrong and knew it.]”

“[But that doesn’t mean that I’m wrong now.]”

They looked at each other. Mirek couldn’t detect any hostility, and a twinge of jealousy rose up in him for how comfortable Alyosha was around Lisbeth, and how much he cared about her. Somehow, he thought that if it had been him who had been taken instead of Anka he would still be in a cell, and they would be functioning normally.

“Stop bickering.” Fabian smiled lazily. “Or if you continue, please do so in German. I’d love to be in on what you’re saying.”

Some sense of ease came over the room at Fabian’s words, even though they were hardly conciliatory. Roland turned to Alyosha and the pair began to exchange some terse words of English.

Mirek turned to Anka suddenly. “Want to learn Polish?”

“What?”

He flushed. “Then we could…” he indicated vaguely to Roland, “Uh, have another secret avenue of communication.” Anka laughed politely and Mirek felt worse than ever. “Sorry. About… everything.”

She shrugged; it wasn’t absolution. There was very little potential for absolution left in him.

“Was that my name?” Lisbeth stood firmly looking between Alyosha and Roland. “Are you talking about me? Roland, you old shit.”

“Lisbeth…” Alyosha said warningly. “We’re talking. Official business.”

She rolled her eyes. “Roland, I outrank you. Tell me what you’re discussing.”

“I wasn’t aware that the ranking system was still in effect,” Fabian stopped Roland from replying to him with a wave of his hand. “If so, then which would Mirek be?”

Alyosha answered with a silent and angry glare.

“Everything falls apart without me.” Anka spoke uncharacteristically loudly, steamrollering the tension. “It’s clear what’s happening here, you’ve been stuck together in a room for twenty-four hours together, hungry and exhausted. We need rest and food before Equinox claws itself apart.”

No one opposed Anka, and Mirek wondered if the power balance had anything to do with ranks, or even who gave the orders. Then he recalled Anka being left behind by himself and everyone else, alongside every time her humanitarian concerns were routinely ignored.

-

“When was the last time,” Roland yawned like a shark mid-sentence, then continued lazily, “that we did something directly constructive to the cause?” Mirek felt like he should leap to Alyosha’s defense, but he said nothing. No one responded. “We decided that taking on the militia would be our next objective, and I was nominated to lead this due to my military experience. I assume this still stands?”

Alyosha nodded distantly to Roland. “Sure.”

“Wait.” Lisbeth said suddenly, pale.

“What?” Alyosha trained his eyes on her, seeming to focus slightly more. When she didn’t reply after a few seconds he turned away and fixed his eyes on the wall. “I think we should all get some rest and discuss this later.”

Rosa flinched in the background and everyone looked at her, startled by the movement.

“We sh-shouldn’t sleep,” she stuttered, unsettled by the attention, “We’re too hungry. I’m- I’m a medical professional. We need to eat, we only just slept. Some of you could… could never wake up.”

Alyosha looked weary. “You heard the doctor. Fabian, organize food scavenging groups to bring back sustenance. I need to talk to Roland and Lisbeth, but rest assured I’ll consult the whole Party before I make any decisions. You’re not missing out on anything.”

Fabian looked resentful, but said nothing. “How about Mirek? Is he still a special case?”

“Fuck off.” Lisbeth told Fabian with a level glare. “Mirek stays.”

“Couples.” Fabian muttered. He then beckoned over Anka, Melanie, and Rosa.

“Roland, we will include you I promise you, but not yet. This is sensitive.” Lisbeth told him. Mirek found it uncharacteristically polite.

“Fine, just call me over when you’re done with whatever. Don’t let your feelings get in the way. I’ll do some logistical strategic planning.”

Before long the three of them were out of earshot.

“What.” Mirek blurted, before he could stop himself. “Why?”

Lisbeth reached out and pulled him over, muttering into his ear furiously and quickly, presumably hoping Alyosha wouldn’t be able to overhear. Did she expect Mirek to withhold anything from him? “We’re about to pursue something very unpleasant so you need to keep quiet and keep Alyosha calm. That’s your job here, you understand? We’ve tried to help you with your issues and suppressed grief; we’ve tolerated your emotional distance from everything and now we’re asking you to do something for Equinox. This is your role here: you support him. Do it.”

He pulled back, trying and failing to untangle the complex message that had just been poured into his ear with Lisbeth’s moist breath. Should he object to it? It seemed hostile and he had counted Lisbeth as an ally, did this change the tone of their relationship? Should he dislike her now? There seemed no time, and Alyosha seemed increasingly tense. Quietly and without complaint, Mirek leaned over towards his lover and gently took his hand in both of his own. It was shaking slightly.

“You read me too well.” Lisbeth told Alyosha gently, so gently compared to how forcefully she had just spoken to Mirek. Presumably she spoke in German for his benefit. “I think you know what I’m going to ask from you. It’s too much.”

“Don’t treat me like I’m made of fucking glass.” Alyosha spat, wrenching his hand from Mirek’s and pushing himself into a crouching position. “Don’t you fucking dare swear at everyone and push them around and grab my boyfriend like that – violently – and then speak to me like I’m a wounded animal. Respect me.”

Mirek saw how wound up Alyosha was, but he couldn’t help but glow as their relationship was acknowledged openly. He subtly made contact through their shoulders, and this time he wasn’t rejected.

“Your reaction is natural-”

“Stop trying to be nice, it doesn’t suit you and it doesn’t suit me. Out with it.”

“Fuck, Alyosha, being tactful is something I would really like to try, but if you insist then fine: we’ve got to go for the militia through Ström. Specifically, through you and Ström. You’re going to have to go back into custody and we’ll go with you and we’ll suffer alongside you and then hear you suffer and it will be fucking hell, and if this is how you want to hear it then there. Ström is going to crush us all and we’ll all be fucked.”

“Some of us literally.” Alyosha muttered, face stormy.

Lisbeth froze. “That’s not what I-”

No. “No.” Mirek said it out loud. “No.”

“Mirek,” Lisbeth snapped, “this is what we have to do. Believe me that we need to organize this now before Roland brings it up in front of Fabian.”

“No. Alyosha won’t go back.” He brought his arm around his lover’s back, half-cradling him. “He won’t. The city can starve and everyone can burn and that can be that, but he’s not going back. I won’t- I won’t- I won’t”

“She’s right.” Roland spoke from the distance. Had they been that loud?

“Fuck off!” Lisbeth shouted at him.

“I need time to come to terms with this.” Alyosha’s voice trembled.

“Alyosha… you’re stalling. You’ve known that this was the only way for a while now. You’ve already come to terms with it.”

“No.” Mirek said again, almost shouting. “You can’t.” Alyosha reached up and touched his face gently; drawing him into the sweetest kiss they had ever shared. “You’re not allowed.” They were both crying.

“You knew I’d say yes. You knew I’d already said yes.” Alyosha spoke at a whisper, presumably so his voice would stay level. “So why did you ask?”

Lisbeth shrugged, turned away, closed her eyes.

“Didn’t want me losing it in a meeting. You’re on my side more than you should be. Equinox should own your loyalties. Go on, bring it up when they get back. We’ll talk over our plan as a group – this time we will be in control. Not everyone will come with us.”

“No.” Mirek sobbed.

Chapter Text

The status of Azazel and possibility of his future use
BY AMADEUS RYEO

RELEASE STATUS: Restricted from release outside the Politburo
DATE: 09.04.2260
LANGUAGE: English
CLASSIFICATION: Restricted
AUTHOR: Amadeus Ryeo

CONTENTS
1. INTRODUCTION
2. INTELLGENCE
3. RECOMMENDATIONS WHEN UTILIZING AZAZEL
4. SKILLS
5. PERSONAL INFORMATION
6. CONCLUSION

1. INTRODUCTION

The founding leader of our state known to most simply as Azazel was deposed approximately three months before the publication of this report following a period of several years over which he demonstrated impaired judgement, presumably due to his blindness following illness. Before this he had an active role in almost all areas of state and had been personally involved in the construction of every department.

Azazel, now imprisoned, is steadily losing his grip on himself and reality. His mythical ability to find anyone’s weak spot and judge a person from only a few minutes conversation is entirely gone. It seems that it would be possible to convince him to provide assistance to the Party, but one can only wonder at what dimension he could possibly help in.

Azazel’s loyalty must be called into question. His connections with old allies who had since defected from the Party into our Department of Subversion called his sympathies into question on many occasions. Furthermore, he expressed stronger grief over the personal loss of Tobias, a known traitor, than over news of the Stockholm Dome breech and subsequent significant civilian deaths before the situation could be recovered. Perhaps even worse than that, he has expressed regret over the loss of academic studies of the world before the Environmental Collapse – a subject he himself forbid from study.

The historical knowledge of the Party’s rise to power and early years was so sparse and vague that other members of the Politburo could have provided a more detailed version. He is holding back or his memory has completely failed him.

2. INTELLIGENCE

This is the historical framework he provided to stem the gap where he destroyed files:

1) At some point, likely around forty years ago, a coup occurred. This brought Berlin under Party control.
2) Unspecified consolidation followed.
3) Through controlling supply chains the rest of Europe (Stockholm, London) were brought to heel.
4) Over a period of fifteen years a stable European empire was built up with sufficient infrastructure to support itself.
5) An attempt to conquer North America backfired, in the process destroying the four surviving cities of the former United States of America.
6) Further attempts of expanding outside of Europe were aborted as a result. Cities called Tokyo and Beijing definitely still exist beyond our realm of influence, others may also but Azazel expressed uncertainty. Language would be a problem if colonial ambitions were again pursued.

He also provided information of questionable relevance which I will nonetheless include:

1) Original deputy leader Elizaveta Lvovna Orlova, referred to by Azazel as ‘Lisbeth’, took her own life in protest of what Azazel describes as a ‘dark course’ the Party began taking.
2) General Roland Abbott set up the destruction of the North American cities for unknown reasons without Azazel’s knowledge, resulting in his show trial and execution.

3. RECOMMENDATIONS WHEN UTILIZING AZAZEL

1) Caution. His past accomplishments must remain in mind, however impotent he may seem.
2) Distrust. Strict control will be needed as Azazel no longer seems to identify with his own movement. Be sure that he has no opportunities for subversion or deviation from the expected task.
3) Wariness of his disabilities. Despite continued work to restore the work of his eyes he currently cannot see well enough to distinguish facial features, and cannot walk more than a few meters unaided. Do not expect him to be able to read or type.
4) Engagement. Be sure to make sure Azazel is deeply involved in your task; otherwise he can very easily drift off. Increasingly he loses touch with the situation at hand.
5) Anti-revolutionary slander. Azazel can be very outspoken about his convenient disillusionment, and persuasive. Do not put him into contact with people who could potentially be influenced and try not to be unsettled by his disloyalty.
6) Layered speech. Azazel’s method of talking is full of multiple meanings and implied insult. Be sure to be aware of everything he is communicating so as not to be deceived.
7) Be mindful of mental fragility. Azazel is prone to outbursts at mentions of his former fallen colleagues, or bouts of depression. Avoid bringing up past Party members.

4. SKILLS

Azazel is fluent in English, Russian, and German, and thus would be suitable for deployment to Berlin if the need arose. Due to his vision impairment he would be poor at teaching languages.

His historical and academic knowledge of the world before is impressive, should anyone wish to find out any particular details or archive this knowledge for future use he would be a good candidate.

Advice from him on complex policy decisions is usually sound, although one must be aware of the warnings given in Section 3 of this report; especially that he may attempt to push outdated beliefs forwards or further his own agenda.

5. PERSONAL INFORMATION

His full birth name is Aleksei Grigoryevich Demidov, although he went by the diminutive ‘Alyosha’ for much of the beginning of his political career. He appears to be bisexual (although he has not been sexually active since the death of his wife), an ethnic Russian, and he has never held any religious beliefs.

The illness which killed his wife approximately a decade ago also left him blind. Ongoing vision research has returned his vision partially, but he is still without colour or depth perception and the resolution is so low that he is unable to recognize faces.

Before his wife Azazel was in a long-term relationship with another Party member called Tobias. This ended when he defected to the Department of Subversion. The relationship was significant enough that he pursued the possibility of recovering Tobias following his incarceration; however since he had been dead for several years he soon abandoned this.

6. CONCLUSION

Azazel’s status as the founder of the Party places him in a position where it would be unwise to terminate him at any point. It is worth the resources to sustain him even if he is of no immediate use because his knowledge and experience are irreplaceable and primarily undamaged despite his deteriorating state.

Due to his defective mental state and deviating beliefs it is recommended that he is kept away from main meetings. His lack of sight leaves him poorly equipped to read into the reactions of others.

Azazel would flourish in a consultant position. Using an appointment basis Party members (of a minimum seniority, be aware of the negative influence he could have on others) could meet with him to hear advice. It would be better if someone (ideally me, who he is already familiar with) could remain as a manager figure to give him regular human contact.

Chapter Text

They ate, then the meeting began. Mirek had barely seen Alyosha look worse.

“I know that this position will be unpopular among many of you.” Lisbeth took charge effortlessly. It didn’t look like she was covering for Alyosha. “But our current plan for militia control is better than the previous because no civilian deaths will be on our hands. We have decided that the key is utilizing Alyosha’s influence over Ström.”

“If you think we’re going back there agai-” Fabian began viciously.

“No, Fabian, not everyone will go ‘back there again’. Some people will be needed as contacts from the outside. It will be better if Alyosha has fewer people to worry about. Hear us out.”

“Our ascent has to be bloodless,” Roland explained, “Otherwise we’ll just be setting ourselves up to fail later. We can’t alienate the people we want the support of, otherwise we may succeed in bringing down the current regime but we will never establish a new one. As much as certain Party members,” he looked at Lisbeth shrewdly, “Would prefer an anarchist society, I doubt humanity would survive. We need order.”

“I’m not seeing the point of this.” Melanie said slowly. “So we let Alyosha and some other people get arrested? Then what?”

“Let us finish.” Lisbeth argued. “We go for a two-pronged approach. Alyosha and Mirek run straight up to the Reichstag and get arrested looking for asylum: he tells them there’s been a schism in the Party and now their lives are in danger. He acts like his pride is hurt so wants to crush the splinter faction at all costs, even if that means allying with his enemy. He acts like he’s come over to Ström’s point of view.

“At the same time we, hopefully mostly Melanie and Rosa, are acting independently to sabotage the water system. They think that we’re going to try to control the city through controlling the water and divert their attentions there. Meanwhile our main goal is gaining access to the government safe room.

“Alyosha establishes himself as Ström’s successor through infiltration; we can keep communicating through drop-off points. At some point when he decides that the time is right we raise a false alarm and the government gets led to the safe room. We flood it or fill it with gas or seal it off, something, to eliminate upper command. Alyosha takes over and we begin instigating our chosen changes to government.”

“That’s not airtight.” Melanie replied. “There’s a lot that could go wrong. But it has potential.”

“Alyosha.” Anka looked at him with pity; Mirek knew there was nothing worse she could have done.

The Party leader hunched into himself and went silent.

“I have an idea.” Rosa began slowly, “I don’t think anyone’s seen us together, have they?”

“Your disappearance timed with ours won’t have been seen as a coincidence.” Alyosha said viciously, with entirely misdirected anger.

Fabian glared at Alyosha. “What were you thinking of, Rosa?”

“If I could go back to my old job, tell them I needed to do some side-work to get food – they’d understand that – maybe I could… be the link? I don’t think they really see me as a threat, and as long as our meetings were subtle…”

“It’s possible.” Lisbeth admitted.

“The risk for you would be extremely high. They might just shoot you.” Alyosha intoned, once again bitterly. Lisbeth shot him a concerned glance and then looked straight at Mirek.

“I think this plan is unspeakable.” He said quietly, and no one acknowledged the statement.

The bickering over details went on and Alyosha just looked worse and worse. Mirek felt the same creeping dread begin to consume him.

-

They slept; they woke; Alyosha barely spoke; they slept; they woke; they ate; nothing changed; nothing changed and a slow death crept up on them as surely as the sky was getting dimmer.

“Don’t you think this is a bit rushed?” Mirek asked, feeling foolish.

“I think you need to get started as quickly as possible. People are dying.” Roland told them.

“We need Alyosha to seem authentic.” Lisbeth added with a note of apology.

“What-” Mirek processed her traitorous words instantly. “You want to hand Alyosha over to Ström when he’s at his most vulnerable? You’ve, you’ve-” This was too much. “You’ve been trying to unsettle him just so-”

“Mirek.” Alyosha interrupted with quiet authority, a warning and a plea. “I don’t need you to defend me.”

“No!” How could Alyosha not see? “This isn’t the right decision. You wouldn’t go along with this if you were feeling… safe.”

“Mirek.”

“This is impossible. Give it a few days at least.”

“A few days could drive this city off the edge. Our plan will take long enough as it is.” Fabian added, traces of guilt audible in his voice.

“How?” Mirek looked straight at Alyosha. “How can you let yourself be manipulated like this?”

“Mirek.” Alyosha snapped. “I am fully in control here. You are faced with a decision, go along with our plan or leave. You’re feeling emotional right now so I won’t hold this disagreement against you.”

Mirek fell silent. There was a question under Alyosha’s words: do you trust me? And it wasn’t that he did, could anyone ever trust someone completely, but it was that he couldn’t face Alyosha thinking that he disagreed with him over something so… anything really. It sickened him, for a moment, that he was allowing this suffering to happen just to avoid an argument after stating his opinion so he could just say I told you so when Alyosha was suffering so greatly, but he decided to worry about that later.

“We need to make this convincing.” Roland said.

Mirek looked at him, unsure of the meaning of this, when Roland punched him in the face without warning. He made up for in technique what he lacked in youth. His teeth were intact, his nose (just about), but swelling was already beginning around his eye which would impede his vision.

By the time he’d worked out that this was to make their cover story authentic and therefore Alyosha would be next the Russian was sprawled on the floor besides him.

This… this was too much. He was about to spring back up and start beating the shit out of that old man when Alyosha grabbed his wrist. Then, without a further word, their welcome party left them. They had decided to move base since there was no guarantee that Mirek (no one doubted Alyosha for some reason, or maybe they just felt to guilty to accuse him of anything when they were tossing him off the cliff like this) wouldn’t reveal any information ‘under duress’ as Anka had put it.

It surprised him the most that Anka went along with this. But Alyosha had abandoned her until Lisbeth dragged her back.

“Off we go.” Alyosha mumbled, keeping his hand on Mirek’s wrist.

For a moment Mirek almost said we don’t have to, but the thought passed quickly. He didn’t need the conflict it would invoke.

This was where they had first gone together; along the streets towards the Reichstag. They walked openly once more, as though not fugitives, perhaps because Alyosha was hoping to be arrested somewhere where he wouldn’t be in contact with Ström. They were not stopped until the doors, and even then they were almost mistaken for civilians trying to voice complaints and sent away.

Their previous caution in hiding Alyosha seemed misplaced.

Only Alyosha’s dogged insistence moved them closer and closer towards the dungeon, and when they finally were taken into custody he slumped against Mirek in a silent embrace.

Mirek took the weight without complaint and did his best to tame the trembles coursing through Alyosha’s taut frame.

“Th-this will never work.” Alyosha muttered, the first words he had spoken to Mirek since the warehouse. “Roland will overthrow Lisbeth whilst I’m away and Ström will never acknowledge this story. He’ll just try and control me.”

“But…” Mirek struggled for a polite response. “But… you allowed this to happen.”

Alyosha went limp in his grip. “I bear no illusions. And so did you.”

“I did what I thought you wanted.” He protested. “I showed that I trusted you.”

“You just shrugged off responsibility.” Alyosha countered, and closed the argument with a kiss. “Now is not the time to be divided.”

Mirek was about to respond when the door opened. At the creaking sound he half expected Alyosha to collapse onto the floor in that poor pretence of sleep he had before when Ström was involved, but instead he just tensed up again. They were too intertwined to untangle easily but this time neither tried.

But the person who walked in wasn’t in military uniform. Dressed in outdated and impractical tweed and brandishing a copper-tipped cane Mirek tracked with his eyes an older man strode in, pompous to the point of absurdity. He looked down on the two of them with an air of stern fatherly disapproval. His hair was shot with grey; he must have been around Roland’s age.

“Hmph.” He huffed with false formality. “What are you doing on the floor Aleksandr? Care to introduce your friend?”

Mirek didn’t see Alyosha’s expression change, but he felt the hurried movements to free himself of Mirek and scramble to his feet. The Polish man joined him soon after, observing how Alyosha seemed to straighten his spine almost as though standing to attention whilst levelling a glare at the older man.

“Fuck off, Rupert.” He said flippantly, as though he expected it to be ignored. “Aleksandr isn’t my name. You won’t find it on my birth certificate.”

An aborted laugh slipped past Rupert(?)’s puffed lips. “Your birth certificate has been incinerated into dust by now alongside your family. Not that you’d mind that, of course. The tales you told of Grigori Demidov…”

Something nasty twisted Alyosha’s mouth. “There’s not much use for history in this brave new world of ours. You’ll have to find a new profession. Maybe one you can succeed at unaided.”

“Who?” Mirek butted in, confused.

“Introduce me, Aleksandr.”

“This is some useless baggage I carried through my academic career.” Alyosha snarled.

“Melodramatic as always. I’m Doctor Rupert Gelbbaum, Aleksandr’s professor in history and international relations and ex paramour, although he seems to have moved on to something far more fetching.” His gaze was predatory.

“What?” Mirek blurted. “But you’re really… old.”

“Ignore him. He’s an academic fraud. Our relationship was a mistake and it’s been long over.”

Mirek blinked. Alyosha kept putting emphasis on the academic fraud part, but these two had been partners? He didn’t really feel betrayed; it wasn’t like he hadn’t been in a relationship before (Poland is for worrying about later) but the age gap was concerning. The name sounded familiar, though… Gelbbaum… wait…

“Didn’t you write books about Stalin or something? And weren’t you an expert on Equinox according to that newspaper?” Mirek looked at him hard. “There were some papers lying around with your name on them.”

“Fraud.” Alyosha hissed just as Gelbbaum answered with an affirmative.

“I took student Aleksandr Demidov in at age 16 from the endless kindness of my heart.” Gelbbaum pontificated. “He was on the streets and I saw his promise. At first he attended lectures, but over time he fell in love with me and we began an affair. Eventually he grew envious of my success and fell to extremism. Later when he came to me for help with his group I helped him as his mentor by putting him in contact with Ström.”

“Svloch.” Alyosha half-screamed. “You sold me to Ström for the ‘expert’ slot and one tiny piece more publicity for you after stealing and publishing my academic work!”

Mirek soundlessly took his hand. They were in love, he reminded himself. A festering anger at Gelbbaum came into existence.

“You know what’s truly amusing is that when your comrade Elizaveta came to me she accused me of ‘enticing’ you away from your home like a ‘paedophile’. But you won’t deny the truth of our relationship.”

“Our relationship was fucked up and I refuse to dwell on it. It’s long been over and it should have never existed.”

“You won’t see yourself as a victim, Schatz.” The common pet name sounded wrong.

“I won’t indulge you further.” Alyosha deflected. “Why are you here?”

“I heard you were here and thought I’d ask you this: what possessed you to surrender? Finally outgrew the rebellious stage?”

Alyosha closed his eyes in a pained grimace.

“We were ousted from the leadership position.” Mirek sprang to his defense, worried Alyosha might be unsettled enough to surrender their cover.

“It’s Ström’s fucking fault.” Alyosha said sullenly. “He makes me look like an organ grinder’s monkey, dancing to his tunes. They slowly lost faith in me.”

“None of that fabled charisma?” Gelbbaum purred, taking an uncomfortable step forward.

For a moment Alyosha’s hand tugged backwards like he was about to back away, but then he swept Mirek into another impulsive kiss instead. This time he aggressively returned it, hoping to escape this grey room for one moment longer.

“Getting the party started without me?”

Ström stood smirking in the doorway. Mirek deepened the kiss just as Alyosha began to start to break away. 

Chapter Text

Procedure for consulting with Azazel
BY AMADEUS RYEO

RELEASE STATUS: Upper management only
DATE: 13.04.2260
LANGUAGE: English
CLASSIFICATION: Restricted
AUTHOR: Amadeus Ryeo

CONTENTS
1. Booking an appointment
2. Advice on interacting
3. In the event of insubordination
4. Emergency visits

1. Booking an Appointment

Contact Amadeus Ryeo to arrange an appointment. You will need to specify the following:
• The purpose of the appointment
• Past relations with Azazel
• The date of the appointment
• The projected length of the appointment
• Whether you would like to be accompanied by his handler (Amadeus Ryeo)

It is possible to meet with Azazel on a regular basis, e.g. weekly or monthly. The status of Azazel will be checked before and after each interaction and you will be required to present ID to be allowed access to his cell.

2. Advice on Interacting

Azazel is manipulative and has little loyalty for the Party. Caution is advised.

He speaks fluent English, German, and Russian.

His blindness means that he is unable to read any documents and his writing is near illegible.

For more detail on his status and possible reasons you may choose to consult, please see Ryeo, A. (2260) The status of Azazel and possibility of his future use.

3. In the event of insubordination

In the event that Azazel criticizes Party policy or withholds information in a way which you consider significant the following disciplinary measures are permitted:

1. Verbal reprimand
2. Referral to his handler for:
a. Sleep deprivation
b. Rations withheld
c. Temporary deactivation of his eyes
d. Solitary confinement

A request for punitive measures must be accompanied by a fully written report explaining the grievance.

Physical violence is not permitted under any circumstances as Azazel is very frail. Any such instances will be written up and the offenders will be given a written warning. Repeat offences will be dealt with by bans and marks on permanent records which may impact on future promotion chances.

4. Emergency Visits

If a booking is required on short notice for a matter of some import you may track down Amadeus to see if there is an opening. If you outrank him then you may proceed without permission, but you must update the visiting log afterwards and abide by the other rules. Please endeavour to make all appointments officially at least a week in advance.

Chapter Text

Ström looked at the three of them with vicious triumph.

“If we had Stella here,” he commented offhandedly, “We’d have Alyosha’s complete relationship history from the past six years in this one room.”

“She’s dust by now.” Alyosha commented less viciously than he might have to Gelbbaum, presumably because of fear. “She returned to Cumbria, England a few months back.”

That piqued Mirek’s interest; he has assumed Alyosha to be gay like him. There was also a disturbing subtext: Ström knew of all of Alyosha’s previous romantic partners? Three did seem like a small number, but he supposed Alyosha had been married to his work.

“Shame.” Ström said without any trace of sympathy.

Alyosha kicked at the ground with his foot and twitched his head towards Gelbbaum. “Get this clown out of here and we can get down to business.”

“I’m more qualified than…” Gelbbaum indicated towards Mirek vaguely.

“He’s right that you have no right to be here.” Ström said, looking at Gelbbaum through narrowed eyes. “But Demidov has no right to order anyone to do anything.”

Alyosha paled and tightened his grip on Mirek’s hand. “He’s just a distraction, an obstacle.”

“You don’t have any power here to remove obstacles. He stays.” Ström looked straight at Alyosha, challenging him to reply.

“I suppose you want to know why I’m here.” He replied evasively.

“Oh, that’s clear enough.” He took a step so close to Alyosha that their noses stood an inch apart. “You couldn’t resist our magnetic pull.”

It looked for a moment like Alyosha might step backwards or faint, but instead he opened his mouth – bearing his teeth in a mockery of a smile – and spat straight into Ström’s face. The spit slid down his cheek. In one swift movement Ström wiped away the spit and backhanded Alyosha so powerfully that his head cracked against the wall behind him and he fell to the ground.

Instantly Mirek knelt down beside him to help his partner up; the blow to the head could have disoriented him.

“Lisbeth.” Alyosha let out a short hushed laugh Ström wouldn’t have been able to hear. “[Sorry. I can’t endure the company of this man, not for all of Berlin.]”

Mirek tensed, anticipating the violent reaction Ström had displayed last time Alyosha had spoken Russian in his presence. However this time he let it pass; perhaps he had not heard. He glanced over at Gelbbaum and saw that he looked out of his element, almost scared.

“Perhaps I should go.” He offered. “I don’t really have a place here and you seem to be getting on fine without me.”

Alyosha barked “Go!” at the exact same time Gelbbaum ordered “Stay.”.

Mirek gently helped Alyosha to his feet. The party leader was leaning on him for support.

“You’ve… got me.” The Russian accent came through so strongly that the speech was almost difficult to understand. “I can’t escape on my own. Equinox has abandoned me. I’m here to ask you for support and offer my skills in exchange. You don’t need to use violence or chains to control me.”

Ström smiled. Mirek recalled Roland’s accusation from their last captivity: he’s a sadist.

“Wrists out together in front of you.”

Mirek complied after Alyosha did so. He tried not to flinch as Ström cuffed their hands together in a way which made manoeuvring them practically impossible; the chain between the cuffs was two centimetres at most so their hands were effectively welded together. At least they weren’t chained to each other.

“There’s no need for any of this.” Alyosha muttered. “I told you, I won’t resist.”

“Then these shouldn’t be too much of a problem.”

Alyosha looked at Ström eyes wide, incredulous. “It’s not like this is exactly comfortable. At least release Mirek, he’s harmless.”

Ström shook his head. Mirek recalled punching the military leader in the face and winced internally; his partner must have forgotten. He wished Alyosha would stop the bargaining and just go along with it to avoid violence. Their situation was volatile enough without prodding…

He allowed a wave of intense hatred directed at Lisbeth wash over him.

“Dr Dreher came back.” The general dropped casually. The partners tensed immediately.

“Who?” Alyosha tried, feigning disinterest poorly. Perhaps his unease would be contributed to fear by Ström.

“So you won’t betray Equinox even after you’ve chosen me over them.”

“Who is this ‘Dr Dreher’?”

“Rosa Dreher. The person who treated you last time you were here. The one you seduced to your cause.” No one expected Gelbbaum to answer, even Ström looked surprised when he did.

Alyosha looked torn and Mirek knew why. Rosa was supposed to be their avenue of contact: without her they would be trapped here and truly alone. But was she salvageable? And if they gave some story about how she had defected with them, would she be able to match it or would the inconsistencies make a bad situation worse?

Mirek warily watched Alyosha, uncertain of the correct course of action. The party leader shrugged.

“I never had much contact with her. I imagine the renegade lifestyle proved too difficult for her.”

“You know what Machiavelli would say,” Gelbbaum interjected inappropriately, “Historically speaking, keeping company with backstabbers has never been advised.”

“At this rate, Rupert,” Alyosha said with immaculate calm, “You’ll get me killed.”

The old professor looked taken aback by that. He almost protested, Mirek could see it in the twitch in his jaw, but he didn’t.

“Huh.” Ström looked on with little interest. “Better kill her to be safe then.”

“That’s hardly wise.” Mirek broke in hastily. He knew Rosa.

“You need medical staff and she’s not in a position to learn secrets, let alone leak them.” Alyosha fleshed out Mirek’s idea, although the more he spoke the more his hands slowly curled into tense fists. “And yes, she is leverage against me. Any innocent civilian is.”

Ström laughed at that. “Keeping up appearances for your boyfriend? I never knew you cared.”

A harsh knock sounded on the door. Alyosha flinched, eliciting a chuckle from Ström as he went to check who it was. After a few terse words he left, casting a wordless glance at Gelbbaum over his shoulder. A lock clicked closed behind him.

“I’d best be going.” Gelbbaum said hastily. He tried to open the door, but it was locked.

Without Ström, the tension collapsed from Alyosha’s body and he slumped against the wall. Mirek lowered himself besides him.

“Th-there must be some mistake…” Gelbbaum whispered, looking at the pair of Equinox members as though asking for help.

“You’ll get out before we do. He just kept you in here to annoy me.” Alyosha offered this uncomforting reply. “I have no desire to catch up. I’m having a nap.”

“But I’m a senior government member!”

“The military control the government.” Mirek told him, secretly proud of himself for knowing that much.

Alyosha snapped his eyes open, suddenly looking at Gelbbaum in a new way. “Have you considered joining my new party? You could be a co-founder.”

“I’m flattered, but we don’t see eye to eye on much.”

“No one did in Equinox.” Mirek burst in, feeling out of his depth but desperately wanting to engage in a conversation. “Everyone had massive conflicts and it functions fine.”

“Functioned fine. The splits are why we had our schism. But I think that no matter how much I despise you, and oh I do despise you, we share an enemy even if you haven’t recognized it yet. I might even let you plagiarize a few more of my papers and reinvigorate your academic presence.”

“Hah. You have no plans for the arts or social sciences in your goal. Too much subversion – you’ve always been more totalitarian than you care to admit.”

“And that’s why you described Equinox as an ‘anarchist’ group in all your interviews.”

“That was almost a year ago, don’t hold grudges.”

“It’s just another example of you selling your academic integrity for cheap short-term fame and a few UD.”

“It’s clear how high your regard for me is, no need to be rude. I may have to tell Ström.”

Alyosha paled but didn’t back down. “Bullshit. Do you know what he’d do? Is that what you want?”

“Uh,” Mirek chimed, voice small and shy, “What would he do? It’s just… I feel like I should… be… prepared, or… I’m in the dark here, and…”

“Let me put this simply so Rupert can get it through his head: reporting me would make him flog me. Now I know you have a small bag of money in place of a moral compass, but as the instigator you would carry responsibility. And believe me, if I hate you now when you haven’t betrayed me like that you would not like to see our relationship afterwards.”

Gelbbaum acted as though the entire exchange hadn’t taken place and turned to the Polish man. “Mirek, was it? Tell me, Aleksandr, is he that good a fuck and so useless at everything else that you decided to drag him along to your death for comfort?”

“Leave Mirek alone,” Alyosha snarled, “He’s here because he’s the only one who exhibited good enough judgement recently, even though he lacked the conviction to follow it through. I love him. I never loved you; I tolerated your disgusting elderly pawing for board and education until I was old enough to fend for myself and then I was out. I mean, I have the courtesy to even invite you to my new group and to just about hold a civil conversation so reign it in, Rupert.”

“A really good fuck then.”

“Fuck off, old man.”

“He didn’t drag me off to my death.” Mirek said suddenly.

“Where did you find this one?” Gelbbaum addressed Alyosha again, smirking. “I know your manipulation skills are legendary, but this extent of deception? Truly, kudos to you. Your dream partner is an attractive empty shell who agrees with everything you say, regardless of content. No wonder the others in your petty rebel group began to doubt your judgement.”

“I don’t blindly agree with Alyosha.” Mirek protested, feeling threatened.

“[Ignore him. We can exclude him like this.]”

“[I don’t like what he’s saying.]”

“[He’s just a bitter old man, ignore it.]”

“I suppose my argument is irrefutable.” Gelbbaum sat back smugly. “Mirek here is wound around Aleksandr’s little finger and that’s just the way you both like it.”

“[Don’t rise to his crude bait,]” Alyosha told Mirek. “[He always does this; he won’t stop so we may as well ignore him. He just wants attention.]”

“[Why did Ström leave him here? It’s pointless.]”

“[I think it was more for Rupert’s benefit than ours. He was growing more audacious and interfering in Ström’s perceived relationship with me. It’s a power play, and his efforts to annoy us are seen as an incidental upside.]”

It took Mirek around five minutes to fully decipher the meaning of Alyosha’s fluid and clearly enunciated Russian. This was too difficult so he switched to subtle and whispered German which Gelbbaum wouldn’t be able to hear from his position. There was one question burning on his mind that he felt like he should have brought up earlier.

“How long?”

“Ström will probably remove Rupert in the morning.”

“No, how long are we to remain here?”

“…Here?”

“We…” Crushing hopelessness slowly descended. “How long until…” This had to be in Russian: the stakes were too high. “[He trusts you enough so the plan can work? How long until we can talk to the others? Months? Years?]”

“This city’s decaying. We have until the last embers of life fade, but it’ll become significantly more difficult if structured power falls first. Yes, it could be months. It could also be days.” He switched to clear but quiet Russian. “[We don’t necessarily need his trust for the plan, we just need to anticipate his movements enough that we’ll know that he’ll go into the panic room with the government and be able to warn the others.]”

“But… What if the opportunity never arises? What if we’re just..?” Mirek’s eyes were wide.

“[Look, Mirek.]” Alyosha leaned in gently. “[I got us out of the sinking ship that was Equinox, I found us somewhere we can rest and with danger we know about and can therefore control. We have food here. I want to do the plan – that’s my top priority, and you can never tell any of the others anything different. But if the plan fails or is too risky we will work within the system. This way I can protect you.]”

“[You’re prepared to give up and truly join him?]”

“[Things weren’t working with Equinox. Remember distributing those posters? They were a rallying call and no one answered. There was not one act of subtle resistance, no protests in the meeting points. We can’t have a popular revolution when everyone’s abandoned hope. Remember the people who scattered from that meeting we were arrested at? They’re gone, either dead or have given up resistance. Even the inner circle itself is slowly losing faith – and angrily. With Fabian and Roland posturing it was only a matter of time before one of them blamed me and killed us for it.]”

Mirek was taken aback. “[They… they wouldn’t.]”

“[You don’t understand this utter loss of hope. You’re still not quite here, not really, and you don’t quite get just how severe this situation is. We don’t know if any other Dome system was effective: this could be the last stronghold of humanity, hell maybe even the last stronghold of complex life. And look at what we’ve lost – nations, languages, cultures, art, technology – so here we are as possibly the last humans with this burden of civilisation to uphold and we’re dying. At the same time we’re all starving and no one can sleep and there are corpses everywhere. Literally corpses in the streets. An extreme emotional reaction is to be expected.]”

“[But… But Lisbeth would stop them?]”

“[Lisbeth cared enough about me to know that the short-term pain Ström inflicts would be worth the relative safety for both of us. They had no food left, you know, they’re all dying. Lisbeth offered me this opportunity to either choose Equinox or choose the more cautious option: to stay here with you and just do whatever he wants. We’d be getting a better standard of life than the vast majority of the population. We’d be lucky.]”

“[If we failed in the plan… or didn’t do it… what would happen to the others?]”

“[They’d starve. It wouldn’t take long. We tried before – in a way – Lisbeth advised me to report that meeting to Ström to see if Equinox really could integrate itself into the government and in the process save our lives. But Fabian wrecked our plan and left us struggling to remain alive, and I underestimated the damage Ström would inflict. It was my fault, I couldn’t endure it and we just had to get out, especially once he’d taken us to Hohenschönhausen.]”

“Wait.” Mirek took a moment to process the Russian. “You set up that time we were arrested by Ström at the meeting with Lisbeth?”

“[Yes. Russian, please.]”

“Why would you… Why… Remember what he did to us all? To Lisbeth, kicking her on the floor back then?”

“[Russian. No plan will succeed if you reveal everything.]”

Mirek was overcome. “Czemu.”

“No. No. Mirek, look at me.” Alyosha switched to German, grasping Mirek’s arm and forcing eye contact. “Don’t slip away. You’re here and so am I.”

“Nie. Get off- get off me.”

“Trouble in paradise?” Gelbbaum smirked. Mirek wanted to hit him, but he couldn’t move.

“Fuck off, Rupert.” Alyosha told him grimly, talking a step back from Mirek.

“Why… why, Alyosha? Why didn’t you tell me? Any of this?” He paused and gathered himself just enough to muster some Russian. “[Back then I knew nothing, when we were chained to beds. And just before we left… no warning, no explanation. You never asked my opinion or my consent, do you are for me so little?]”

“[You…]” Alyosha was more out of his depth than Mirek had ever seen him. “[You trust me, right? I knew you trusted me, I knew you’d know I had your best interests at heart. I did this, perhaps forsook Equinox, for you.]”

“[No. NO. This isn’t what I would have wanted. They’re my friends… Anka, Lisbeth… and you betrayed them, split us off, and put me in a situation where I’m completely reliant on your for my safety and everything. You didn’t ask for my consent. Not once. I don’t want to be an extension of you. Maybe… maybe you’re all right about Poland. Maybe it helped my grief to blindly follow you – but not forever. And not like this. You’ve trapped me and shown… shown… that you have no respect for me as an individual. You just forced your will upon me without any warning.]”

“[No, I love you Mirek, I love you and I’m so sorry-]”

“[You’re just saying that to appease me. You don’t even know what you did wrong.]” He was becoming increasingly upset. “[Is that why you chose me, like everyone said at the beginning – just for sex? Because- because I was passive and I just followed you and trusted you and… that’s what Gelbbaum said, that I blindly followed you. And now you’ve dumped your heavy relationship history on me and forced me to stay here – as your partner. You do realize that there’s no way I could break our relationship off now, right? I’d die. You’ve forced me to either love you or die.]”

“[Mirek, I need you to calm down. You’re talking a lot, and there’s some truth in it, but you’re going to give away information in this state. We’re in enemy territory, can we wait until safety before we have this discussion.]”

“[You just told me this was the safest place to be. Don’t… don’t entrap me. I don’t want a relationship anymore, not for a while at least – are you going to tell Ström to kill me now?]”

“[Of course not! You’re being ridiculous.]”

“[Listen to me, Alyosha. I don’t want any kind of romantic relationship right now. That means I stay here and you keep me alive but no touching and certainly no kissing. Do you understand?]”

“[I think we should postpone this for a short while-]”

“[No. Show me that you respect my opinion, my consent by doing this for me.]”

“[If… if it’s what you want, that much. I don’t really understand it, though.]”

“Think about it. Maybe talk to Gelbbaum, I’m sure he’ll empathise with your point of view.” It was the harshest thing Mirek had said since the collapse, he realized belatedly.

“Talk to me about what?” Gelbbaum said.

Alyosha turned away from Mirek furiously, sitting to face the wall in silence.

-

Mirek and Alyosha had been moved to the infirmary again, a disturbing measure foretelling injury, but even this had not broken the awkward silence between them. Although Gelbbaum no longer hovered around the room like an awkward and misguided ghost, Mirek had failed to see exactly when he had left them.

At least this time they were not handcuffed to the beds. Their raised position and awkward surrounding metal railing made them difficult to sit on, so Mirek and Alyosha stewed in opposite corners of the room. Not for the first time, Mirek half-wished he had been left behind with the others.

“I don’t think you’re angry with me for lying.” Alyosha told Mirek frankly. “I think you’re angry that I told the truth. You wanted me to guide you everywhere and you wanted to know nothing so you held no moral responsibility. And that’s changed now, so sorry, I guess.”

“You hold no respect for me.” He felt nothing. “You would let Lisbeth in on your plan, but not me. You might as well be sleeping with her, you certainly trust her more. Are you?”

“Am I what?”

“Sleeping with Lisbeth?”

“Of course not! You’re my only partner. I wouldn’t sleep with someone else without your consent.”

“But you’d get us locked up and tortured without my consent.” Mirek was starting to get a headache. He rubbed his fingers against his forehead, wishing they could stop arguing and he could sink into merciful unconsciousness.

“I don’t get you sometimes. It’s just… you… you act like you had no role in this, but you must have known what was happening, really. I never made any effort to hide anything from you: everything was always right in your face. I don’t believe that you didn’t notice how dominant I was and how little I informed you unless you made that decision… the decision to remain passive, uninvolved. If you’d taken an active role in Equinox affairs then you would have had input! I would have gladly let you in on the plans – but you never cared. You hardly even protested this time about going into custody. Not stopping me makes you partially responsible too. I trust you, I trust you to stop being so damn passive when you care enough.”

“You can’t just deflect the blame onto me – and to just… just insinuate that I knew and did nothing to stop it. I’m not as perceptive as you, Alyosha! I don’t see everything, I don’t constantly calculate the actions of others unless they’re directly in my face, and maybe next time you should just tell me like a normal fucking person would have.”

“Mirek, I am listening to you. I am thinking. But this is important; now that we’re here we have to seem like a couple to Ström. He’ll kill you otherwise. So I’m going to sit next to you… is that okay?”

“You.” He felt nothing. He was trembling. “You forced this upon me. You left me no escape.”

“I didn’t think you’d want an escape.” Alyosha said, and his words seemed so sincere and bewildered, like he honestly didn’t see what was wrong with his actions.

Mirek moved across the room to sit closer to Alyosha with the jerky, forced movements of a marionette. They weren’t quite touching.

They both wanted to return to the previous ease they had held, to just melt into one another and draw comfort from their simple share being. Mirek knew that it wouldn’t be right, not now. He had to… had to push his perspective onto Alyosha. They needed their respect to be mutual, to hold shared trust between them, binding them to each other. He couldn’t… he couldn’t just worry about this later and let himself breathe for this short while. 

Chapter Text

Report on the violent incident involving Azazel
BY AMADEUS RYEO

RELEASE STATUS: Raphael
DATE: 17.04.2260
LANGUAGE: English
CLASSIFICATION: Top Secret
AUTHOR: Amadeus Ryeo

CONTENTS
1. The incident
2. Punitive response
3. Future measures
4. Appendix

1. The incident

On the evening of the 16th of April three inebriated security guards gained access to Azazel’s cell by physically intimidating the attendant who was unarmed. They proceeded inside, calling Azazel by his lesser-known birth surname (Demidov) and seemed to harbour ill will towards him based on their inference that he was directly responsible for the recent famine in London District F.

According to the attendant they aggressively shouted homophobic slurs and similar crude insults for several minutes, over the course of which Azazel questioned their authorization for the visit and then threatened them with disciplinary measures if they did not leave immediately.

This angered them so they proceeded to push Azazel over and kick him repeatedly. The retrieved camera footage shows that he gave no noticeable response or resistance. A medical professional gave the following opinion: “The injuries sustained are severe and undoubtedly caused the patient significant pain, but due to his frailty they did not take much force to inflict.”

The security the attendant called for arrived in a matter of minutes and took the three into custody. Azazel sustained significant injuries and has since required intensive medical care.

2. Punitive response

All three guards are currently being held in order to prevent future violent behaviour. Your input or authorization of appropriate punitive measures would be appreciated. I would recommend the termination of their employment contracts, or revoking of their security clearances. The attendant also awaits your judgement.

3. Future measures

I recommend the following in order to prevent future incidents of this nature:
1. Issuing a warning to all security staff regarding the status of Azazel and penalties regarding his misuse
2. Assigning an armed guard with no ill feeling towards Azazel to watch the door
3. Decreasing your disparagement of Azazel in speeches – this seems almost hypocritical
3. Subjecting Azazel to weekly medical examinations due to his frailty, as per the doctor’s
unofficial advice.

4. Appendix

Appendix 1: Assailants

SECURITY ID: 2240-WAL73471-SE
NAME Saul Walker
AGE 37
CURRENT EMPLOYMENT Junior Security Guard Floor D
SECURITY STATUS Level E
PAST RECORD Provoked assault on a superior office

SECURITY ID: 2252-EVA92935-SG
NAME Marie Evans
AGE 31
CURRENT EMPLOYMENT Junior Security Guard Floor D
SECURITY STATUS Level G
PAST RECORD No incidents on record

SECURITY ID: 2258-WAL42635-SG
NAME Matthew Wallace
AGE 24
CURRENT EMPLOYMENT Junior Security Guard Floor D
SECURITY STATUS Level G
PAST RECORD No incidents on record

Appendix 2: Abbreviated Medical Report

Patient: “Azazel” Demidov, Aleksei Grigoryevich
DOB: Unknown
Age: Estimated late fifties
Attending physician: Dr Sophia Hewett
Date of consultation: 16.04.2260
Reason for consultation: Assault

HISTORY OF PRESENT ILLNESS: Patient was in diminished physical condition from age and blind from an unspecified illness recovered from several years ago. Recently the patient had undergone metal eye implants as part of an experimental study to restore his sight which he described as leading to frequent headaches. He was assaulted a few hours prior to this appointment by three assailants and beaten severely.

MEDICATIONS: Patient was on no medication.

PHYSICAL EXAMINATION
GENERAL: Bruised and unable to stand. Eye cameras seemed intact and functional.
VITAL SIGNS: Accelerated pulse and blood pressure.
NECK: Not noticeably harmed, full range of movement.
LUNGS: Breathing laboured as is expected from the patient’s age.
HEART: No abnormalities which could not be explained by stress.
ABDOMEN: Shattered hip bone but bone fragments have not punctured any major organs. Severe bruising but organs seem intact. Little significant internal bleeding.
EXTREMITIES: Broken femur and severe bruising on arms and legs.

TREATMENT: Splinting of bones and hip replacement requiring surgery. Patient will be unable to walk for two to three weeks unless authorized use of the highest medical equipment, which is not necessary for his survival. Movement will be impaired in the future. Follow-up appointments are recommended.