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Tips: 0.00 INK Postby Fubb on Sat Oct 18, 2008 6:22 pm

(Sing up in the OOC post: post323480.html#p323480 )

August 1st, 1991

Mikial Verenove peered through his window down at the streets below, watching as the people went about they're daily lives, things that he was not involved in but could get involved in easily, without getting in much, if any trouble at all.

He worked for Department P, a faction of the KGB that took care of any corrupted members. They were responsible for removing the corrupted ones, as well as finding out anybody they're associated with. Without them, and they’re rather violent works over the past ten years, the KGB would be very different then it was today.

Mikial had been with the KGB since 1985. He had worked at a desk for a while, then out of the blue was assigned to a mission. After he had proven himself time and time again, he suddenly got a notice just a week ago that he was being transferred to Department P. Now, he had just arrived, moved into his office, and lit a cigarette.

Watching as smoke drifted from his mouth, out to the window then disappeared in the wind, he breathed in the last drag of his dying cigarette, then smothered it out in an ashtray on his new desk.

Sitting down in his leather Chair, he stared around the empty office. There was his desk, and 2 others, meaning that more were to come. According to what the Commissioner of Department P had told him, 2 of his Agents were transferred, and he had replace the third. Now, DP was waiting for 2 new people to transfer in.

Looking around the office, he stared at the pictures of the USSR, and at the large picture of Lenin hanging on the wall, as well as the rows of books on a bookshelf, and the filing cabinets, one for each desk.

"Hm." He simply muttered to himself as he stood up and started to rummage through his filing cabinet. Nothing was in it. Sad, he went to the next one, and did the same thing. He found nothing more then a dead cockroach. Turning to the last one, he opened the top drawer. Nothing. Opening the middle one, he still found nothing. Finally, he decided just to give up, but something inside of him inquired to continue to rummage through the last one.

He gave a little laugh as he opened the bottom drawer, and pulled out the only folder in it. It looked rather old, and smelt of smoke. Closing the cabinet, he resigned that they probably were not locked as no one felt there would be anything inside of it, and there were no agents to put files in it.

Settling back in his desk, he opened the folder. Staring at the paper, he instantly knew that whoever had been working on this case before, the previous agent of the desk, had obviously lost the trail, if he hadn't even burnt the folder afterwards. As he continued threw the folder, he remarked about the papers out loud.

"Vladmier Pusnov, former KGB agent turned private Detective found dead, shot in the back of the head in an alley on June 9th, 1989. Two days later, on June 11th, 1989, his families home in Moscow is burnt to the ground, all family members killed. At the same time, all relatives of his, as well as any files concerning his relative disappear. Through relentless struggles, KGB is unable to track down anything about him, except for a tape recorder that notes information..." He continued to read another document, taken aghast that no information about where his families home was located was included, " January 3rd, 1990- After months of my contacts trying to decipher the 'code' in the tape recorder, we have now found a clue that may help lead us to the killers of a certain 'Vladmier Pusnov'. According to them, a small farm outside of Moscow holds significance to the case. I have already assembled my team, and am getting ready to plan. We'll spend tomorrow watching the farm, then the next day, if needed, we'll assault the Farmhouse."

"January 4th, 1990- We have found the house belongs to a former KGB named Ivan Gatilsan. Ivan has been under suspicion of selling information of KGB members, and ex-members since the early 80's. Watching it more, we're concluded that he has something to do with the Vladmier murders. This has made me excited, and i searched up some background information of Vladmier. Since he joined the KGB, he was put in a section that is meant to counter CIA and M16 operations in Soviet Republics. His most famous notion was stopping the CIA from giving Israeli's information on hostages the Palestinians took by making all people involved just 'disappear'. Sadly, a week later the Israeli's still got there information because [name classified] sold the information anyways..."

"January 5th, 1990- We seem to have a snitch in our ranks. Before we could reach the farmhouse to apprehend Mr. Gatilsan, he jumped ship, and we've lost trail on him."

"Now, months later, we still have no clue as to where he is. The commissioner is very angry, and I fear i will be being transferred from Department P. I have everyone i have available working on the case, but still no clue as to where Ivan has disappeared to."

"July 22nd, 1991- We have found Ivan. His body had a 3 bullet holes in it; 2 in the chest, one in the head. Now any hopes of solving the Vladmier Pusnov case are dissolved, and [name classified] has disappeared. I have received a letter informing me that I’m being transferred to a new department. As I feel cheated, I leave this document here, in a hope my replacement can somehow find the answers to this mystery. Signed, Kevin Mikhialisvon."

Mikial pondered for a second, then turned back to the window. The KGB had been awful quiet, and the chances of him getting a mission seemed slim to none. Perhaps he could look into this.

Staring back at the paper, his eyes sat at the '[name classified]' phrase. Obviously, '[name classified]' was the snitch, being the one who sold the CIA the information, as well as killing Ivan Gatilsan. Mikial would have to catch up with Kevin Mikhialisvon to get anywhere, however.

Lighting another cigarette, he turned back to the window.
There is a midjet nord with a sledge hammer chasing you...

"You speak of anarchy ... all I see is people lining up to flex their election-skills!"
"With RPG-7's?!"
"Yes ... with RPG-7's."
"And AK's?"
"Yes yes ... many a nation have been founded on the AK."
"He just shot that man!"
"He was a traitor to the nation?"

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Tips: 0.00 INK Postby fischer on Sun Nov 30, 2008 10:10 pm

((btw if you want this to be modern, Russia's intelligence agency is the GRU now.

Kevin Mikhialisvon sat at the desk of his large flat.
Of course he wasn't Kevin Mikhialisvon anymore. He still remebered the summer day a few years ago.

He had gotten a message that he had one more chance on the Pusnov case -- that damn Pusnov case -- and that chance was a contact at some alleyway.
Well, of course, he reported to the alley. Two men grabbed him. KGB.

He let them think they had the upperhand while he tried to plan, tried to assess. Years in espionage, then in investigations, he could think on his feet.

He didn't like to think about the gory details too often, but the long and the short of it was he killed the to agents after they reported him dead and disappeared. It took him a year or two to get back on his feet, collect fake passports, ids, everything. He was back in play and he knew what he wanted.

He wanted to solve the case that had gotten him "killed" and then shove it in the faces of his superiors. He'd be let back into the big leagues, higher up than before. A few agents had done it in the past, he'd be one of them.

His cell phone rang.

"David Petrovnick," he answered. This was his new name. Kevin was dead. Well, more correctly, this was his favorite new name. He had a bag of passports in a drawer with the rest of them.

"Department P -- the spots are being refilled. One of the new guys just got your old memo. Check your email. Finish the mission."

The voice on the line stopped talking and there was a click.


Kevin knocked and pushed open the glass door, entering his old office. It still had the same three old desks. they had gotten new chairs and they had added central heating. The room didn't look or feel like the Cold War quite as much as it used to.

Kevin looked at the an sitting at his old desk. So this was Mikial Verenove? KEvin knew everything about him: his low level desk job in 1985, how he had risen in the ranks (if a larger desk really qualifies as "rising"), how he was selected for Operation 670 on a whim because he was the last option, and how he passed with flying colors. After reading the email, Kevin knew all about the other missions, from Operation Leotard to Operation Red. And now he was in Department P, in Kevin's desk.

Inside he scoweled, but outside he smiled.

well, at the very least, Kevin would be able to sit at one of the desks. Earlier that mroning he had received a phone call. He, David Petrovnick, had been assigned to Department P.

Damn, he really was good at what he did. A man he had created only a few years ago had a code-word clearance position in the KGB. Probably the "youngest" agent alive.

"The name's David Petrovnick." Kevin extended his right hand towards Mikial and pointed his left thumb over his shoulder. "That desk is mine." He smiled and waited for Mikial to return the handshake.

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Tips: 0.00 INK Postby Valdis on Sun Feb 28, 2010 6:24 am

The midnight shadows that protruded through the window enveloped most of the room with the light hanging above them shedding a dim light over the small gathering. A warm summers breeze wended its way around the room and descended on the group, causing and uncomfortable wamrth to settle on their unmoving forms. Low voiced conversations filled the room along with the lone haunting strum of a guitar. The guitar belonged to that of a middle aged man, seated aside from the table and rocking on his chair. Although he would seem to be no one of importance he was infact part of the reason everyone was here. It had been a long time since his time in the KGB and even though his snitching days were over he was still in danger. He, now the leader of a gang that resided in a town on the border of Russia, wasn't concerned with this new threat to his life but it seemed everyone was, judging by the voices consuming the silence that had once laced the room. Even the man at the head of the table, the man who had summoned their presence, was whispering something to the cheery looking young lady by his side.

"Now gentlemen, and lady," The man at the head of the table said, nodding to the young lady at his side. "We all know that it has been years since the... disappearance of Pusnov and his relatives."

A collection of soft chuckles filled the room.

"And we also know that we've heard rumours that a new egotistical agent has decided to take up the case again. We doubt there are any links to our leader here, obviously because of how calmly he sits in his chair struming his guitar, but I suggested we take precausions to keep him out of deaths reach."

He paused and glanced at each one of the men gathered round the table, every single one of them held an important possition in this gang and every one needed to understand the situation. That is why Aleks was speaking on behalf of Ivan because Ivan would obviously not express the concern that Aleks thought was necessary.

"So I have brought in a someone to guard Ivan at all times, to ensure his safety -"
"Only one person? One of the men interupted"
"Well If you care to listen you will understand," He paused to glare at the man who had dared to speak before he continued, "Have you all heard of a young lady named Valdis?"

A few nods went around the room but it was less than half of the collection of men. Hardley surprising seeing as she had recently fled to Russia because the FBI in New York were getting a little to close for comfort.

"Well, gentlemen, even though you hear the words young lady do not let it fool you. Valdis is a deadly femme fatale designed to do nothing but kill. Now I say designed because an ex-governemt scientist used her and her brother as experiments. I don't know much about this girl but I know she gave the FBI quite a run for their money. She is a hitman, mercenary if you will, and is on the FBI's hit list because she has been linked to thirty two murders and another sixteen possibles. Now if this girl can do all that and still escape the FBI's grasp she must be good. There's not much else I know about her except that she's here now and will do anything for money. Now I have asked her to come here and have offered her a reward to guard Ivan. So gentlemen, I present to you, Valdis"

Valdis had been sitting outside the room with her arms folded over her chest and her gaze set on nothing in particular. While there she came to realise that even with the prospect of such a job, with such a large reward, she had little interest in anything to do with it. She wasn't going to claim that she had no interest in money, it would be inhuman to say that. Every person who ever lived had felt the desire for money, for a better standard of living which can be bought with money. No man is free from the yearning of cash, Valdis was no exception. In fact her entire existance revolved around people and money. The only other thing man will never be free from is the want to destroy those they do not like and those who threaten them. Valdis fed off this basic instinct. Some may not call it human instinct, some may even refer to it as a beasts instinct. But we were all beasts before we were humans.

Valdis heard her introduction and rose, walking slowly into the room. All eyes were set on her and she could see that some of the men doubted her reputation. Perhaps if she cared she would prove them wrong. But she didn't so she just stood silently. Now, the question most would ask is that if Valdis wasn't interested in the large sum of income she would gain from this, if she was perfectly comfortable to start make a name for herself in Russia, why was she here? That she could not answer. Perhaps even her, denied the basic right to show emotion her whole life, had that same yearning for cash that everyone else in this room had. Perhaps not. What she was really interested in was taking lives. For there was not a feeling in the world that could match the complete rush of emotion and the euphoria felt when you drained the life of another.

"Hello Valdis, I'm glad you could make it," Aleks said with a grin.
"You're to guard me?" Ivan said, contributing to the meeting for the first time as he inspected the person supposed to keep him safe. He stood up, setting his guitar in the chair and walked over to her. Her expression was blank as usual as he stopped in front of her to study her.
"How old are you?" He asked sceptically.
"I'm 18. I hardley see how it matters, if you don't trust in my ability then I'll leave, looks like you have enough people to protect you here. Don't see why you need me."
Jayda turned to leave the room, realising just how little she cared about this job, or this mans life.
"Wait," Ivan said, showing the first concern for his life all night and reaching out to grab her wrist. It's as if a button had been pushed and Valdis springs into action, yanking her arm back to make Ivan's arm become outstretched before she drove the elbow of her free arm into a pressure point on the underside of his elbow, forcing excruciating pain to tear down his forearm and explode in his hand with brutal force.
"Don't touch me," she said flatly as she withdraw her hand from Ivan's grip, her expression that of a pure emotionless void.

The room exploded in yelling and protests as Ivan's roar of pain filled the room. The collection of men were now standing and Aleks was trying to keep them calm.
"Alright!" Ivan suddenly yelled, still cradling his arm as he looked up at Valdis. "That hurt...alot. Obviously you're good at what ever you do. I understand Aleks has offered you a reward. I promise to pay it, in return for, even if I die. Now please...I need you."
"I love hearing those words," Valdis said with a maliscious grin.

Conversations filled the room, making obvious the diametric oppinions of the men. Even Ivan turned and whispered something to Aleks. It seemed only one of them kept their reserve. Only one among the gathering kept quiet, no conversing with the others surrounding her, just her and her own demenented thoughts.
I don't hold grudges, you just give me a new reason to hate you everyday

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